These instances, which could be multiplied indefinitely, are enough to show how careful the mediaeval University was as to dress. But it will be noticed that they nearly all refer to the dress of graduates; the modern University on the other hand practically leaves its M.A.s alone[25], while it still enforces (at least in theory) academic dress on its undergraduates, as to whom the mediaeval University had little to say.

The Laudian Statutes here as elsewhere form the transition from the arrangements of Pre-Reformation Oxford to those of our own day. They enforce (on all alike) dress of a proper colour, short hair, and abstinence from 'absurdus ille et fastuosus mos' of walking abroad in fancy boots (ocreae); only while the graduate is fined 6s. 8d. for offending, the undergraduate ('if his age be suitable') suffers 'poena corporalis' at the discretion of the Vice-Chancellor and Proctors.

Perhaps the following general points may be made as to University dress in the olden times.

[Sidenote: (1) University Dress clerical.]

As all members of the University were ipso facto clerks, their dress had to correspond; the marks of clerical dress were that it was to be of a certain length (later it was specified that it should reach the heels, talaris), and that it should be closed in front, but there was great licence as to colour; the 'black' or 'subfusc' prescribed by the Laudian Statutes is the result of the asceticism of the Reformation, and was unknown in Oxford before the sixteenth century. We have in the wills of students and in the inventories of their properties, abundant evidence that our mediaeval predecessors wore garments suitable to 'Merrie Englande', e.g. of green, blue or blood-colour. Sometimes the founder of a college left directions what 'livery' all his students should wear; e.g. Robert Eglesfield prescribed for the fellows of Queen's College that they were to dine in Hall in purple cloaks, the Doctors wearing these trimmed with fur, while the M.A.s wore theirs 'plain'; the colour was 'to suit the dignity of their position and to be like the blood of The Lord'. Cambridge colleges still in some cases prescribe for their undergraduates gowns of a special colour or cut.

One curious survival of the 'clerkship' of all students is the requirement of the white tie in all University examinations and in the degree ceremony. The 'bands', which (to quote Dr. Rashdall) 'are merely a clerical collar', have disappeared from the necks of all lay members of the University below the degree of Doctor, except the Vice-Chancellor and the Proctors; the dress of the latter is the full-dress of an ordinary M.A. in the seventeenth century, and preserves picturesque old features which have been lost elsewhere.

[Sidenote: (2) The Cope and the Gown.]

The proper dress of the mediaeval Master, though probably an undergraduate could also wear it, was the cappa or cope; this at Oxford was usually black in colour, but Doctors had quite early (i.e. in the time of the Edwards) adopted as the colour for it some shade of red, thus beginning the custom which still survives. The scarlet 'habit', worn at Convocations by Oxford Doctors over their ordinary gowns, retains the old name 'cappa', but the shape has been completely altered. The sister University, however, still preserves the old shape; the Cambridge Vice-Chancellor presides at their degree ceremonies in a sleeveless scarlet cloak, lined with miniver, which exactly corresponds to the fourteenth-century picture of our Chancellor receiving the charter from Edward III. The gown, the 'putting on' of which is now the distinguishing mark of the taking of the B.A. or M.A., is simply the survival of a mediaeval garment which was not even clerical, the long gown (toga) or cassock, which was worn under the cappa. The dress of the 'Blues' at Christ's Hospital preserves the gown in an earlier stage of development. The modern usage which gives the gown of the B.A. sleeves, while that of an M.A. has them cut away, has in some unexplained way grown out of a similar usage as to the mediaeval cappa.

[Sidenote: (3) The Hood.]

The mark, however, which specially distinguished the degree was the hood, as to which the University was always strict, assigning the proper material and the proper colour[26] to that of each faculty. The hood was not a mere adornment or a badge, it was an article of dress. Originally it seems to have been attached to the cappa, and, as its name implies, was used for covering (the head) when required. Its practical purpose is quaintly implied in the books of the Chancellor and the Proctors (sub anno 1426), where it is provided that 'whereas reason bids that the varieties of costume should correspond to the ordering of the seasons, and whereas the Festival of Easter in its due course is akin from its nearness to summer,' it is henceforth allowed that from Easter to All Saints' day, 'graduates may wear silken hoods,' instead of fur ones, 'old custom notwithstanding.' The M.A. hood, even in its present mutilated form, still presents survivals of the time when it was a real head covering, survivals which should prevent those who wear it from putting it on upside down, as many often do. The B.A. hood was already in the fifteenth century lined with lamb's wool or rabbit's fur, and the use of miniver by other than M.A.s and persons of birth or wealth[27] was strictly forbidden by a statute of 1432.

[Sidenote: (4) The Cap.]

The last and not the least important part of mediaeval academic dress still remains to be spoken of, the cap. The conferring of this with the ring and the kiss of peace has been already mentioned (p. 27), these being the marks of the admission of new Masters and Doctors. As under the Roman Law the slave was manumitted by being allowed to put on a cap, so the 'pileus' of the M.A. was the sign of his independence; hence he was bound to wear it at all University ceremonies. The cap was sometimes square (biretta), sometimes round (pileus); Gascoigne (writing in 1456) tells us that in his day the round cap was worn by Doctors of Divinity and Canon Law, and that it had always been so since the days of King Alfred; not content with this antiquity, he also affirms that the round cap was given by God Himself to the doctors of the Mosaic Law. He adds the more commonplace but more trustworthy information that the cap was in those days fastened by a string behind, to prevent its falling off.

The modern stiff corners of the cap are an addition, which is not an improvement; the old cap drooped gracefully from its tuft in the centre, as can still be seen in the portraits of seventeenth-century divines, e.g. in Vandyck's 'Archbishop Laud', so familiar from its many replicas and copies. Later usage has specialized the round cap of velvet as belonging to the Doctors of Law and Medicine, and a most beautiful head-gear it is; it is preserved, in a less elaborate form, at the degree ceremony in the round caps of the Bedels.

After the Reformation the cap began to be worn by B.A.s and undergraduates, but originally without the tuft; the eighteenth century, careless of the old traditions, replaced the tuft by the modern commonplace tassel, and extended this to all caps except those of servitors. With the disappearance of social distinctions in dress, the tassel has been extended to all, except to choir-boys, and so the coveted badge of the mediaeval Master is now the property of all University ranks, and is undervalued and neglected in the same proportion as it has been rendered meaningless.

Before leaving the subject of head-gear, it may be noted that the old University custom of giving the son of a nobleman a gold tassel for his cap has left a permanent mark in the familiar phrase 'tuft-hunting'; the right of wearing this distinctive badge still exists for peers and for their eldest sons[28], but they are at liberty not to avail themselves of it, and it is practically never used. Academic dress has sadly lost its picturesqueness, especially for the undergraduate; his gown no longer reaches to his heels, as the statute still requires it to do, and the injunction against 'novi et insoliti habitus' is surely a dead letter in these days when Norfolk jackets and knickerbocker suits penetrate even to University and college lecture-rooms. But what can the University expect when M.A.s, in evasion of the statutes, come to Congregation without gowns, and borrow them from each other in order to vote, and when the University itself knows nothing of the 'exemplaria' (models) which are supposed to be 'in archivis reposita'? Whether there ever were these models of proper University dress, e.g. a doll in D.D. habit, &c., is uncertain; what is certain is that there are none now. At the present time the scanty relics of mediaeval usage are at the mercy of the tailors; and though it must be said for their representatives in Oxford that they do their best to maintain old traditions, yet there is no doubt that innovations are slowly but steadily introduced, e.g. the M.A. hood is losing in length, and is altering in colour.

The recent attempt on the part of the University to devise new gowns and habits for the 'Research' Doctors is, it may be hoped, the beginning of a better state of things; whatever may be thought of the aesthetic success in this case, the subject was treated with seriousness and expert evidence was taken. Perhaps in the near future Oxford may bestir itself in this matter, and see that nothing more is lost of its mediaeval survivals; restoration of what is actually gone is probably hopeless. Such pious conservatism would be in accordance with the spirit of the present age; for even the modern Radical, unlike his predecessor of half a century back, cares, or at any rate professes to care, for the external traces of the past.

[Sidenote: Oxford Hoods and Gowns.]

The following list makes no attempt to distinguish between the full dress and the undress of Doctors; it is only intended as a help in identifying the various functionaries who take part in the degree ceremony.

Doctors.

Divinity (D.D.[29]).—Scarlet hood and habit; the gown has black velvet sleeves.

{Scarlet hood and Civil Law (D.C.L.) {habit; the gown Medicine (D.M.) {has sleeves of crimson {silk.

The Master of Surgery (M.Ch.) wears the same hood, gown, and habit as an M.D., and ranks next after him.

Science (D.Sc.) {Scarlet hood and habit; Letters (D.Litt.) {the gown has sleeves of {French grey.

The habits of these Doctors, though in the main similar, have different facings, that of the D.D. being black, of the D.M. and D.C.L. crimson, and of the D.Litt. and D.Sc. French grey.

Doctor of Music (Mus.Doc.).—Gown of crimson and cream brocade. The hood is of the same colours. This gorgeous dress goes back for nearly 300 years. The gown is made of that rich kind of brocade which is popularly said to be able to stand up by itself, and tradition (not very well authenticated) has it that the identically same gown was worn by Richter on his admission as Doctor in 1885, which had been worn by Haydn in the preceding century. The Doctor of Music, however, unlike all other Doctors, ranks after an M.A.; the reason is that musical graduates need not take the ordinary Arts course, but the degrees in Music are open to all who have passed Responsions, or an equivalent examination.

The undress gowns of all Doctors but those of Divinity have the sleeves trimmed with lace; D.D.s wear also a scarf (fastened by a loop behind), and a cassock under their habit or their gown.

All Doctorates are given, or at any rate are supposed to be given, for original work that is a contribution to knowledge; but in the case of the D.D. the theses have quite lost this character.

The Proctors.

The Proctors, as the representatives of the M.A.s, wear their old full-dress gown, which has otherwise disappeared from use. The sleeves are of black velvet; the hoods are of miniver, and are passed on from Proctor to Proctor. On the back of the gown is a curious triangular tassel, called a 'tippet'; this is a survival of a bag or purse, which was once used for collecting fees; the appropriateness of its retention by Proctors will still be easily understood by undergraduates. They used also to receive all fees for examinations, till about 1891.

Master of Arts (M.A.)

Crimson hood and black gown, with the sleeves cut short and fitting above the elbows, and hanging in a long bag, cut at the end into crescent shape.

Bachelors.

Divinity (B.D.).—The hood is black. A scarf is worn, and a cassock also is worn under the gown.

The Bachelor of Divinity is placed here for convenience of reference; but the degree is really higher than that of an M.A. and can only be taken three years after a man has 'incepted' as M.A.

Civil Law (B.C.L.)} Medicine (B.M.) } The hoods are blue, Surgery (B.Ch.) } trimmed with lamb's Music (B.Mus.) } wool.

The gown of all the above Bachelors has laced sleeves fitting to the arm, like those of the M.A.s, but slit; the bag is straight and also trimmed with lace.

Arts (B.A.).—The hood is trimmed with lamb's wool; the gown has full sleeves, with strings to fasten back.



FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 23: When a candidate had passed Responsions, he was called a 'sophista generalis'. The title has now died out in the English Universities, but survives in the form 'sophomore' in America.]

[Footnote 24: This adornment seems to have survived in Oxford till within the last half-century; at all examinations subsequent to 'Responsions' a candidate, when going in for Viva Voce, had a little black hood placed round his neck; this arrangement has now disappeared.]

[Footnote 25: The old statutes as to the dress of graduates are still in force, and partially observed at conferment of degrees, examinations, &c., but there is consideredable slackness as to them. It is only too common to see a Dean 'presenting' in a coloured tie, although his undergraduates are all compelled to don a white one.]

[Footnote 26: This is delightfully commemorated in the old custom of Queen's College, by which, at the Gaudy dinner on Jan. 1st, each guest receives a needle with a silk thread of the colour of his faculty—Theologians black, Lawyers blue, Arts students red—and is bidden 'Take this and be thrifty'. The mending of the hood was a duty which must have often devolved on the poor mediaeval student. The custom dates from the time of the Founder (1340). It is sad that so few colleges have been careful, as Queen's has been, to preserve their old customs.]

[Footnote 27: Those of royal blood, the sons of peers and members of Parliament, and those who could prove an income of 60 marks a year, were allowed the privilege of Masters.]

[Footnote 28: i.e. if they are admitted by a college as 'noblemen', and are entered on the books as such.]

[Footnote 29: The initials S.T.P. (Sanctae Theologiae Professor), so commonly used for Doctors of Divinity on monuments, are simply a survival of the old usage according to which, in the Middle Ages, Doctor, Professor, and Master were synonymous terms for the highest degree. It was only later that 'professor' came to be especially applied to a paid teacher in any subject.]



CHAPTER VI

THE PLACES OF THE DEGREE CEREMONY

The University of Oxford confers its degrees in three rooms, the Sheldonian Theatre, the Divinity School, and the Convocation House; the choice rests with the Vice-Chancellor, and now that, in the last year or so, degree-days have been made less frequent, and there are consequently more candidates on each occasion, the place is often the Sheldonian. This is a great improvement on old custom, for it is the only one of the three buildings which was designed for the purpose, and it is also the only one which gives room for the proper conduct of the ceremony, when the number of candidates is large.

[Sidenote: The Sheldonian.]

The Sheldonian, therefore, commonly known in Oxford as 'The Theatre', will be spoken of first, although it is the last in date of construction. It is a memorial at once of the munificence of one of the greatest among Oxford's many episcopal benefactors, and also of the architectural skill of her most eminent architect, Sir Christopher Wren. Down to the time of the Civil War, the ceremony of the 'Act' (cf. p. 27 seq.) at which degrees were conferred, had taken place in St. Mary's; but the influence of the Puritans was beginning to affect all parties, and was causing the growth of a feeling that religious buildings should not be used for secular purposes. John Evelyn, who gives us our fullest account of the opening ceremony at the Sheldonian, notes that it might be thought 'indecent' that the Act should be held in a 'building set apart for the immediate worship of God'[30], and this was 'the inducement for building this noble pile'. Wren had shown his design to the Royal Society in 1663, and it had been much commended; he was only a little more than thirty years of age, and it was his first public building, but he was already known as that 'miracle of a youth' and that 'prodigious young scholar', and he fully justified the Archbishop's confidence in him. So great was this that Sheldon told Evelyn that he had never seen the building and that he never intended to do so. Wren showed his boldness alike in the style he chose—he broke once for all with the Gothic tradition in Oxford—and in the skill with which he designed a roof which was (and is) one of the largest unsupported roofs in England. The construction of it was a marvel of ingenious design.

[Sidenote: Its Dedication.]

The cost of the whole building was L25,000, as Wren told Evelyn, and architects, even the greatest of them, do not usually over-estimate the cost of their designs; but other authorities place it at L16,000, or even at a little over L12,000. At any rate, it was felt to be, as Evelyn writes, 'comparable to any of this kind of former ages, and doubtless exceeding any of the present, as this University does for colleges, libraries, schools, students and order, all the universities in the world.' We may pardon the enthusiasm of one who was himself an Oxford man, after a day on which 'a world of strangers and other company from all parts of the nation' had been gathered for the Dedication. The ceremonies lasted two days (July 9 and 10, 1669), and on the first day extended 'from eleven in the morning till seven at night'; we are not told how long they lasted on the second day. They consisted of speeches, poems, disputations, and all the other forms of learned gaiety wherein our academic predecessors took such unwearying delight; there was 'music too, vocal and instrumental, in the balustrade corridor opposite to the Vice-Chancellor's seat'. And those who took part had among them some who bore famous names; the great preacher, South, was Public Orator; among the D.D.s incepting were Tillotson, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, one of the first to introduce Modern English into the style of the pulpit, and Compton, who, as Bishop of London, took so prominent a part in the Revolution.

[Sidenote: The Roof Paintings.]

Not the least conspicuous feature in the new building was the paintings by Robert Streater, which had been especially executed for it. In accordance with the idea of Wren, who wished to imitate the uncovered roofs of Greek and Roman theatres, the building, 'by the painting of the flat roof within, is represented as open.' Pepys, who went to see everything, records how he went to see these pictures in Streater's studio, and how the 'virtuosos' who were looking at them, thought 'them better than those of Rubens at Whitehall'; 'but,' Pepys has taste enough to add, 'I do not fully think so.' This unmeasured admiration was, however, outdone by the contemporary poetaster, Whitehall, who ends his verses on the paintings,

That future ages must confess they owe To Streater more than Michael Angelo,

lines in which the grammar and the connoisseurship are about on an equality. The paintings are on canvas fixed on stretchers, and hence have been removed for cleaning purposes more than once; this was last done only a few years ago (1899-1901). There are thirty-two sections, and the whole painting measures 72 feet by 64. Unfortunately the subject is rendered difficult to understand, because the most important section, which is the key of the whole, representing 'The Expulsion of Ignorance', is practically concealed by the organ; the present instrument was erected in 1877.

[Sidenote: The Sheldonian Press.]

Sheldon's building was designed for a double use. It was to be at once the University Theatre and the University Printing Press, and it was used for the latter purpose till 1714, when the Oxford Press was moved across the quadrangle to the Clarendon Building, designed by Sir John Vanbrugh. The actual printing was done in the roof, on the floor above the painted ceiling. The Theatre is for this reason the mark on all Oxford books printed during the first half-century of its existence. In one respect Archbishop Sheldon was so unlike most Oxford benefactors that his merit must be especially mentioned. Men are often willing enough to give a handsome sum of money down to be spent on buildings; they too often leave to others the charge of maintaining these; but Sheldon definitely informed the University that he did not wish his benefaction to be a burden to it, and invested L2,000 in lands, out of the rents of which his Theatre might be kept in repair. The Sheldonian, thanks to its original donor and to the ever liberal Dr. Wills of Wadham, who supplemented the endowment a century later, has never been a charge on the University revenues.

[Sidenote: The Restoration of the Sheldonian.]

Unfortunately these repairs have been carried out with more zeal than discretion. Even in Wren's lifetime the alarm was raised that the roof was dangerous (1720), but the Vice-Chancellor of the time was wise enough not to consult a rival architect but to take the practical opinion of working masons and carpenters, who reported it safe. Nearly 100 years later the same alarm was raised, whether with reason or not we do not know, for no records were left; all we do know is that the 'restorers' of the day took Wren's roof off, removed his beautiful windows, inserted a new and larger cupola, and generally did their best to spoil his work. It is only necessary to compare the old pictures of the Sheldonian with its present state to see how in this case, as in so many others, Oxford's architectural glories have suffered from our insane unwillingness to let well alone.

[Sidenote: The History of the Sheldonian.]

The Sheldonian was not in existence during the period when University history was most picturesque. Its associations therefore are nearly all academic, and academic functions, however interesting to those who take part in them, do not appeal to the great world. Perhaps the most romantic scene that the Sheldonian has witnessed was the Installation of the Duke of Wellington as Chancellor in 1833, when the whole theatre went mad with enthusiasm as the writer of the Newdigate, Joseph Arnould of Wadham, declaimed his lines on Napoleon,—

And the dark soul a world could scarce subdue Bent to thy genius, chief of Waterloo.

The subject of the poem was 'The Monks of St. Bernard'.

But the enthusiasm was almost as great, and the poetry far superior, when Heber recited the best lines of the best Newdigate on record:—

No hammer fell, no ponderous axes swung; Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung. Majestic silence.

This happy reference to the manner of building of Solomon's Temple was suggested by Sir Walter Scott.

Another almost historic occasion in the Sheldonian was when, at a Diocesan Conference, the late Lord Beaconsfield made his well-known declaration, 'I for my part prefer to be on the side of the angels.' But these scenes only indirectly touch Oxford. More intimately connected with her history are the famous Proctorial Veto of 1845, when Dean Church and his colleague saved Tract No. 90 from academic condemnation, and the stormy debates of twenty years ago, when the permission to use Vivisection in the University Physiological Laboratory was only carried after a struggle in which the Odium Scientificum showed itself capable of an unruliness and an unfairness to opponents which has left all displays, previous or subsequent, of Odium Theologicum far behind.

[Sidenote: Commemoration Scenes.]

There is no doubt that the organized medical vote on that occasion holds the record for noise in the Theatre. And the competition for the record has been and is still severe; every year at Commemoration, we have a scene of academic disorder, which can only be called 'most unbecoming of the gravity of the University', to use John Evelyn's words of the performance of the Terrae Filius at the opening of the Sheldonian. It is true that the proceedings of the Encaenia have been always able to be completed, since the device was hit on of seating ladies freely among the undergraduates in the upper gallery; this change was introduced in 1876. The disorder of the undergraduates' gallery had culminated in 1874, and in 1875 the ceremony was held in the Divinity School. But the noise is as prevalent as ever, and it must be confessed that undergraduates' wit has suffered severely from the feminine infusion. However, our visitors, distinguished and undistinguished alike, appreciate the disorder, and it certainly has plenty of precedent for it in all stages of University history.

But the Sheldonian has more harmonious associations. Music was from the first a regular feature of the Encaenia, and compositions were written for it. The most famous occasion of this kind was in July, 1733, when Handel came to Oxford, at the invitation of the Vice-Chancellor, to conduct the performance of some of his works; among these was the Oratorio Athaliah, especially written for the occasion. Handel was offered the degree of Doctor of Music, but (unlike Haydn) declined it, because he disliked 'throwing away his money for dat de blockhead wish'.

[Sidenote: Convocation House.]

Till quite recently the degree ceremony was usually held in the Convocation House, which lies just in front of the Sheldonian, under the northern end of the Bodleian Library (the so-called Selden Wing). This plain and unpretentious building, which was largely due to the munificence of Archbishop Laud, was begun in 1635 and finished two years later. It cost, with the buildings above, about L4,200. Its dreary late-Gothic windows and heavy tracery, and the Spartan severity of its unbacked benches, are characteristic of the time of transition, alike architectural and religious, to which it belongs. It has been from that time to this the Parliament House of the University, where all matters are first discussed by the Congregation of resident Doctors and Masters; it is only on the rare occasions when some great principle is at stake, and when the country is roused, that matters, whether legislative or administrative, are discussed anywhere else; a Sheldonian debate is fortunately very rare.

[Sidenote: Its History.]

The building is well suited for the purpose for which it was erected, and so has not unnaturally been used as the meeting-place of the nation's legislators, when, as has several times happened, Parliament has been gathered in Oxford. Charles I's House of Commons met here in 1643, when Oxford was the royalist capital of England; and in 1665, when Parliament fled from the Great Plague, and in 1681, when Charles II fought and defeated the last Exclusion Parliament, the House of Commons again occupied this House. It was on the latter occasion just preparing to move across to the Sheldonian, and the printers there were already packing up their presses to make room for the legislators, when Charles suddenly dissolved it, and so completed his victory over Shaftesbury and Monmouth.

A less suitable use for the Convocation House was its employment for Charles I's Court of Chancery in 1643-4.

For the reasons given above, degree days are now much more important functions than they used to be, and the Convocation House, never very suitable for the ceremony, is now seldom used.

[Sidenote: Divinity School.]

But the Divinity School, which lies at a right angle to the Convocation House, under the Bodleian Library proper, is a room which by its beauty is worthy to be the scene of any University ceremony, for which it is large enough, and degrees are still often conferred there as well as in the Sheldonian.

The architecture of the School makes it the finest room which the University possesses. It was building through the greater part of the fifteenth century, which Professor Freeman thought the most characteristic period of English architecture; and certainly the strength and the weakness of the Perpendicular style could hardly be better illustrated elsewhere. The story of its erection can be largely traced in the Epistolae Academicae, published by the Oxford Historical Society; they cover the whole of the fifteenth century, and though they are wearisome in their constant harping on the same subject—the University's need of money—they show a fertility of resource in petition-framing and in the returning of thanks, which would make the fortune of a modern begging-letter writer, whether private or public. The earliest reference to the building of the proposed new School of Divinity is in 1423, when the University picturesquely says it was intended 'ad amplianda matris nostrae ubera' (so many things could be said in Latin which would be shocking in English). In 1426 the Archbishop of Canterbury, Chichele, is approached and asked 'to open the torrents of his brotherly kindness'. Parliament is appealed to, the Monastic Orders, the citizens of London, in fact anybody and everybody who was likely to help. Cardinal Beaufort gave 500 marks, William of Waynflete lent his architectural engines which he had got for building Magdalen—at least he was requested to do so—(1478), the Bishop of London, by a refinement of compliment, is asked to show himself 'in this respect also a second Solomon'. [The touch of adding 'also' is delightful.] The agreement to begin building was signed in 1429, when the superintendent builder was to have a retaining fee of 40s. a year, and 4s. for every week that he was at work in Oxford; the work was finally completed in 1489. And the building was worthy of this long travail; its elaborate stone roof, with the arms of benefactors carved in it, is a model at once of real beauty and of structural skill.

[Sidenote: History of the Divinity School.]

The Divinity School, as its name implies, was intended for the disputations of the Theological Faculty, and perhaps it was this special purpose which prevented it being used so widely for ordinary business, as the other University buildings were. At any rate it was this connexion which led to its being the scene of one of the most picturesque events in Oxford history; it was to it, on April 16, 1554, that Cranmer was summoned to maintain his theses on the Blessed Sacrament against the whole force of the Roman Doctors of Oxford, reinforced by those of Cambridge. Single-handed and without any preparation, he held his own with his opponents, and extorted their reluctant admiration by his courtesy and his readiness. 'Master Cranmer, you have answered well,' was the summing up of the presiding Doctor, and all lifted their caps as the fallen Archbishop left the building. It was the last honour paid to Cranmer.

In the eighteenth century, when all old uses were upset, the Divinity School was even lent to the City as a law court, and it was here the unfortunate Miss Blandy was condemned to death. But as a rule its associations have been academic, and it is still used for its old purpose, i.e. for the reading of the Divinity theses. It is only occasionally that University functions of a more general kind are held there, e.g. the famous debates on the admission of women to degrees in 1895. So splendid a room ought to be employed on every possible occasion, and happy are they who, when the number of candidates is not too large, take their degrees in surroundings so characteristic of the best in Oxford.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 30: The buffooneries of the Terrae Filius, who was a recognized part of the 'Act', would be even more shocking in a consecrated building than merely secular business.]



APPENDIX I

THE PUBLIC ASSEMBLIES OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

I. Degrees are given and examiners appointed by the Ancient House of Congregation. This corresponds to the 'Congregation of Regents' of the Laudian Statutes. Its members are the University officials, the professors, the heads and deans of colleges, all examiners, and the 'necessary regents', i.e. Doctors and Masters of Arts of not more than two years' standing; it thus includes all those who have to do with the conduct, the instruction, or the examination of students. The 'necessary regents' are added, because in the mediaeval University the duty of teaching was imposed on Doctors and Masters of not more than two years' standing; others might 'rule the Schools' if they pleased, but the juniors were bound to discharge this duty unless dispensed.

II. Congregation consists of all those members of Convocation who reside within two miles of Carfax, along with certain officials. This body has nothing to do with degrees; it is the chief legislative body of Oxford.

III. Convocation is made up of all Doctors and Masters whose names are on the University's books. It confirms the appointment of examiners, and confers honorary degrees at Commemoration.

It is also the final legislative body of the University, and controls all expenditure.



APPENDIX II

THE UNIVERSITY STAVES

The old University staves, which are now in the Ashmolean Museum at the University Galleries, seem to date from the reign of Elizabeth; they have no hall-marks, but the character of the ornamentation is of that period. No doubt the mediaeval staves perished in the troubles of the Reformation period, along with other University property, and the new ones were procured when Oxford began to recover her prosperity.

Two of the old staves were discovered in 1895 in a box on the top of a high case in the Archives; their very existence had been forgotten, and they were covered with layers of dust. The legend that they had been concealed there by the loyal Bedels must be given up; no doubt they were put away when the present staves were procured in 1723. The third staff was in the keeping of the Esquire Bedel, and was brought to the University Chest, when that office ceased to exist.

The present staves are six in number, three silver and three silver-gilt. The three former are carried by the Bedel of Arts and the two sub-bedels, the three latter are carried by the Bedels of the three higher faculties, Divinity, Law, and Medicine. All of them date (as is proved by the hall-marks) from 1723, except one of the silver staves, which seems to have been renewed in 1803. The three silver staves bear the following inscriptions:—

No. I. On the top 'Ego sum Via'; on the base 'Veritas et Vita'.

No. II. On the top 'Aequum et Bonum'; on the base 'Iustitiae Columna'.

No. III. On the top 'Scientiae et Mores'; on the base 'Columna Philosophiae'.

The inscriptions are the same on the silver-gilt staves, except that the staff of the Bedel of Divinity has all the mottoes on it—'Ego sum Via', 'Veritas et Vita' on the top, and the others on the base.

The letters on the bases of all the staves are put on the reverse way to those on the tops; this is because the staves are carried in different ways; before the King and the Chancellor they are carried upright, before the Vice-Chancellor always in a reversed position, with the base uppermost.

It should be noted that they are staves and not maces, as the University of Oxford derives its authority from no external power, but is independent.

The arms on the tops of three of the staves present a very curious puzzle; one roundel bears those of Neville and Montagu quarterly, and seems to be a reproduction of the arms of the Chancellor of 1455, George Neville, the Archbishop of York; another bears the old Plantagenet 'England and France quarterly' as borne by the sovereigns from Henry IV to Elizabeth; a third the Stuart arms as borne from James I to Queen Anne; yet the work of all three roundels seems to be seventeenth century in character, and does not match that of the rest of the fabric of the staves.



INDEX

'Act,' meaning of, 27; term, 28; confused with Encaenia, 31-2.

Aristotle, portions read of, 18, 37.

Arnould, J., 85.

Bachelor (of Arts), etymology of, 24; in France, 47; dress of, 69, 78; hood of, 66, 71, 78; when taken, 35, 43.

—— of Divinity, qualification for, 30; dress of, 77.

Bands worn, 68.

Beaconsfield, Lord, 86.

Beaufort, Cardinal, 91.

Bedels, history of, 54 seq.; caps of, 72; at degrees, 4, 17.

Bodleian, 88, 89.

Boots to be worn, 65.

Caius, Dr., 61.

Cambrensis, G., 22.

Cambridge, dress of Vice-Chancellor at, 69; degree ceremonies at, 28-9; King's College, 40 n.; gowns at, 68.

Candidates (for degrees), dress of, 1; presentation of, 11; oath of, 13; admission of, 15, 17.

Cap, 71 seq.

Cappa, 69, 70.

Chancellor, origin of, 22, 26; authority of, 50; non-resident, 51.

Chichele, Archbishop, 90.

Church and University, 25.

Church, Dean, 86.

Circuitus, 44.

Collecta, 37.

'Commencement' in American Universities, 23.

Commemoration, origin of, 31; description of, 32-3; noise at, 86-7; music at, 87.

Compton, H., 82.

Congregation, 88, 93.

—— Ancient House of, 93; degrees conferred in, 4, 5; nominates examiners, 4.

Convocation, 93; business in, 4.

—— House, 88 seq.

Cranmer, Archbishop, 92.

Crewe, Lord, 32; oration of, 32.

Degrees, meaning of, 24; order of taking, 6-7; elements in, 27; requirements for, 34 seq.; in absence, 18; ad eundem, 18; Lambeth, 27; honorary, 32.

—— ceremony, admittance to, 2; notice of, 3.

D.C.L., 32; dress of, 75.

D.D., first, 22; qualifications for, 30; dress of, 69, 75-6; cap of, 72; theses for, 30, 92.

Depositio, 45.

Divinity School, 87, 89 seq.

D.M., dress of, 75.

D.Mus., dress of, 76; Haydn, 76; Handel, 87; Richter, 76.

Doctorate, German, 47; qualifications for, 76; presentation for, 11, 63.

Eglesfield, R., 68, 70 n.

Encaenia, see Commemoration; etymology of, 31 n.

Evelyn, J., 28, 80, 81, 87.

Examinations, mediaeval, 41 seq.; control of, 52.

Fell, Dr., 53.

Friars at Oxford, 46.

Gibbon, E., quoted, 24.

Gowns, 69, 75 seq.; proposed abolition of, 54.

'Graces,' college, 5, 6; University, 38 seq., 59.

Green, J.R., quoted, 33.

Heber, R., 85.

Hoods, 70-1, 75 seq.

'Inception,' 19, 29, 31.

Key, T., 60.

Laud, 'Grace' for, 39; and Proctorial election, 59; portrait of, 72; munificence of, 88.

Laudian Statutes, quoted, 4, 6, 18, 40; oath in, 13; greater strictness of, 67.

Lectures required for degree, 36; rules as to, 36-7; fees for, 37; cutting of, 38; college, 37.

'Licence,' origin of, 26; conferred, 27.

London, J., 60.

Margaret, the Lady, 55.

Master of Arts, admission of, 15; association of, 23; old qualifications for, 29, 43, 47; modern, 49; privileges of, 31; M.A.s term, 48; gowns of, 64, 69, 77; hood of, 71, 74, 77.

Master in Grammar, 28.

Masters of the Schools, 42.

Matriculation, 25.

'Nations,' divisions into, 58.

Neville, G., Chancellor, 51; arms of, 95.

New College, privilege of, 40.

Paris, University of, 23; examinations at, 41; Oxford and, 26 n.

Parliaments at Oxford of Charles I and Charles II, 89.

Parvis of St. Mary's, Examinations in, 42.

Pepys, S., 82.

Pig Market, the, 57 n.

'Plucking,' 10.

Pope and universities, 26.

Printing Press, 83, 89.

Proctors, history of, 57 seq.; walk of, 9; charge by, 12, 14, 17; 'books' of, 19 n.; dress of, 77.

Professor, original meaning of, 75 n.; presentations by, 11 n., 62-3.

Queen's College, customs of, 70 n.

Rashdall, Dr., quoted, 40 n., 55.

Registrar, history of, 60 seq.; duties of, 5, 61.

Residence for degree, 34; relaxations as to, 35, 47.

Responsions, 42.

Rich, E., 22-3.

St. Mary's, 80; bell of, 3.

Scott, Sir W., 86.

Sheldon, G., 80, 84.

Sheldonian, history of, 79 seq.; dedication of, 31, 81; roof of, 82; organ, 83; alteration of, 84.

Sophisters, 65.

South, R., 82.

Staves, description of, 94; Puritan 'Visitors', 55-6.

Streater, R., 82.

Studium Generale, 21 n., 26.

Supplicat, 8, 9.

Tailors, Oxford, 66, 74; statute as to, 64.

Terrae Filius at 'Act', 33, 54, 80 n.

Testamur, 61.

Tillotson, J., 82.

Tom Brown, quoted, 48.

Tract No. 90, 86.

Tufts on caps, 72, tuft-hunting, 73.

University, meaning of, 20; oldest charter of, 22; colonial and foreign, 35.

Vanbrugh, Sir J., 83.

Verdant Green, quoted, 10.

Vice-Chancellor, history of, 51 seq.; admission by, 17, 25.

Vivisection, debate on, 86.

Wellington, Duke of, 85.

White ties, 68.

Wills, J., 84.

Wood, A., quoted, 53, 54.

Wren, Sir C., 80, 81, 84.

Wykeham, W. of, 40.

Oxford: Printed at the Clarendon Press by HORACE HART, M.A.

THE END