*[The Christopher Inn (now Hotel), in Eton High Street. Ed.]
*[The Duke of Newcastle Scholarship, Eton’s premier academic award, which would have financed Glyver’s time at King’s College, Cambridge, the school’s sister foundation. Ed.]
12
Pulvis et umbra*
One Wednesday afternoon, in the autumn of 1836, as I was returning from Windsor with a small group of companions, to which Daunt had unwelcomely attached himself, I was summoned to see the Head Master, Dr Hawtrey, in Upper School.†
‘I believe that you have been given exceptional permission to use the Fellows’ Library?’ he asked.
The Library was strictly out of bounds to all boys; but I confirmed that I had been given the key by one of the Fellows, the Reverend Thomas Carter, whose pupil I had been when he was Lower Master. Mr Carter, having read several papers that I had written, was sympathetic to my enthusiastic interest in bibliographical matters, and so had allowed me the unusual, though only temporary, freedom of the Library to gather material for a new paper that I was writing on the history and character of the collection.
‘And you have made use of this privilege recently?’ I began to feel uncomfortable at the questioning, but as I knew that I had committed no misdemeanour, and because I also knew that Dr Hawtrey was a distinguished bibliophile, I unhesitatingly said that I had been there the previous afternoon, making notes on Gesner’s Bibliotheca Universalis (Zurich, 1545).
‘And you were alone?’
‘Quite alone.’
‘And when did you return the key?’
I replied that normally I would have taken the key straight back to Mr Carter, but that yesterday I had gone out on the river with Le Grice, leaving the key in his boarding-house – in which I also had use of a room–until we returned.
‘So when you came off the river, you took the key back to Mr Carter?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Mr Glyver, I have to tell you that I have received a serious allegation against you. According to information I have been given, I have reason to believe that you have taken a most valuable item from the Library without permission, with the intention of keeping it.’
I could hardly believe my ears, and my utter surprise must have been only too evident to the Head Master, for he signalled me to sit down, and waited until I had composed myself before speaking again.
‘The item in question is the Udall. You know it, perhaps?’
Naturally I knew it: the unique copy, circa 1566, of Ralph Roister Doister, one of the earliest of English comedies, by Nicholas Udall, a former Head Master of the School. I had examined it only recently, in the course of my researches. A volume of exceptional rarity and value.
‘We know that it was in the Library on Tuesday morning, because it was seen by one of the Fellows. It is not there now.’
‘I assure you, sir, I know nothing of this. I cannot understand—’
‘Then you will have no objection if we examine your belongings?’
I replied in the affirmative without hesitation, and was soon following Dr Hawtrey’s gowned figure down the stairs and out into School Yard. A few minutes later we were in the room in Le Grice’s boarding-house, where I kept my personal effects and took my breakfast. On opening my trunk, I immediately saw that it was not as I had left it. Beneath a jumble of clothes could plainly be seen the brown calf binding of the missing book.
‘Do you still profess ignorance of this matter, Mr Glyver?’
Before I could reply, Dr Hawtrey had retrieved the book, and ordered me to follow him back to Upper School, where I found Mr Carter and the Vice-Provost – the Provost being absent on business in London – awaiting us.
I was questioned at some length for over half an hour, during which I felt my anger rising. It was clear that I had been the victim of some mean conspiracy to destroy my reputation, and bring shame and worse – the loss of my scholarship and consequent expulsion – upon my head. Was it possible? They had called me ‘the learned boy’ when I had first come to the School, whilst my prowess at the Wall had been the object of general acclaim. Was I not liked and admired by everyone, boys and masters alike? Yet someone had set out to bring me down – jealous, no doubt, of my abilities and my standing.
I could hear the blood beating louder and louder in my ears as rage welled up, like some scalding volcanic plume, from the depths of my being. At last I could stand it no longer.
‘Sir,’ I cried out, breaking in on the questioning. ‘I have not deserved this, indeed I have not! Can you not see how ridiculous, how risible, this charge is, how worthy of your contempt? I beg you to consider: what possible reason could I have for perpetrating such an act? It would have been the height of folly. Do you suppose that I am such a fool as to attempt to steal so celebrated an item? Only an ignoramus would believe that a book of this rarity could be easily disposed of – and by a mere schoolboy – without suspicion being aroused. Or perhaps you think that I intended to keep the book for myself, which is equally absurd. Discovery would have been inevitable. No, you have been gravely deceived, gentlemen, and I have been the object of a vicious calumny.’
I must have made an alarming, even intimidating, figure as I fumed and ranted, heedless of the consequences. But the genuineness of my passion was only too evident, and I thought that I could see in Dr Hawtrey’s face that the tide might be turning in my favour.
For some minutes more, I continued to protest my innocence most vehemently, as well as deriding the ludicrous nature of the charge. At last, Dr Hawtrey signed for me to resume my seat whilst he held a whispered consultation with his two colleagues.
‘If you are innocent, as you claim,’ he said at last, ‘then it follows that someone else was responsible for removing the Udall quarto from the Library, and for attempting to implicate you as the thief. You say the key was in your room. How long were you on the river?’
‘No more than an hour. The wind was exceptionally keen.’
There was more consultation between my interrogators.
‘We shall make further enquiries,’ said Dr Hawtrey gravely. ‘For the moment, you are free to go. You will not, however, be allowed to use the Library, and you are forbidden to go up town until further notice. Is that clear?’
The next morning, I was again summoned to see Dr Hawtrey. He immediately informed me that a witness had now come forward, who swore that he had seen me placing the book in my trunk.
There have been few times in my life when I have been lost for words; but on this occasion, I was momentarily struck dumb, utterly unable to believe what was being said to me. When I came back to myself, I angrily asked for the name of the witness.
‘You cannot expect me to give you that,’ said Dr Hawtrey.
‘Whoever this witness is, he is lying!’ I cried. ‘As I said before, I have been the victim of some plot. It is obvious, surely, that your witness must also be the thief.’
Dr Hawtrey shook his head.
‘The witness is of impeccable character. Furthermore, his testimony has now been corroborated by another boy.’
Knowing the impossibility that any witness, let alone two, could exist to a crime that I did not commit, I continued to argue as fiercely as I could for my innocence, and for what I considered to be the true state of the case: that I had been the object of a deliberate and vicious conspiracy. But it was useless. Motive and opportunity were already against me; and now came corroborated testimony, sealing my fate. My arguments were dismissed, and the verdict pronounced. My scholarship was to be terminated and I was requested to leave the School immediately, using any public pretence I wished. If I went without protest, then no further action would be taken against me, and the matter would be closed. If not, then I would face formal expulsion and public disgrace.