Trinity College

**

SECTION III** *

Trinity College *

”… Provost and Fellows of Trinity

Famous for ever at Greek and Latinity.” *

-Graves**.

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tcd.gif (23009 bytes)Trinity College** **is remarkable among ancient seats of learning for the severe dignity of her architecture and her peculiar situation in the very heart of a great town. The noisy tide of commerce streams incessantly around three sides of the building. The long facade towards College Green, so beautiful in its well-balanced exactness, has looked down on many a stormy scene in the history of Ireland. Even within the quadrangles the distant hum of the city pervades the air, and tall mercantile structures overtop the grey granite walls. The academic seclusion of Isis or Cam is unattainable.

Perhaps, for this reason, Trinity has always been deeply immersed in the national life. Political and religious controversy have been, and still are, the very breath of her nostrils. However, it was no fault of the founders that the college is not now surrounded by meadows and riverside walks. The old monastery which provided a site was well outside the walls, but the city, spreading towards the harbour, has long since encircled the institution she planted more than three centuries ago on the banks of the Liffey.

Towards the end of Elizabeth’s reign a number of leading Dublin men, anxious to civilize and Anglicise, if possible, the wilder of the native tribes, contributed about £2000** towards founding a university in Ireland directed to that end. The chief workers in the movement were Loftus, Ussher and Chaloner. The corporation, for their part, gave the ground and building of All Hallows Monastery, lately dissolved by Henry VIII. and by him presented to the city. In 1591 **the queen gave the projectors their charter, and, two years later, the first student was admitted. Loftus became the first Provost. Trinity was intended to be the first, but not the only college in the university. It has remained without a companion to this day.

The early struggles were very severe, chiefly on account of the lack of endowment. Elizabeth had given the estates of some rebel chiefs, but, while Ireland was harassed by O’Neill and O’Donnell, no rents could be collected in Ulster or Munster. The benevolence of the public could not be relied on indefinitely. At one time the college could not afford a Provost, even at the moderate stipend of £40** a year. In 1596 the total income was £300. Somewhat tardily a royal grant of £200 came in 1598. James I., with a further donation of £400 **a year and some estates in Ulster, set matters on a firm financial basis.

In 1641 the college was again in great straits. The rising in Ulster stopped all supplies from that quarter. The Provost fled, and the Fellows, who stood by the ship, were obliged to sell the plate piecemeal to procure the necessaries of life. Troublous as the times were, the citizens came to the rescue. Subscriptions tided over the eight lean years which intervened until Cromwell pacified Ireland in 1649.

Its last period of serious tribulation was in the reign of James II. during the Jacobite occupation of Dublin. Since the days of Laud and Strafford, Roman Catholics had been excluded from office in Trinity. In 1686 Tyrconnell, the Lord Deputy, sent an order requiring the Provost and Fellows to appoint a Catholic named Green to a certain post. The request was evaded by the authorities of the university. Somewhat alarmed, however, at the tone taken by the Irish government, they sent a deputation with a loyal address to the King at Chester. James’s reply was curt, not to say snappish. “I thank you for your address, and I don’t doubt of your loyalty or of any others of the Church of England.” Soon after their return from Chester they were confronted with a demand for the appointment of another Catholic to a fellowship. The royal nominee was rejected, this time on his refusal to take the oath prescribed by the statutes.

Tyrconnell, in retaliation, discontinued the payments usually made to the college by the Crown. The pinch was felt at once, and the usual remedy, the sale of the plate, could not be applied, as the requisite consent was withheld by the viceroy. Among other expedients of extreme economy the nightly supper in hall was abolished, as involving an expenditure for coal.

By the time James arrived in Dublin the Provost and most of the Fellows had fled to England. Four stood by the college throughout. In September 1689 the scholars were turned into the street, being allowed to carry away nothing but their books. The buildings were now used for military purposes. The King had no leisure to carry out his scheme of remodelling the university on a Catholic basis. He did little beyond appointing some priests of his own church to offices in Trinity. To these men, Dr Moore and Father McCarthy, are due, firstly, a service to humanity, the alleviation of the lot of the Protestant prisoners confined in the college; and, secondly, a service to learning, the preservation of the valuable library with its unique collection of Celtic manuscripts.

During the reigns of William and Anne the college, like the rest of Dublin, entered on a period of rapid growth and development. The present structure mostly dates from this time. The extensions were helped by liberal grants from the Irish parliament, whose generosity is commemorated in the name of Parliament Square. The library was provided with the splendid habitation it now occupies.

Jacobitism still simmered in the breasts of the younger generation, who had not seen themselves ejected by soldiers. The heads of the college were staunch Whigs. Quarrels and broils ensued. Students were expelled for various acts of disrespect to the new dynasty, such, for instance, as maltreating the statue of King William in College Green and drinking to the memory of the horse from which he was thrown. Indeed rulers and subjects were at open war in the university. Once an unpopular tutor fired on some undergraduates who had broken his windows. They returned with their own weapons and shot him dead when he appeared. This tragic affair happened at No. 25.

Famous names now begin to appear on the books, among others Swift and Berkeley, one a maker of laughter, which ever failed to warm his own heart, the other a spinner of deep metaphysical problems, but in private life the most simple and virtuous of men. The programme of studies widened. The logicians and grammarians, Burgerdiscius, Smiglecius and the rest, whose very names suggest dusty brown volumes and crabbed Latinity, give place to classics and mathematics. Euclid was first introduced in 1758.

The gownsmen took the greatest interest in the proceedings of the Parliament House, where they were long accorded the privilege of free admission to the gallery at all times. Towards the end of the 13th century the college was suspected of sympathising with the United Irishmen. In 1798 Lord Clare came from the Castle to conduct a special visitation, as a result of which Robert Emmet and seventeen others were expelled. Amongst those who were noted as contumacious, but were not further dealt with, was Thomas Moore, then a lad of 19.

The note of the present buildings of Trinity is austerity, hardly relieved by the trees and lawns. in which it abounds. Grey granite and rectangular classic forms recur on every side. The main entrance is from College Green between the statue of Burke and Goldsmith, two distinguished alumni. The first quadrangle is the Parliament Square, which recalls the liberality of its neighbour, the former House of Commons. To the right is the Examination Hall, to the left the Chapel and the Dining Hall, while confronting the spectator is a Campanile, or bell tower, of beautiful and original design erected in the 19th century.

The Examination Hall is not remarkable for its internal appearance, being too small for its purpose and somewhat chilly and bare in its general effect. The ceiling is fairly successful. The pictures, however, are interesting. They include the learned Ussher, one of the first Fellows, Bishop Berkeley, Lord Clare, whose force of character and, according to his enemies, absence of scruple crushed more than one rebellion, Dean Swift, Edmund Burke (portrayed by Hoppner), and Queen Elizabeth. By a singular superstition the foundress is believed to bring ill luck to students who sit** **within her sphere of influence at examinations.

On the side wall opposite the stern queen is a sculptured group to the memory of Baldwin, perhaps the greatest of all the provosts. He was a man more remarkable for a strong, autocratic disposition than for brilliant scholarship. He held office for 41 years, from 1717** to 1758, and during that time practically rebuilt the college. When he died he left all his real estate and £24,000 **besides to the institution he had governed so long.

An anecdote will show the man. Dr Delany, a friend of both the viceroy and the all-powerful Dean Swift, took occasion to preach at Baldwin in the College Chapel. The Provost took no notice until Delany presumed to deliver him a copy of this sermon. “You did, then, sir,” he thundered, “preach this sermon against me. You must, then, beg my pardon publicly in the College Hall or I will expel you.” An apology was refused. The Provost was taking steps to execute his threat, when the viceroy intervened, first with mild entreaties, then with a covert menace. “Tell the Provost,” he said, “that his house is made of glass and that I have a stone in my sleeve.” “Tell His Excellency,” retorted Baldwin, “that if Dr Delany does not beg my pardon in the College Hall to-morrow, I will expel him there at 12** **o’clock.” In such a quarrel the viceroy dared not use his power of removing a provost from office. Delany had to make his apology in due form. After this it is not astonishing to hear that, when the collegians marched in procession to S. Patrick’s Cathedral, the resolute figure of the Provost at their head was sufficient to deter the Liberty Boys from their usual attacks on the party.

The gilt organ-case in the gallery has a curious history. It was made in the Netherlands and, while on its way to some Spanish destination, was captured in Vigo Bay by Admiral Rooke in 1702**. **The Duke of Ormond, serving in the fleet, obtained the organ as part of his spoil, and, during his viceroyalty, presented it to the college. The old pipes have been replaced, but the case remains. Another relic of the past is the great chandelier, which once adorned the House of Commons, and was transferred to Trinity after the Union.

The Chapel contains some fine wood carving, especially in the pulpit and lectern. In the open air to the east of the chapel lies the neglected statue of Luke Chaloner, one of the first promoters of the college. The rain has beaten on the alabaster of his recumbent figure so many years that it has long since washed away any resemblance to humanity.

The Dining Hall has an old-fashioned interior, marked by ancient wainscoting and a quaint little wooden pulpit once used in the Elizabethan chapel, and now occupied at dinner time by the scholar who recites the Latin grace. From its shape it has been irreverently nicknamed the “egg-cup.” Beyond the dining hall is Botany Bay, a small remote quadrangle, which received its name from the prison-like style of its architecture and the supposed character of the undergraduates, who resort there as to an Alsatia out of the reach of the law.

tcdlibrary.gif (24245 bytes)To the right of the Campanile is the Library (pictured, left). The interior of this building is celebrated and deservedly so. It is a long room with a succession of bays on either side, which provide shelf room for thousands of books. The entrance to each recess is flanked with beautiful red-brown old oak carvings, beneath which stand white busts representing great names in science and literature. The perspective is very fine, the arched roof of pinewood, the endless bays, the sculpture, all filing away into the remote distance. The proportions have been so well handled that, despite its great length, 240** **feet, the library does not look narrow, no matter where the point of view is taken. It is splendidly lit from both sides, for each bay to right and left terminates in a large window, and the daylight streams in through no less than a hundred openings.

kells1.jpg (30478 bytes)In glass cases down the centre are contained the artistic and literary treasures of the college, so numerous and interesting as to form a fine museum. Illuminated manuscripts, early printed books, first editions, historical letters, gilt bindings, old woodcuts and engravings, biblical texts, Shakespeare, Caxton, Elzevir, Pindar, are all represented here. The most famous item in the collection is the Book of Kells, the product of an eighth century Irish monastery (detail, right). It is a manuscript of the Gospels in Latin, illuminated in a most varied and intricate style. The colouring is delicate and harmonious. Each page of this work must have taken months to execute. The marvel of the achievement is that such skill and taste were shown in Ireland at a time when all Europe, including England, was sunk in the barbarism of the Dark Ages. Such books were highly valued, and sometimes formed part of a king’s ransom during the tribal wars of the period.

The Library owes its existence to soldiers. The army in Ireland, after the defeat of the Spaniards at Kinsale in 1601, celebrated its victory by subscribing £700** for the purchase of books for the infant college. Again, under Cromwell, these military patrons of learning bought up Ussher’s vast and unique collection of books and manuscripts at a cost of £2200 **and presented it to Trinity, thus placing her at a single stroke in the front rank among the great storehouses of knowledge. From the door of the Library, in the direction of Nassau Street, may be seen the Fellows’ Garden and the Provost’s House. The latter, the best side of which is turned towards Grafton Street, is perhaps the most successful example in Dublin of the classical style applied to domestic architecture.

The usual stories of wild undergraduate and eccentric tutor are told of Trinity, as of every other college. There was one curious feature about the early methods of instruction. For a long time the Irish language was used in the classrooms, no doubt with a view to attracting the Celtic clansmen. The practice was discontinued eventually, perhaps from a fear lest Trinity, while trying to Anglicise the natives, might itself become Hibernicised by its own students.

The quaintest figure in the long roll of Fellows is Dr Barrett, nicknamed “Jacky.” His huge learning, to which his colleagues referred for facts and dates as confidently as to an encyclopædia, his parsimony, his ignorance of the world, his untidiness and general singularity of behaviour, were a perpetual fund of interest to town and gown. He rarely went outside the gates. On one of his infrequent expeditions he saw some sheep in a field and enquired what sort of animals they might be. On being told that they were sheep, he evinced a childlike delight at seeing “live mutton. ” His previous acquaintance with the animal had been confined to the roast and boiled of dinner in hall.

His account of the sea at Clontarf on the same eventful day is a delightful piece of pedantry:- “A broad flat superficies, like Euclid’s definition of a line expanding itself into a surface, and blue like Xenophon’s plain covered with wormwood.”

Yet he must have had his unregenerate days. Any unusual excitement would bring to his lips an irrepressible volley of strange oaths, which caused great glee among the undergraduates, and gave deep shame to the doctor himself the moment after. “May the devil admire me! ” and “Hell to my soul,” were not unusual expressions when “Jacky” was moved to anger or amazement. His greatest achievement in the field of scholarship was the discovery of a palimpsest of S. Matthew’s Gospel.

Another curious academic figure is Hutchinson, the political provost, known as the “Prancer,” because he was more remarkable for dancing and duelling than for learning or piety.

The neighbourhood of a large city has rendered it impossible to keep so close a watch as at other universities on the behaviour of the undergraduates. No proctors stalk the streets of Dublin. The stocks and whippings of the 17th and 18th centuries could not curb the high spirits of youth. Strafford issued an Act of State against innkeepers “who harboured Collegians,” and one Elizabeth Jones performed a sort of public penance for such an offence at the Market Cross in 1638.

Still, despite the authorities, the “Trinity Boys,” as the Dubliners half affectionately called them, would sally out armed with their peculiar weapons, the massive keys of their rooms, slung in handkerchiefs or in the tail of an academic robe. Allying themselves to the weavers from the Liberty, they fought Homeric combats with the butchers of Ormond Quay. Once the college got a bad fright. Word was brought that the fight had gone in favour of the Ormond Boys, and that the cruel victors had hung their captives from the meat hooks in their shops. As the rescuing party approached the market it seemed only too true. Helpless swinging forms in cap and gown were discerned from afar. But the butchers had been magnanimous enough to hang their victims by the waistbands of their breeches, not by the insertion of steel hook into tender human skin, as had been feared.

In the centre of the quadrangle formerly stood the college pump, for centuries the focus of academic disorder. Here any bailiff who dared, in the pursuit of his quarry, to violate the sacred precincts of Trinity, was purged of his guilt by a thorough sousing in cold water. The Fellows connived at such proceedings. Once a certain Dr Wilder was crossing the court while a bailiff was under discipline. Either pretending to interfere for the man or mistaking their intentions he cried out, “Gentlemen, gentlemen, for the love of God don’t be so cruel as to nail his ears to the pump!” The students took Wilder’s remark as a veiled and indirect hint, procured a hammer and nails at once, and nailed up the hapless man there and then.

This Fellow was Goldsmith’s college tutor, so it is not surprising that the pupil was riotous and dissipated under such guidance. The future poet was often censured, and was once sent back to a lower grade. Burke, on the other hand, was a steady and consistent worker, who saw his object and knew his capabilities from the very beginning. In 1747 he founded the Historical Society, a debating club, which still flourishes within the walls. Swift was wilful, and followed his own path. He would not study logic or physics, but delighted in classical literature. His degree was only conferred by the authorities on sufferance. As a youth he attracted very little notice among his contemporaries, who little guessed the strange fancies that worked in the brain of the lonely orphan lad, already growing soured by the struggle for life.

To Chapter 4. To Chart Index