Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (855 page)

COLLEGE PAPERS

I

EDINBURGH STUDENTS IN 1

On the 2nd of January 1824 was issued the prospectus of the
Lapsus Linguæ; or, the College Tatler;
and on the 7th the first number appeared. On Friday the 2nd of April “
Mr. Tatler
became speechless.” Its history was not all one success; for the editor (who applies to himself the words of Iago, “I am nothing if I am not critical”) over-stepped the bounds of caution, and found himself seriously embroiled with the powers that were. There appeared in No. xvi. a most bitter satire upon Sir John Leslie, in which he was compared to Falstaff, charged with puffing himself, and very prettily censured for publishing only the first volume of a class-book, and making all purchasers pay for both. Sir John Leslie took up the matter angrily, visited Carfrae the publisher, and threatened him with an action, till he was forced to turn the hapless
Lapsus
out of doors. The maltreated periodical found shelter in the shop of Huie, Infirmary Street; and No. xvii. was duly issued from the new office. No. xvii. beheld
Mr. Tatler’s
humiliation, in which, with fulsome apology and not very credible assurances of respect and admiration, he disclaims the article in question, and advertises a new issue of No. xvi. with all objectionable matter omitted. This, with pleasing euphemism, he terms in a later advertisement, “a new and improved edition.” This was the only remarkable adventure of
Mr. Tatler’s
brief existence; unless we consider 42 as such a silly Chaldee manuscript in imitation of
Blackwood
, and a letter of reproof from a divinity student on the impiety of the same dull effusion. He laments the near approach of his end in pathetic terms. “How shall we summon up sufficient courage,” says he, “to look for the last time on our beloved little devil and his inestimable proof-sheet? How shall we be able to pass No. 14 Infirmary Street and feel that all its attractions are over? How shall we bid farewell for ever to that excellent man, with the long greatcoat, wooden leg and wooden board, who acts as our representative at the gate of
Alma Mater?
” But alas! he had no choice:
Mr. Tatler
, whose career, he says himself, had been successful, passed peacefully away, and has ever since dumbly implored “the bringing home of bell and burial.”

Alter et idem
. A very different affair was the
Lapsus Linguæ
from the
Edinburgh University Magazine
. The two prospectuses alone, laid side by side, would indicate the march of luxury and the repeal of the paper duty. The penny bi-weekly broadside of session 1823-4 was almost wholly dedicated to Momus. Epigrams, pointless letters, amorous verses, and University grievances are the continual burthen of the song. But
Mr. Tatler
was not without a vein of hearty humour; and his pages afford what is much better: to wit, a good picture of student life as it then was. The students of those polite days insisted on retaining their hats in the class-room. There was a cab-stance in front of the College; and “Carriage Entrance” was posted above the main arch, on what the writer pleases to call “coarse, unclassic boards.” The benches of the “Speculative” then, as now, were red; but all other Societies (the “Dialectic” is the only survivor) met downstairs, in some rooms of which it is pointedly said that “nothing else could conveniently be made of them.” However horrible these dungeons may have been, it is certain that they were paid for, and that far too heavily for the taste of session 1823-4, which found enough calls 43 upon its purse for porter and toasted cheese at Ambrose’s, or cranberry tarts and ginger-wine at Doull’s. Duelling was still a possibility; so much so that when two medicals fell to fisticuffs in Adam Square, it was seriously hinted that single combat would be the result. Last and most wonderful of all, Gall and Spurzheim were in every one’s mouth; and the Law student, after having exhausted Byron’s poetry and Scott’s novels, informed the ladies of his belief in phrenology. In the present day he would dilate on “Red as a rose is she,” and then mention that he attends Old Greyfriars’, as a tacit claim to intellectual superiority. I do not know that the advance is much.

But
Mr. Tatler’s
best performances were three short papers in which he hit off pretty smartly the idiosyncrasies of the “
Divinity
,” the “
Medical
,” and the “
Law
” of session 1823-4. The fact that there was no notice of the “
Arts
” seems to suggest that they stood in the same intermediate position as they do now — the epitome of student-kind.
Mr. Tatler’s
satire is, on the whole, good-humoured, and has not grown superannuated in
all
its limbs. His descriptions may limp at some points, but there are certain broad traits that apply equally well to session 1870-71. He shows us the
Divinity
of the period — tall, pale, and slender — his collar greasy, and his coat bare about the seams — ”his white neckcloth serving four days, and regularly turned the third,” — ”the rim of his hat deficient in wool,” — and “a weighty volume of theology under his arm.” He was the man to buy cheap “a snuff-box, or a dozen of pencils, or a six-bladed knife, or a quarter of a hundred quills,” at any of the public sale-rooms. He was noted for cheap purchases, and for exceeding the legal tender in halfpence. He haunted “the darkest and remotest corner of the Theatre Gallery.” He was to be seen issuing from “aerial lodging-houses.” Withal, says mine author, “there were many good points about him: he paid his landlady’s bill, read his Bible, went twice to 44 church on Sunday, seldom swore, was not often tipsy, and bought the
Lapsus Linguæ
.”

The
Medical
, again, “wore a white greatcoat, and consequently talked loud” — (there is something very delicious in that
consequently
). He wore his hat on one side. He was active, volatile, and went to the top of Arthur’s Seat on the Sunday forenoon. He was as quiet in a debating society as he was loud in the streets. He was reckless and imprudent: yesterday he insisted on your sharing a bottle of claret with him (and claret was claret then, before the cheap-and-nasty treaty), and to-morrow he asks you for the loan of a penny to buy the last number of the
Lapsus
.

The student of
Law
, again, was a learned man. “He had turned over the leaves of Justinian’s ‘Institutes,’ and knew that they were written in Latin. He was well acquainted with the title-page of ‘Blackstone’s Commentaries,’ and
argal
(as the gravedigger in
Hamlet
says) he was not a person to be laughed at.” He attended the Parliament House in the character of a critic, and could give you stale sneers at all the celebrated speakers. He was the terror of essayists at the Speculative or the Forensic. In social qualities he seems to have stood unrivalled. Even in the police-office we find him shining with undiminished lustre. “If a
Charlie
should find him rather noisy at an untimely hour, and venture to take him into custody, he appears next morning like a Daniel come to judgment. He opens his mouth to speak, and the divine precepts of unchanging justice and Scots law flow from his tongue. The magistrate listens in amazement, and fines him only a couple of guineas.”

Such then were our predecessors and their College Magazine. Barclay, Ambrose, Young Amos, and Fergusson were to them what the Café, the Rainbow, and Rutherford’s are to us. An hour’s reading in these old pages absolutely confuses us, there is so much that is similar and so much that is different; the follies and amusements are so like our own, and the manner of frolicking and enjoying are so 45 changed, that one pauses and looks about him in philosophic judgment. The muddy quadrangle is thick with living students; but in our eyes it swarms also with the phantasmal white greatcoats and tilted hats of 1824. Two races meet: races alike and diverse. Two performances are played before our eyes; but the change seems merely of impersonators, of scenery, of costume. Plot and passion are the same. It is the fall of the spun shilling whether seventy-one or twenty-four has the best of it.

In a future number we hope to give a glance at the individualities of the present, and see whether the cast shall be head or tail — whether we or the readers of the
Lapsus
stand higher in the balance.

II

THE MODERN STUDENT CONSIDERED GENERALLY

We have now reached the difficult portion of our task.
Mr. Tatler
, for all that we care, may have been as virulent as he liked about the students of a former day; but for the iron to touch our sacred selves, for a brother of the Guild to betray its most privy infirmities, let such a Judas look to himself as he passes on his way to the Scots Law or the Diagnostic, below the solitary lamp at the corner of the dark quadrangle. We confess that this idea alarms us. We enter a protest. We bind ourselves over verbally to keep the peace. We hope, moreover, that having thus made you secret to our misgivings, you will excuse us if we be dull, and set that down to caution which you might before have charged to the account of stupidity.

The natural tendency of civilisation is to obliterate those distinctions which are the best salt of life. All the fine old professional flavour in language has evaporated. 46 Your very gravedigger has forgotten his avocation in his electorship, and would quibble on the Franchise over Ophelia’s grave, instead of more appropriately discussing the duration of bodies under ground. From this tendency, from this gradual attrition of life, in which everything pointed and characteristic is being rubbed down, till the whole world begins to slip between our fingers in smooth undistinguishable sands, from this, we say, it follows that we must not attempt to join
Mr. Tatler
in his simple division of students into
Law
,
Divinity
, and
Medical
. Nowadays the Faculties may shake hands over their follies; and, like Mrs. Frail and Mrs. Foresight (in
Love for Love
) they may stand in the doors of opposite class-rooms, crying: “Sister, Sister — Sister everyway!” A few restrictions, indeed, remain to influence the followers of individual branches of study. The
Divinity
, for example, must be an avowed believer; and as this, in the present day, is unhappily considered by many as a confession of weakness, he is fain to choose one of two ways of gilding the distasteful orthodox bolus. Some swallow it in a thin jelly of metaphysics; for it is even a credit to believe in God on the evidence of some crack-jaw philosopher, although it is a decided slur to believe in Him on His own authority. Others again (and this we think the worst method), finding German grammar a somewhat dry morsel, run their own little heresy as a proof of independence; and deny one of the cardinal doctrines that they may hold the others without being laughed at.

Besides, however, such influences as these, there is little more distinction between the faculties than the traditionary ideal, handed down through a long sequence of students, and getting rounder and more featureless at each successive session. The plague of uniformity has descended on the College. Students (and indeed all sorts and conditions of men) now require their faculty and character hung round their neck on a placard, like the scenes in Shakespeare’s theatre. And in the midst of all this weary sameness, not 47 the least common feature is the gravity of every face. No more does the merry medical run eagerly in the clear winter morning up the rugged sides of Arthur’s Seat, and hear the church bells begin and thicken and die away below him among the gathered smoke of the city. He will not break Sunday to so little purpose. He no longer finds pleasure in the mere output of his surplus energy. He husbands his strength, and lays out walks, and reading, and amusement with deep consideration, so that he may get as much work and pleasure out of his body as he can, and waste none of his energy on mere impulse, or such flat enjoyment as an excursion in the country.

See the quadrangle in the interregnum of classes, in those two or three minutes when it is full of passing students, and we think you will admit that, if we have not made it “an habitation of dragons,” we have at least transformed it into “a court for owls.” Solemnity broods heavily over the enclosure; and wherever you seek it, you will find a dearth of merriment, an absence of real youthful enjoyment. You might as well try

“To move wild laughter in the throat of death”

as to excite any healthy stir among the bulk of this staid company.

The studious congregate about the doors of the different classes, debating the matter of the lecture, or comparing note-books. A reserved rivalry sunders them. Here are some deep in Greek particles: there, others are already inhabitants of that land

But none of them seem to find any relish for their studies — no pedantic love of this subject or that lights up their eyes — science and learning are only means for a livelihood, 48 which they have considerately embraced and which they solemnly pursue. “Labour’s pale priests,” their lips seem incapable of laughter, except in the way of polite recognition of professorial wit. The stains of ink are chronic on their meagre fingers. They walk like Saul among the asses.

The dandies are not less subdued. In 1824 there was a noisy dapper dandyism abroad. Vulgar, as we should now think, but yet genial — a matter of white greatcoats and loud voices — strangely different from the stately frippery that is rife at present. These men are out of their element in the quadrangle. Even the small remains of boisterous humour, which still clings to any collection of young men, jars painfully on their morbid sensibilities; and they beat a hasty retreat to resume their perfunctory march along Princes Street. Flirtation is to them a great social duty, a painful obligation, which they perform on every occasion in the same chill official manner, and with the same commonplace advances, the same dogged observance of traditional behaviour. The shape of their raiment is a burden almost greater than they can bear, and they halt in their walk to preserve the due adjustment of their trouser-knees, till one would fancy he had mixed in a procession of Jacobs. We speak, of course, for ourselves; but we would as soon associate with a herd of sprightly apes as with these gloomy modern beaux. Alas, that our Mirabels, our Valentines, even our Brummels, should have left their mantles upon nothing more amusing!