## Chapter 187: Transformations at the University of London (4K)
On a Sunday morning, a day when the common folk would be attending church, two unexpected guests arrived on London’s Gower Street.
Perhaps in other parts of Britain, everyone should be in church at this time.
But for the unconventional folk on Gower Street, it was just another ordinary day.
The reason was simple: Gower Street was the territory of the University of London, which, as everyone knew, was the only university in Britain without a chapel.
Devout believers, priests, nobles, and other respectable people avoided it like the plague, but Arthur and Elder felt perfectly at ease here.
Elder, with his pipe clenched in his teeth and wearing a dark gray tweed coat, raised his hat brim with his finger, revealing one eye in the chilly autumn wind.
“Should we go in and show them what we’ve got?”
Arthur, removing his black leather gloves, nodded. “Yeah, let’s show them.”
The two walked side by side towards the university’s main gate. Although it was Sunday, there were still quite a few students coming and going.
As for why Arthur was on the campus of the University of London today, it was to get in touch with Mr. Bentham.
As Elder had said, although Bentham’s utilitarianism was once suppressed as heresy decades ago, times had changed.
In the past twenty years, the influence of utilitarianism had expanded. Not only had it gained many followers within the Whig Party, but even a few representatives of the Tory liberals, such as George Canning, Huskisson, and Sir Peel, had been directly or indirectly influenced by it.
Bentham’s advocacy for the abolition of slavery, freedom of speech, and reform of the criminal justice system had all been implemented.
Although other proposals, such as the separation of church and state, the abolition of corporal punishment, the abolition of usury, women’s rights, and free trade, were too bold and faced too much resistance to be implemented.
Regardless, no one could underestimate the influence of Mr. Bentham in British politics, economics, and even culture today.
The fact that his founded “Westminster Review” could challenge the Tory and Whig party organs, “Quarterly Review” and “Edinburgh Review,” on the front of public opinion was a clear testament.
And in order to defeat the Tories in Parliament, the Whigs had united all the forces they could.
From the lower-class workers and poor who were dissatisfied with their living conditions, to the middle class who were seeing their standard of living rise and were eager to influence national decisions, and to the archbishops and priests who were enraged by the “Catholic Emancipation Act.”
The Whigs had united all these people. How could they not extend an olive branch to the University of London, which had always been disliked by the Tories?
After all, the students of the University of London had been fretting over the lack of a royal charter for years. Elder Carter was a prime example.
Of course, perhaps because Elder Carter already had a stable job within the system, he was not keen on attacking the ruling party. Instead, he aimed his attacks precisely at the priests who often attacked the University of London in newspapers and Parliament, as well as Cambridge and Oxford, which represented the stronghold of conservative forces in Britain.
But other students, obviously, didn’t have the same confidence as someone with a Royal Navy background like Elder. Although everyone was puzzled as to how the priests had jumped onto this bandwagon, they all had to temporarily hold their noses and sit in the same anti-Wellington cabinet trench as their former priest enemies in order to obtain a royal charter.
While Elder went to the restroom, Arthur scanned the face of every student on campus. He easily read from their cheerful expressions that they were quite satisfied with recent political developments.
Arthur, with his pipe clenched in his teeth, raised an eyebrow. “Maybe the Whigs coming to power is a good thing for me? If the royal charter really does get issued, at least from now on, no one can say I went to a fake university.”
The Red Devil, who was following behind, yawned and leaned against a marble sculpture. “Come on, Arthur. If you’re so keen on pushing for the royal charter, why don’t you just go and become an MP?”
Arthur glanced at the Red Devil. “You’re the one who should be quiet, Agareus. Being an MP is not something a little guy like me can do. If I want to be an MP, I’d have to quit my job at Scotland Yard first. Then I’d have to figure out which constituency to run in. If it’s a large constituency with a lot of people, then Mr. Disraeli, who’s been giving speeches in Hyde Park that no one listens to, is a prime example of what I’d become.
If it’s a small constituency, I’d have to shell out three or four thousand pounds to buy votes. The most important thing is that people might not even sell their votes to you, even if you want to buy them. The worst thing is to run into a constituency that’s already been decided. In that kind of constituency, you’d be lucky to get beaten up. They might even turn the tables on you, accuse you of bribery, ruin your reputation, and throw you in jail.”
Agareus pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. He shook the handkerchief. “Arthur, why don’t you understand what I mean? Didn’t Wellington ask you to join the Tories? He gave you a seat in Parliament. If you just agree, you’ll become MP Arthur Hastings before you know it.”
Arthur leaned against a tree trunk and took a puff of his pipe.
“Do you think I’m going to fall for that? If someone else said this to me, I’d just think they don’t understand the British parliamentary system. But when you, the all-knowing devil, say this, I can only assume you have ulterior motives. You must know that being an MP doesn’t come with any salary.
Therefore, usually only those who are well-off and have fixed assets will go and become an MP.
Only a very small minority of MPs, those who are the figureheads of their parties, can get various ministerial positions during cabinet reshuffles and receive salaries for their positions.
And the kind of backbench MP that Duke Wellington wants me to be has no income, and I have to vote along party lines. Why would I do that when a donkey can do it?
So, even if I want to stay in government, I won’t step out of the role of civil servant. I don’t have the money to spend arguing with people in Parliament all day.”
The Red Devil, unable to contain his amusement, rubbed his hands together and laughed. “Then do you think a平民大學like the University of London, with an annual tuition of 23 pounds and 6 shillings, can produce someone who has enough money to be an MP?”
“No, of course not.”
Arthur relit his pipe, which had been extinguished by the wind. “But I think Mr. Bentham must know quite a few people who have money. Actually, Mr. Bentham could probably win an election if he ran for MP himself, but he’s getting old, and he’s never been willing to bow down to either the Tories or the Whigs, so even if he became an MP, he wouldn’t be able to do much, so he just doesn’t bother running.”
Just as Arthur finished lighting his pipe, he looked up and saw Elder, who had just returned from the restroom, standing at the entrance to the teaching building corridor, watching two young men debate with great interest.
Arthur walked over and bumped Elder with his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
Elder, not annoyed by the bump, pointed at the two men and chuckled. “You wouldn’t understand. This is the kind of entertainment that I, a classical literature scholar, love to watch: the battle between Wordsworth worshipers and Byron worshipers.”
As soon as Elder finished speaking, a heated argument erupted between the two young men.
The brown-haired young man, his face flushed red, loudly accused his companion. “John, I demand you retract your slanderous words about Lord Byron! Byron’s works are poems about human life, while Wordsworth’s works are all about flowers and butterflies. Look at his “Greek War Song.” Wordsworth couldn’t write something like that in a hundred years!”
As he spoke passionately, it was as if a button had been pressed, and the brown-haired young man began reciting Byron’s poem uncontrollably.
“Arise, ye sons of Greece!
The glorious hour is come!
To break your chains and be free,
To crush the tyrant’s power!
…
Let us not yield, but bravely fight,
Against the Turkish foe!
Let our country see her sons
Stand up and break their chains!
…
Awake, ye Spartans!
How can ye lie so low?
With your old friend Athens,
Rise up to fight the foe!
…
Recall the kings and sages
Who fought in days of yore!
Leonidas, who saved you,
So brave and strong he was!
…
He stood against the Persians,
He fought with all his might,
He died for Greece’s freedom,
He died in glorious fight!
…
Arise, ye sons of Greece!
Fight against the foe!
Let their blood flow like rivers,
Let their bodies lie so low!”
As soon as the brown-haired young man finished reciting, his black-haired companion began to counterattack.
“Oh, Roback, I know you’ll bring up Byron’s poem. But don’t forget, he also wrote a bunch of love poems, like “She Walks in Beauty.”
“Her brow is fair, her cheek is bright,
So soft, so calm, so full of light,
Her smile is like the morning’s dawn,
Her voice is like the sweetest song.”
Roback, the brown-haired young man, heard this and grabbed onto something as if he’d found a lifeline. He laughed triumphantly. “Haha, John, you have to admit defeat now! Don’t you know that Byron also writes these lovey-dovey things?
Byron and Wordsworth are about the same level on butterflies and flowers, but Byron is streets ahead of Wordsworth on heroic epics. You know how high Byron is in poetry?
After all, you studied at Edinburgh and then went on to study theology. Now you’re doing political economy and law. You’re not even remotely related to literature.”
Elder, who had been watching the show, couldn’t help but nod in agreement. He chimed in. “Although I don’t like to judge people based on stereotypes, I think this brown-haired gentleman is right. People who first studied at Edinburgh and then went on to study theology usually don’t have much of a level in literature.
I know a person like that, and he’s also like your friend, a bit prematurely balding. But thank goodness, my friend knows he doesn’t have a talent for literature, so he’s decided to dedicate his life to Lamarckism.
Maybe I can ask him if he’s interested in switching his research focus to ‘Is there a necessary connection between prematurely balding in humans and attending Edinburgh University or studying theology’?”
The young man with some signs of balding, hearing this, quickly adjusted his hat. He glared at Elder. “Sir, are you challenging me?”
Elder just waved his hand. “No, no, you may have misunderstood. I was just commenting on literature.”
Speaking of which, Elder couldn’t help but proudly tug at his collar, his hands clasped behind his back. “As the first graduate of classical literature and the first gold medalist in the poetry competition at this school, I personally also believe that Lord Byron’s poetry is superior to Wordsworth’s.”
Roback, hearing someone supporting him, was overjoyed. “See, John! These two gentlemen also support me.”
“Don’t get too excited!” The balding young man scolded, then turned his attention to Arthur. “Sir, do you also support Roback? Do you also think Byron’s work is of high quality?”
Arthur glanced at Elder, who was winking at him, and reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.”
The balding young man seemed a little deflated, but he still refused to give up. He pressed on. “So, how high is it?”
Arthur was forced to answer. He looked at the teaching building behind him and gestured. “About three or four stories high, I guess.”
But soon, Arthur turned and asked, “But why are you two arguing about this? I think liking different poets doesn’t prevent you from being friends.”
Roback, hearing this, laughed and nodded in agreement. “That’s right. I agree with that point, sir. But John is too stubborn. He always tells me that the music, drama, painting, and poetry I like will eventually have a profound impact on my character in a resonant way.
He hates Byron’s poems, and he hates Byron’s personality even more, so he’s trying his best to persuade me not to read Byron’s works. He says reading those epic poems will make me feel numb to things, and that only by reading more peaceful country stories like Wordsworth’s can I regain my perception.
But he doesn’t know that I’ve always felt that my emotions are a nuisance. I’m more easily affected by the resonance of pain than by the resonance of happiness, so I want to find happiness elsewhere, and I hope my emotions become more numb, not more sensitive.”
Arthur heard these words and felt like he had seen them somewhere before. He pondered for a moment and then slapped his forehead. “Did this passage appear in last week’s “Westminster Review”? Did you write that article?”
The balding young man, hearing this, was only slightly surprised. “I didn’t expect you to happen to have read that article. It was my first article published after two years of silence.”
The other party frankly admitted it, but Arthur couldn’t help but twitch his lips slightly. “So, you’re John Mill?”
Next chapter later.
(End of chapter)