Chapter 7: Martin's First Day At Oxford.
It was a lovely morning in the Eastertide of 1256 when young Martinlooked forth from the window of his hostel at Oxford on the quaintstreets, the stately towers of the semi-monastic city. He wasbound, of course, as a dutiful son of Mother Church, to attend theearly service at one of the thirteen churches, after which, stillat a very early hour, he was invited to break his fast with thegreat Franciscan, Adam de Maresco, to whom his friend the chaplainhad strongly commended him. So he put on his scholar's gown, andwent to the finest church then existing in Oxford, the Abbey Churchof Oseney.
This magnificent abbey had been endowed by Robert D'Oyley, nephewof the Norman Conqueror, mentioned in another of our Chronicles{12}. It was situated on an island, formed by various branchesof the Isis, in the western suburbs of the city, and extended asfar as from the present Oseney Mill to St. Thomas' Church. Theabbey church, long since destroyed, was lofty and magnificent,containing twenty-four altars, a central tower of great height, anda western tower. Here King Henry III passed a Christmas with"reverent mirth."
There was a large gathering of monks, friars, and students; thequiet sober side of Oxford predominated in the early dawn, andMartin thought he had never seen so orderly a city. He was destinedto change his ideas, or at least modify them, before he laid hishead on his pillow that night.
Before leaving the church Martin ascended to the summit of theabbey tower, the wicket gate of which stood invitingly open, inorder to survey the city and country, and gain a general idea ofhis future home. Below him, in the sweet freshness of the earlymorn, the branches of the Isis surrounded the abbey precincts, theriver being well guarded by stone work and terraces, so that itcould not at flood time encroach upon the abbey. Neither before thedays of locks could or did such floods occur as we have now, thewater got away more readily, and the students could not sail upon"Port Meadow" as upon a lake, in the winter and spring, as they doat the present day.
Beyond the abbey rose the church and college of "Saint George inthe Castle," that is within the precincts of the fortress, and thegreat mound thrown up by Queen Ethelflaed, a sister of Alfred, nowcalled the Jew's Mount {13}, and the two towers of the NormanCastle seemed to make one group with church and college. The townchurch of Saint Martin rose from a thickly-built group of houses,at a spot called Quatre Voies, where the principal streets crossed,which name we corrupt into Carfax. He counted the towers ofthirteen churches, including the historic shrine of SaintFrideswide, which afterwards developed into the College ofChristchurch, and later still furnished the Cathedral of thediocese.
Around lay a wild land of heath and forest, with cultivated fieldsvery infrequently interspersed; the moors of Cowley, the woods ofShotover and Bagley; and farther still, the forests of Nuneham,inhabited even then by the Harcourts, who still hold the ancestraldemesne. Descending, he made his way to Greyfriars, as theFranciscan house was called, encountering many groups who werealready wending their way to lecture room, or, like Martin,returning to break their fast after morning chapel, which thenmeant early mass at one of the many churches, for only in three orfour instances had corporate bodies chapels of their own.
These groups were very unlike modern undergraduates; as a rule theywere much younger people, of the same ages as the upper forms inour public schools, from fourteen or fifteen years upwards; mereboys, living in crowded hostels, fighting and quarrelling with allthe sweet "abandon" of early youth, sometimes begging masterfully,for licenses to beg were granted to poor students, living, it mightbe, in the greatest poverty, but still devoted to learning.
At length Martin arrived at the house of the Franciscans, where hewas eventually to lodge, but they had no room for him at thismoment, hence he had been sent to a hostelry, licensed to takelodgers; much to the regret of Adam de Maresco. But he could notshow partiality. Each newcomer must take his turn, according to thedate of the entry of his name. The friary was on the marshy groundbetween the walls and the Isis, on land bestowed upon them incharity, amongst the huts of the poor whom they loved. At firsthuts of mud and timber, as rough and rude as those around, arosewithin the fence and ditch which they drew and dug around theirhabitations, but the necessities of the climate had driven them tobuild in stone, for the damp climate, the mists and fogs from theIsis, soon rotted away their woodwork. And so Martin found a verysimple, but very substantial building in the Norman architecture ofthe period. The first "Provincial" of the Greyfriars had persuadedRobert Grosseteste, afterwards the great Bishop of Lincoln, tolecture at the school they founded in their Oxford house, and allhis powerful influence was exercised to gain them a sound footingin the University. They deserved it, for their schools attained areputation throughout Christendom, so nobly was the work, whichGrosseteste began, carried on by his scholar and successor, Adam deMaresco.
And they had helped to make Oxford, as it was then, the second cityof importance in England, and only second to Paris amongst thelearned cities of the world.
Martin was shown along a cloister looking through the most sombreof Norman arches, upon a greensward. The doors of many cells openedupon it. He was told to knock at one of them, and a deep voicereplied, "Enter in the name of the Lord."
It was a large, plain room, with a vaulted ceiling lighted bylancet windows and scantily furnished; rough oaken benches, a plainheavy table, covered with parchments and manuscripts: in one recessa Prie-Dieu beneath a crucifix, and under the fald stool a skull,with the words "memento mori," three or four chairs with painfullystraight backs, a cupboard for books (manuscripts) and parchments,another for vestments ecclesiastical or collegiate. This was allwhich cumbered the bare floor. At the corner of the room a spiralstone staircase led to the bed chamber.
Before the table stood an aged and venerable man, in the grayclothing of the Franciscans, sweet in face, pleasant in manner,dignified in hearing, in reputation without a stain, in learningunsurpassed.
Martin bowed reverently before him, and gave him the chaplain'sletter.
"I had heard of thy arrival, my son. I trust thou hast foundcomfortable lodgings at the hostel I recommended?"
"I have slept well, my father."
"And hast not forgotten thy duty to God?"
"I should do discredit to my teacher at Kenilworth if I did. I havebeen to the abbey church."
"He is a man of God, and I doubt not thou art worthy of his love,for he writes of thee as a father might of a much-loved son. Butnow, my son, we must break our fast. Come to the refectorium withme."
Passing into the cloister they came to the dining hall or"refectorium." Three long tables, a fourth where the elders andprofessors sat, on a raised platform at right angles to the others.A hundred men and boys had already assembled, and after a Latingrace, breakfast began. It was not a fast day, so the fare wassubstantial, although quite plain--porridge, pease soup, bread,meat, cheese, and ale. The most sober youth of the university werethere, men who meant eventually to assume the gray habit, and carrythe Gospel over wilderness and forest, in the slums of towns, oramongst the heathen, counting peril as nought. There was no buzz ofconversation, only from a stone pulpit the reader read a chapterfrom the Gospels.
After this was done, grace after meat was said, and the eldersfirst departed, the great master taking Martin back with him intohis cell.
"And now, my son, what dost thou come to Oxford for?"
"To learn that I may afterwards teach."
"And what dost thou desire to become?"
"One of your holy brotherhood, a brother of Saint Francis."
"Dost thou know what that means, my son? Scanty clothing, hardfare, the absence of all that men most value, the welcoming ofperils and hardships as thy daily companions, that thou mayst takethy life in thy hand, and find the sheep of Christ amongst thewolves."
"All this I have been told."
"Well, my son, thou art yet new to the world. At Oxford thou willsee it, and will make thy choice better when thou knowest both whatthou rejectest and what thou seekest. Mea
nwhile, guard thy youthfulsteps; avoid quarrelling, fighting, drinking, dicing; mortify thineown flesh--"
"Do these temptations await me in Oxford?"
"The air has been full of them, since Henry brought the thousandstudents from the gay university of Paris hither. Thou wilt soonsee, and gauge thy power of resisting temptation. I would not say,stay indoors. The virtue which has never been tested is nought."
"Where do the brethren chiefly work for God?"
"In the noisome lazar houses, amongst the lepers, in the shamblesof Newgate, here on the swamps between the walls and the Thames,where men live and suffer. We do not enter the brotherhood to buildgrand buildings. We sleep on bare pallets without pillows."
"Why without pillows?" asked Martin, wondering.
"We need no little mountains to lift our heads to heaven. None butthe sick go shod."
"Is it not dangerous to health to go without shoes in the winter?"
"God protects us," said the master, smiling sweetly. "One of ourfriars found a pair of shoes last winter on a frosty morning, andwore them to matins. At night he had a dream. He dreamt that he wastravelling on the work of God, and that at a dangerous pass in theforest of the Cotswolds, robbers leapt out upon him, crying, 'Kill,kill.'
"'I am a friar,' he shrieked.
"'You lie,' they replied, 'for you go shod.'
"He awoke and threw the shoes out of the window."
"And did he catch cold afterwards?"
Another smile.
"No, my son, all these things go by habit."
"Shall I begin to leave off my shoes?"
"Not yet, your vocation is not settled. You may yet choose theworld."
"I never shall."
"Poor boy, you are young and cannot tell. Perhaps before nightfalla different light may be thrown upon your good resolutions."
A pause ensued. At length Martin went on, "At least you have books.I love books."
"At first we had not even them, but later on the Holy Fatherthought that those who contend with the unbelieving learned shouldbe learned themselves. They who pour forth must suck in."
"When did the Order come to Oxford?"
"Thirty years agone. When we first landed at Dover we made our wayto London, the home of commerce, and Oxford, the home of learning.The two first gray brethren lost their way in the woods of Nuneham,on their road to the city, and afraid of the floods, which wereout, and of the dark night, which made it difficult to avoid thewater, took refuge in a grange, which belonged to the Abbey ofAbingdon, where dwelt a small branch of the great BenedictineBrotherhood. Their clothes were ragged and torn with thorns, andthey only spoke broken English, so the monks took them for thetravelling jugglers of the day, and welcomed them with greathospitality. But after supper they all assembled in the commonroom, and bade the supposed jugglers show their craft.
"'We be not jugglers, we be poor brethren of our Lord and SaintFrancis.'
"Now the monks were very jealous of the new Order, so unlikethemselves, in its renunciation of ease and luxury, and in veryspite they called them knaves and impostors, and kicked them out ofdoors."
"What did they do?"
"They slept under a tree, and the angels comforted them. The nextday they got to Oxford and began their work. The plague had beenraging in the poorer quarters of the city, and they brought the joyof the Gospel to those miserable people. At length their numbersincreased, and they built this house wherein we dwell."
In such conversation as this Martin passed a happy hour, then wentto the first lecture he attended, in the schools attached to thefriary, where the great works of Augustine and Aquinas formed thetext books; no Creek as yet. He passed from Latin to Logic, as thehandmaid of theology. The great thinker Aristotle supplied themethod, not the language or matter, and became the ally ofChristianity, under the rendering of a learned brother.
Then followed the noontide meal, a stroll with some youngercompanions of his own age, to whom he had been speciallyintroduced, which led them so far afield that they only returned intime for the vesper service, at the friary.
After the service Martin should have returned to his lodgings atonce, but, tempted by the novelty of all he saw about him, helingered in the streets, and saw cause to alter his opinion of theextreme propriety of the students. Some of them were playing atpitch and toss in the thievish corners. At least half a dozen pairsof antagonists were settling their quarrels with their fists orwith quarterstaves, in various secluded nooks. Songs, gay ratherthan grave, not to say a trifle licentious, resounded; while onceor twice he was asked: "Are you North or South?"--a query to whichhe hardly knew how to reply, Kenilworth being north and Sussexsouth of Oxford.
But the penalty of not answering was a rude jostling, which triedhis temper sadly, and awoke the old Adam within him, which ourreaders remember only slumbered. He looked through the open door ofa tavern. It was full of the young reprobates, and the noise andturmoil was deafening.
As he stood by the door, three or four grave-looking men camealong.
"We must get them all home, or there will be bloodshed tonight,"Martin heard one say.
"It will be difficult," replied the other.
Into the tavern they turned, and the noise suddenly subsided.
"What do ye here, ye reprobates, that ye stand drinking, dicing,quarrelling? To your hostels, every one of you," said the first.
Martin expected scornful resistance, and was surprised to see thatinstead, all the rapscallions evacuated the place, and the"proctors," as we should now call them, remained to remonstratewith the host, whose license they threatened to withdraw.
"How can I help it?" he said. "They be too many for me."
"If you cannot keep order, seek another trade," was the sternresponse. "We cannot have the morals of our scholars corrupted."
"Bless you, sirs, it is they who corrupt me. I don't know half thewickedness they do."
Our readers need not believe him, the proctors did not.
But Martin took the warning, and was bent on getting home, only helost his way, and could not find it again. It was not for want ofasking; but the young scholars he met preferred lies to truth, inthe mere frolic of puzzling a newcomer, and sent him first toFrideswide's, thence to the East Gate, near Saint Clement's Chapel,and he was making his way back with difficulty along the HighStreet when he heard an awful confusion and uproar about the"Quatre Voies" (Carfax) Conduit.
"Down with the lubberly North men!"
"Split their skulls, though they be like those of the bullockstheir sires drive!"
"Down with the moss troopers!"
"Boves boreales!"
And answering cries:
"Down with the lisping, smooth-tongued Southerners!"
"Australes asini!"
"Eheu!"
"Slay me every one with a burr in his mouth." (An allusion to theNorthumbrian accent.)
"Down with the mincing fools who have got no r.r.r's"
"Burrrrn them, you should say."
"Frangite capita."
"Percutite porcos boreales."
"Vim inferre australibus asinis."
"Sternite omnes Gallos."
So they shouted imprecations in Latin and English, and eke inFrench, for there were many Gauls about.
What chance of getting through the fighting, drunken, riotous mobs?Quarterstaves were rising and falling upon heads and shoulders. Nodeadlier weapons were used, but showers of missiles from time totime descended, unsavoury or otherwise.
At length the superior force of the Northern men prevailed, andMartin, whose blood was strangely stirred, saw a slim and delicateyouth fighting so bravely with a huge Northern ox ("bos borealis,"he called him) that for a time he stayed the rush, until the wholeSouthern line gave way and Martin, entangled with the rout, gotdriven down Saint Mary's Lane, opposite the church of that name, anearlier building on the site of the present University church.
At an angle of the street, where another lane entered in, the youngSoutherner before mentioned turn
ed to bay, and with three or fourmore of his countryfolk kept the narrow way against scores ofpursuers.
Martin could not restrain himself any longer. He saw three or fourmen pressed by dozens, and rushed with all the fire of his generousand impetuous nature to their aid, in time to intercept a blowaimed at the young leader:
Well could he brandish such weapons, and he stood side by side andsettled many a "bos borealis," or northern bullock, with as muchzest as ever a southern butcher. But at length his leader fell, andMartin stood diverting the strokes aimed at his fallen companion,who was stunned for the moment, until a rough hearty voice criedout:
"Let them alone, they have had enough. 'Tis cowardly to fight adozen to one. Listen, the row is on in the Quatre Voies again. Weshall find more there."
The two were left alone.
Martin raised his wounded companion, whose head was bleedingprofusely.
"Art thou hurt much?"
"Not so very much, only dazed. I shall soon be better. I am closehome."
"Let me support you. Lean on me, I will see you safe."
"You came just in time. Where did you come from? I never saw youbefore--and where did you learn to handle the cudgel so well?"
"From the woods of merry Sussex, and later on, the tilt yard ofKenilworth."
"Oh, you are a true Southerner, then. So am I, the second son ofWaleran de Monceux of Herst, in the Andredsweald.
"Here we are at home--come in to Saint Dymas' Hall."