Old Men in Love

21: LAMPETER

Said the principal, “Welcome, gentlemen, to St David’s College, Lampeter. We don’t know each other yet, but when we separate four years from now I hope we shall be firm friends.”

He was middle aged, robust, bland, ruddy and stood, teacup in hand, his back to a sideboard supporting an arrangement of silver plate. On the wall behind hung framed engravings of the Holy Family by Raphael and Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam; before him was a room of new students. Some wore dark clothes and seemed uneasy with the teacups and saucers they held; a few wore more fashionably-cut clothes with notes of colour in the waistcoats, and these students held their tea things more nonchalantly. Henry James Prince, though most soberly dressed, handled cup and saucer with the ease of the more obviously fashionable.

“Ours is not a venerable institution, gentlemen,” said the Principal, “and maybe some of you regret that your parents or guardians could not afford the fees demanded by Oxford. Speakin’ as a former senior wrangler I can honestly say that you are better off here. Oxford is now infested by sophistical vipers who have turned against the mother who bore them — the Church of England — and degraded themselves to the worship of saints, angels, fumigations and all kinds of unmanly rot. You’re well out of it.

“A dangerous age, gentlemen! Mad messiahs are springin’ up like mushrooms. Meanwhile the leaders of the rabble are barkin’ ‘Reform! Reform!’ like a lot of rabid dogs, as if unemployment, high prices and occasional starvation among the masses are things a government can cure. But I mustn’t bore you with politics. You don’t want that, hey?”

He cocked his head, smiling at the audience who mostly smiled back and murmured agreement.

“You’ll find this excellent walkin’ and climbin’ country, gentlemen, and we have a very decent little trout-stream in the grounds. So study hard, and learn how to pray and preach and perhaps learn to practise what you preach, hey?” — (Another pause for smiles and amused murmurs) — “But gentlemen, don’t neglect the body God gave you. Mens sano incorpore sane. A healthy mind and healthy body will help you avoid the pitfalls of papish superstition on one side and the blue devils of Methodist fanaticism on the other. And a word of warning. Many of you are Welsh so know how quickly gossip travels in rural areas. I do not want to hear of anyone drinkin’ in a local pothouse before he has learned to carry his liquor like a gentleman.”

Nothing in the Principal’s speech had amused Henry James Prince and the widespread approving response left him feeling lonely. The first lectures and the communal evening meal left him lonelier still. He went despondently to his room. Though as small as a monk’s cell it was plainly but sufficiently carpeted, wallpapered and furnished. A small fireplace had a grate with coals laid above sticks and papers. He knelt on the hearthrug, lit the fire and was about to continue kneeling in prayer when someone tapped the door. He opened it and saw a young man with a creased, leathery, solemn face who said, “Good evening. My name is Arthur Rees. My room is next door.”

“Henry James Prince,” said Prince, bowing slightly. “Would you care to take tea with me?”

“Yes thanks,” said Rees entering, “but what I’d like most is a word with you. We seem the oldest of the new lot.”

“I am twenty-six,” said Prince closing the door. “I trained as a doctor before deciding to come here. Please sit down.”

He placed a kettle of water on a hob attached to the grate and poked the fire. Rees said, “I was a seaman.”

“Indeed?”

“A sailor in peril on the deep. Trivial danger of broken bones and drowning of course, but I encountered worse perils. Know what I mean?”

“I suppose you refer to sins. As a doctor I have encountered most forms of evil, Mr Rees, so know the sin most dangerous to seamen. Not drunkenness, eh?” asked Prince, smiling thinly. “Not drunkenness, no. O no.”

“Since you are obviously earnest about your soul’s salvation I am very pleased to meet you.”

Prince brought utensils from a corner cupboard and made tea. As they drank it Rees said, “If you will allow the question, Mr Prince, what brings you here?”

“Many things, Mr Rees. As a child I was taught to love God by an unusually sincere Christian. Then my medical work in London and Bath showed me how little can be done to help sick bodies, how much is not done to help sick souls. I also became very ill, nearly died last year and was advized to recuperate through rest and a change of air. I went north and lived for a while with my brother — he is a vicar at Shincliffe, near Durham. This experience shocked me more than my recent surgical operation! No doubt in London and Bath I had met many infidels, but the churches where I worshipped were always well attended. My brother’s church was never more than a quarter full. The colliers in his parish openly despized it. They drank deep, swore loudly and fought hard. Their Sunday mornings were chiefly spent in brutal fisticuffs that continued quarrels begun in previous Sundays. Men loved their puppies more than their wives, who were regularly beaten as often as the men got drunk. Their employers were no better, for such gentry spent the Sabbath shooting, fishing or riding to hounds. I wish I could say that my brother’s parishioners hated him for being a true Christian. Alas, I cannot say so. The Church, I saw, stood in dire need of sincere priests. Something I could not deny urged me to become one. That something — I hope and pray — was God’s Holy Spirit. What brought you here, Mr Rees?”

“My sins.”

“O?”

There was a silence then Rees added, “I fear I am more naturally vicious than most men — certainly most of my appetites are vicious. By frequent prayer I hardly ever indulge them, but have known for years that my one chance of salvation is in coming closer to God. None of the ministers I have so far met have brought me closer. By saving every spare penny I can now pay the fees of this college which may teach me to come closer.”

“May I shake your hand, Rees?” said Henry, and they shook hands warmly.

Then Rees asked diffidently, “What’s your impression of the other students, Prince?”

“I am vexed by their levity, Rees. God forgive me if I’m wrong but some seem educating for the stage rather than the pulpit.”

“Dry bones! Dry bones the lot of them!”

“God can give life to dry bones,” said Prince, reprovingly.

“Yes, we must pray for that.”

“Will we pray for it now?”, said Prince, staring at him. Rees, nodding, smiled radiantly back. Prince chuckled and nodded also. They knelt facing each other on the hearthrug, half a yard apart, heads bowed, hands clasped on stomachs. In a low voice Prince asked, “Shall I begin? After The Lord’s Prayer?” “Yes, after The Lord’s Prayer.”

They said that prayer in unison and then, with Prince leading, spoke alternately as the spirit moved them, begging Almighty God to give special help to the moral state of the college, to its Principal, its lecturers, its students and, lastly, to themselves.

At first their prayers had no obvious effect. All students observed a decent gravity during communal prayers, services and lectures, but between these facetious levity was the most obvious mood. The tutor of Greek, despite a dry manner, did not discourage some levity in his classroom. He said, “Thucydides now describes the sporting customs of the Spartans. Will you translate Mr Rees? Egoom-no-they-san tay protoy kai —?”

With much hesitation Rees said, “They were the first also who. . stripped themselves and. . pulling off their clothes in public, anointed themselves with fat for, for, for athletic exercizes. Whereas. . formerly. . even in the Olympic Games the wrestlers used to fight wearing. . exontes, exontes. .”

“Skirts,” said the tutor, “Girdles. Belts.”

Hurriedly Rees muttered, “. . used to fight with belts round their loins which shows that the primitive Greeks lived like the barbarians of the present day.”

“Yes,” said the tutor urbanely, “The custom of sporting nudity was started by Orsippus of Megara, who accidentally lost his girdle in the Olympic stadium and consequently won the race. Greek notions of barbarism you see, were in some matters the reverse of ours. You look as if you wish to say something, Mr Prince.”

“Yes. Can you tell me sir how knowledge of Greek depravity will help our study to administer Christ’s Gospels?”

“I can. You are here to learn the original language of the Gospels, Mr Prince, which was first written in Greek. But it was written by Jews whose Greek dialect, though adequate, was provincial, and to understand a language well it is always wise to start by studying those who wrote it best. You should therefore learn to construe Aristotle and Thucydides before giving your minds to the less definite subject of pastoral theology. Anything pernicious you acquire from these great writers and reasononers is your responsibility, not mine, and so Mr Prince please translate what Thucydides says about early cities, piracy and the foundations of capital.”

After a pause Prince said in a low voice, “I will not.”

“Oho! It goes against your conscience, sir?”

“Sir, it does.”

“Well, being an Anglican Christian I have no wish to martyr anyone. Mr Thomas, since Mr Prince will not or cannot oblige me, will you?”

Mr Thomas did.

The discipline of St David’s College was meant to be tighter than at the old English universities but the staff were tolerant former Oxford and Cambridge men who let through most students who paid their fees and subscribed to the thirty-nine articles ratified by the English Protestant parliament of 1571. Other students came to admire Prince and join him and Rees in private prayer meetings. This offended nobody at first.

One evening the Principal presided at a dinner where wine was served. Conversation grew louder, laughter more raucous, Prince and Rees remained the only students whose gravity was not impaired. At last the Principal rose to his feet and called for attention. Waiters deftly, assiduously topped up wine glasses in the silence and short speech that followed.

“The Epicureans among you may have noticed that our dinner this evening was perhaps more to their taste than usual, hey? A little more lavish, hey?” — (there were murmurs of “Yes yes”, “Indeed”, “Hear hear”) — “I cannot pretend not to know that rumour has spread the reason for this festivity. Yes. This morning my wife presented me with a little daughter and I am pleased to inform you that the infant and her excellent mother are in the pink of condition. She is to be christened Maria Augusta Ollivant. Are your glasses fully primed? Then please be upstanding, gentlemen, to drink a health to Maria Augusta Ollivant.”

Everyone but Prince stood up, glass in hand. Rees, staring open mouthed at Prince, slowly put his wine glass down. Others took longer to notice Prince, the Principal being last. He stared hard at the seated figure then said softly but distinctly, “Mr. . Mr, er. . Mr Prince, will you not drink my daughter’s health sir?”

“Dr Ollivant,” said Prince loudly, “I would rather pray for your daughter’s soul. I will gladly go down on my knees to do so here and now! Yes, here and now!”

He pushed his chair back and knelt on the floor with hands clasped on table edge and chin resting on them, then jerked his head back and cried, “I call upon the rest of you to join me! I really think it will be best.”

The company stared and buzzed at each other. Rees, torn between normal manners and Prince’s example, compromized by sitting down. After an astonished moment the Principal again spoke quietly but distinctly.

“Mr Prince, we said grace at the start of our meal. It would be impious to mingle prayers with our wine.”

“That was not Christ’s opinion, Dr Ollivant.”

There were murmurs and cries of “Shame!” and “O come now!” until the Principal said fiercely, “Stand up sir and tell me why you refuse to drink my daughter’s health.”

Prince stood and waited for silence before saying, “I have a low opinion of what the world calls good health, sir. As a doctor I have watched at the bedside of many dying sinners. In a few cases their last moments were their holiest. I have often been very ill, and have lost blood in a painful operation, and I know that nothing in this world is dependable except an abject faith in God. That is why I wish to be a clergyman. I find that as my health improves I grow proud, carnal, independent. The flesh becomes mighty in me, I feel I will never die. Tonight most of us here — perhaps you too Dr Ollivant — have forgotten you are going to die. You forget that the eye of an angry God is upon you, following you with a vengeance that you can never escape! Yet you are training to be priests or are priests already! Will you not join me in praying for the soul of a newborn child? Yes, and for the soul of every one of us?”

He knelt down as before — Rees also knelt down — while a murmur of protest that began near the end of his speech became an uproar. The Principal silenced it by announcing, “You are excused this company, Mr Prince, and so is anyone else who cannot reconcile Christianity with the friendly customs of English gentlemen.”

Prince stood up, bowed to the Principal and walked out. Rees and four others followed. George Thomas, a dandy student who had hitherto been foremost in joking about Henry James Prince and his followers, caused most astonishment by muttering an inarticulate apology and hurrying out after. The Principal said dryly, “There seems to be a little college inside our college.”

But Anglican tolerance was such that the careers of students in Prince’s meetings in no way suffered, for in due course those who attended were, like others at St David’s College, free to promote their kind of Protestant Christianity among the lower classes around Lampeter where Methodism had a strong foothold and Roman Catholicism a feeble one.