Chapter 6

In spite of the ingenuity I expended, in order to imbibe as small a quantity of Latin and Greek as was possible, and of the number of persons, whom I have so frequently heard declaiming against the exclusive attention paid to their attainment, and with whom, during my pupillage, I entirely coincided, I cannot help smiling at the extent to which I have since _ratted_ in this respect. Now that I am no longer forced to profit by such studies, I have arrived at the conviction of their necessity. If a knowledge of our own language be desirable, they afford the only means of understanding the true import of the words which constitute it; and when, at times, I have sufficient diffidence to suspect my own capabilities of forming a correct opinion in the matter, and examine into that of others, I have to acknowledge, not only that the advocates of the dead languages are the most competent judges, but that the persons who oppose them the most strenuously, are invariably those who are the least conversant with them; while the former, again, are rarely heard to regret the time expended in their acquirements; while what superior though uneducated man, but has deplored his ignorance of them, and his want of opportunity to acquire them?

But I have, of late, arrived at such an extreme as to advocate the study to the exclusion of all others, with the exception of modern languages. My paradox is this, that which is downright indispensable for everyday life, do not teach us; for then, in spite of ourselves, we must, in these subjects, become our own instructors. If, in a few years after we have left the school, we possess not a respectable knowledge of such common, and easily acquired subjects, as arithmetic, history, and geography, we alone are culpable; and the more the world makes us sensible of our deficiency, the more we deserve it, and the sooner we shall set about to apply the remedy. Teach us, then, in boyhood, that which we will not, or in this case, perhaps, cannot teach ourselves--a knowledge of the classics.

I sometimes suspect that many persons doubt of their importance, from the fact of their being distinguished as the dead languages, while, perhaps, they are exactly the only immortal ones--unchangeable throughout all ages in their primitive purity. In an unwary, or perhaps charitable moment, I am seized with enthusiastic admiration of our forefathers' good taste in so justly appreciating the beauties of ancient literature, though I now and then have a misgiving that it is a relic of the cloister, which had no productions of its own to compete with them, and its traditional authority has not yet become extinct; not that the moderns have produced such works of genius as to supersede them, for those of the imagination are not to be accumulated to greater perfection, from age to age, like those of science. Indeed the works of the ancients, relative to the latter, are now only useful as instances of the progress of the human mind; nor could they be otherwise, as science is more or less perfect in proportion to the ages that have preceded; as it is the last man's knowledge, added to that of all his predecessors, or, as Sir John Herschel far better expresses it, it "is the knowledge of many, orderly and methodically digested and arranged, so as to become attainable by one;" and thus a respectable philosopher of the present day may possess more knowledge than even such powerful and original minds as those of Confucius or Zoroaster, Aristotle or Pythagoras: he is not like the goose I now see wading through the mud, and that can't build its nest a jot better than the sacred ones of the Capitol could.

With regard to works purely imaginative, perhaps the very converse of this will be found to be the case. The bard of Chios is not superseded by those of the Lakes, who, as far as all beauty imparted by the force of originality is concerned, even labour under a disadvantage, for every author is conscious that a strong memory is a dangerous thing, and will interfere with his originality in spite of himself.

If then the sublimest soarings of the human imagination conveyed to our minds, and clothed in all the beauties of language, are desirable, we shall seldom regret the hours we have expended over Homer or Virgil, Demosthenes or Cicero.

But although this comparatively exclusive attachment to the classics may be Eton's most prominent characteristic, I suspect it to be by no means the most important or beneficial one.

The contrast and contact, resulting from the sheer multitude of varying dispositions, refined by the gentlemanly tone of character indigenous to the college, afford advantages superior to all the rest put together.

There are three other prominent features in the economy of Eton, which I have touched on in former pages, namely, those of fagging, flogging, and attendance in church during the week days.

As regards the two former intellectual characteristics, I must admit that I am unusually obtuse; for although boasting a long and intimate acquaintance with both, I have never arrived at any certain conclusion as to their good or ill effects, though I have little doubt but that they contain a mixture of each, only I am uncertain which may preponderate.

The former might be profitable, both to the fagger and the fagged, did it not commence and finish at the wrong end; for could a boy be well fagged from the age of fourteen to eighteen, he would probably be all the better for it, but during this period he is unfortunately the despot. Many persons conclude that the system acts beneficially on the youthful members of the aristocracy; but I think the same end might be attained, and more respectably, by the mere jostling amid the crowd, without proceeding to the extremity of subjecting a boy of gentlemanly feeling, to the coarse caprices of a tradesman's son. I have myself _requested_ the present Marquis of D----e to walk into the playing-fields each evening, with a slop-basin in his hand, and milk an unusually quiet cow that used to be there; but this office fell to his lot, merely from his being the only boy in my dames who knew how to milk a cow--in fact, it was his boast that he could milk a cow better than any man in England. Lord C----stl----h too, must well remember when a great wild, raw-boned Irish fellow, with a rope round his waist, would throw himself from Lion's Leap into the river, by way of learning to swim, while his lordship was appointed to pull him out again; but the particular time that I now mean was, when he was all but drowned, and vociferating with Hibernian vehemence, "pull, you blackguard!" every time his head emerged for a moment from the bottom of the river. But whatever effects this levelling process may have in youthful days, I suspect that they are by no means permanent, and are completely obliterated on leaving the school.

With regard to the punishment of flogging, many persons condemn it, as degrading to a boy's character. These same persons would, probably, deem it out of place to raise their hats on entering a man's shop, and perhaps every one would feel it to be so in England; but in other countries, were they not to do so, the shopkeeper, from experience, would merely attribute the omission to what he deems an instance of ill-breeding, habitual to John Bull; or, when he is not aware of this, he will frequently decline to accommodate his customer. I mention this instance to show, that what may meet with disapprobation in one place, will not do so in another; and thus what to us at a distance, and in after years, may appear to be repulsive, may by no means be so considered during boyhood. Again, others will say, that it ought to be felt as a disgrace. To this, I can only answer that it never will be; for where there are so many boys as at Eton, this mode of punishment must frequently be adopted; and as often as it is, so certain, from its repetition, will it cease to be considered in that light--it is altogether a necessary evil, which flesh is heir to. Should the boy have committed anything unbecoming a gentleman, he is invariably and appropriately punished by the manner adopted towards him by his own associates, and the feeling of the school in general. Let flogging, then, still be tolerated as a mere physical and convenient inconvenience--its effect, too, is but ephemeral, and soon becomes lost among the things that were.

Not so will be the effects of frequent attendance in church. Concerning these three subjects, perhaps no two persons could be found who might entertain similar opinions; therefore, it behoves one to advance any decision as regards them with caution and diffidence; but if one of them admits of greater certainty of opinion than the others, is it not that relative to the frequent occurrence of the church service? However the other two subjects may be opposed, some advantages may be still held out in extenuation of their practice, but I cannot help feeling that this cloying attendance on chapel must be altogether pernicious.

His religion is not to be flogged or forced into a boy, like so much Latin and Greek, or even to be instilled into him by a comparative stranger. Until he comes to be able to inquire or think about it for himself, the duty of instructing him is exclusively incumbent on his parents, or on those who are in more immediate contact with him than the tutors of a college can be. The superior and sufficient influence of the former, in this respect, may be evidenced by the fact of a little Catholic boy whom I knew, duly attending church with the rest of us, and afterwards leaving the school, and remaining to this day as stanch a Papist as ever entered the confessional.

Out of the six or seven hundred boys present during divine service, should only fifty of them have their minds properly disposed, there would be something to advance in support of the practice; but that even this cannot be urged, I would appeal not only to every old Etonian, but to every boy of the present day. With the exception of Sunday, to which, of course, I am not now alluding, a boy, in my time, would almost as soon think of bringing a cricket-bat into church with him as a prayer-book; and if the prayers attracted our attention at all, it was but momentarily, and that merely to ascertain whether the tedious chaplain had nearly arrived at the conclusion of the service.

I assume the nature of boys of the present day to be similar to that of boys twenty years ago; and if so, I suspect that all these services have added about as much to the growth and strength of their religious principles, as the hundred-and-one paternosters and ave-marias muttered by a monk of Camaldoli for the last half century.

But was the evil merely negative, one would hesitate to object to anything that has been adopted for ages by a foundation so admirably conducted as that of Eton, and which has ever worked so well; but an additional effect of this compulsory attendance is to induce, by the force of early habit, an indifference and callousness of feeling during divine service, which but few in after life have the grace to overcome. But are the tutors of the College sensible of similar effects within themselves? Probably not; for there is little reason that they should, inasmuch as they have been preferred to their present situations, and carefully selected from a multitude, in consequence of their very singularity in this respect.

The promoters of this system seem to be guided, not by how it affects the boys, but by how they wish it would. While attending these services with appropriate feeling themselves, I suspect that they are apt to forget how different was their own conduct on the same occasions in their youth; or if not, they must imagine that the rising generation has become far more immaculate than their predecessors; "but boys will be boys" to the end of the chapter--and here it is.