الفصل الفصل 47 · 第47章

. Ernest returned to Cambridge for the May term of 1858, on the plea of

reading for ordination, with which he was now face to face, and much

nearer than he liked. Up to this time, though not religiously inclined,

he had never doubted the truth of anything that had been told him about

Christianity. He had never seen anyone who doubted, nor read anything

that raised a suspicion in his mind as to the historical character of

the miracles recorded in the Old and New Testaments.

It must be remembered that the year 1858 was the last of a term during

which the peace of the Church of England was singularly unbroken.

Between 1844, when “Vestiges of Creation” appeared, and 1859, when

“Essays and Reviews” marked the commencement of that storm which raged

until many years afterwards, there was not a single book published in

England that caused serious commotion within the bosom of the Church.

Perhaps Buckle’s “History of Civilisation” and Mill’s “Liberty” were

the most alarming, but they neither of them reached the substratum of

the reading public, and Ernest and his friends were ignorant of their

very existence. The Evangelical movement, with the exception to which I

shall revert presently, had become almost a matter of ancient history.

Tractarianism had subsided into a tenth day’s wonder; it was at work,

but it was not noisy. The “Vestiges” were forgotten before Ernest went

up to Cambridge; the Catholic aggression scare had lost its terrors;

Ritualism was still unknown by the general provincial public, and the

Gorham and Hampden controversies were defunct some years since; Dissent

was not spreading; the Crimean war was the one engrossing subject, to

be followed by the Indian Mutiny and the Franco-Austrian war. These

great events turned men’s minds from speculative subjects, and there

was no enemy to the faith which could arouse even a languid interest.

At no time probably since the beginning of the century could an

ordinary observer have detected less sign of coming disturbance than at

that of which I am writing.

I need hardly say that the calm was only on the surface. Older men, who

knew more than undergraduates were likely to do, must have seen that

the wave of scepticism which had already broken over Germany was

setting towards our own shores, nor was it long, indeed, before it

reached them. Ernest had hardly been ordained before three works in

quick succession arrested the attention even of those who paid least

heed to theological controversy. I mean “Essays and Reviews,” Charles

Darwin’s “Origin of Species,” and Bishop Colenso’s “Criticisms on the

Pentateuch.”

This, however, is a digression; I must revert to the one phase of

spiritual activity which had any life in it during the time Ernest was

at Cambridge, that is to say, to the remains of the Evangelical

awakening of more than a generation earlier, which was connected with

the name of Simeon.

There were still a good many Simeonites, or as they were more briefly

called “Sims,” in Ernest’s time. Every college contained some of them,

but their headquarters were at Caius, whither they were attracted by Mr

Clayton who was at that time senior tutor, and among the sizars of St

John’s.

Behind the then chapel of this last-named college, there was a

“labyrinth” (this was the name it bore) of dingy, tumble-down rooms,

tenanted exclusively by the poorest undergraduates, who were dependent

upon sizarships and scholarships for the means of taking their degrees.

To many, even at St John’s, the existence and whereabouts of the

labyrinth in which the sizars chiefly lived was unknown; some men in

Ernest’s time, who had rooms in the first court, had never found their

way through the sinuous passage which led to it.

In the labyrinth there dwelt men of all ages, from mere lads to

grey-haired old men who had entered late in life. They were rarely seen

except in hall or chapel or at lecture, where their manners of feeding,

praying and studying, were considered alike objectionable; no one knew

whence they came, whither they went, nor what they did, for they never

showed at cricket or the boats; they were a gloomy, seedy-looking

_conférie_, who had as little to glory in in clothes and manners as in

the flesh itself.

Ernest and his friends used to consider themselves marvels of economy

for getting on with so little money, but the greater number of dwellers

in the labyrinth would have considered one-half of their expenditure to

be an exceeding measure of affluence, and so doubtless any domestic

tyranny which had been experienced by Ernest was a small thing to what

the average Johnian sizar had had to put up with.

A few would at once emerge on its being found after their first

examination that they were likely to be ornaments to the college; these

would win valuable scholarships that enabled them to live in some

degree of comfort, and would amalgamate with the more studious of those

who were in a better social position, but even these, with few

exceptions, were long in shaking off the uncouthness they brought with

them to the University, nor would their origin cease to be easily

recognisable till they had become dons and tutors. I have seen some of

these men attain high position in the world of politics or science, and

yet still retain a look of labyrinth and Johnian sizarship.

Unprepossessing then, in feature, gait and manners, unkempt and

ill-dressed beyond what can be easily described, these poor fellows

formed a class apart, whose thoughts and ways were not as the thoughts

and ways of Ernest and his friends, and it was among them that

Simeonism chiefly flourished.

Destined most of them for the Church (for in those days “holy orders”

were seldom heard of), the Simeonites held themselves to have received

a very loud call to the ministry, and were ready to pinch themselves

for years so as to prepare for it by the necessary theological courses.

To most of them the fact of becoming clergymen would be the _entrée_

into a social position from which they were at present kept out by

barriers they well knew to be impassable; ordination, therefore, opened

fields for ambition which made it the central point in their thoughts,

rather than as with Ernest, something which he supposed would have to

be done some day, but about which, as about dying, he hoped there was

no need to trouble himself as yet.

By way of preparing themselves more completely they would have meetings

in one another’s rooms for tea and prayer and other spiritual

exercises. Placing themselves under the guidance of a few well-known

tutors they would teach in Sunday Schools, and be instant, in season

and out of season, in imparting spiritual instruction to all whom they

could persuade to listen to them.

But the soil of the more prosperous undergraduates was not suitable for

the seed they tried to sow. The small pieties with which they larded

their discourse, if chance threw them into the company of one whom they

considered worldly, caused nothing but aversion in the minds of those

for whom they were intended. When they distributed tracts, dropping

them by night into good men’s letter boxes while they were asleep,

their tracts got burnt, or met with even worse contumely; they were

themselves also treated with the ridicule which they reflected proudly

had been the lot of true followers of Christ in all ages. Often at

their prayer meetings was the passage of St Paul referred to in which

he bids his Corinthian converts note concerning themselves that they

were for the most part neither well-bred nor intellectual people. They

reflected with pride that they too had nothing to be proud of in these

respects, and like St Paul, gloried in the fact that in the flesh they

had not much to glory.

Ernest had several Johnian friends, and came thus to hear about the

Simeonites and to see some of them, who were pointed out to him as they

passed through the courts. They had a repellent attraction for him; he

disliked them, but he could not bring himself to leave them alone. On

one occasion he had gone so far as to parody one of the tracts they had

sent round in the night, and to get a copy dropped into each of the

leading Simeonites’ boxes. The subject he had taken was “Personal

Cleanliness.” Cleanliness, he said, was next to godliness; he wished to

know on which side it was to stand, and concluded by exhorting

Simeonites to a freer use of the tub. I cannot commend my hero’s humour

in this matter; his tract was not brilliant, but I mention the fact as

showing that at this time he was something of a Saul and took pleasure

in persecuting the elect, not, as I have said, that he had any

hankering after scepticism, but because, like the farmers in his

father’s village, though he would not stand seeing the Christian

religion made light of, he was not going to see it taken seriously.

Ernest’s friends thought his dislike for Simeonites was due to his

being the son of a clergyman who, it was known, bullied him; it is more

likely, however, that it rose from an unconscious sympathy with them,

which, as in St Paul’s case, in the end drew him into the ranks of

those whom he had most despised and hated.