residential colleges were established in the mid-thirteenth century. Even this point, however, raises some debate. Still today three of the colleges-Merton, University, and Balliol-vie for the honor of being the oldest.1
By 1900 the number of colleges had grown to twenty. In addition to the three oldest, some of the other more venerable or largest included the following: New College, which was indeed “new” when it was created in 1379; All Souls, founded in 1438, perhaps the only college in the world that has no students (its members being engaged primarily in research); Magdalen, founded in 1458, perhaps best known to tourists because of its extensive deer park and gardens; and Christ Church, founded by Henry VIII in 1546, a cathedral and bishop's residence as well as a college.
From its origins, the residential college system has given Oxford (and Cambridge) its distinctive flavor. In many ways, as several authors have said, the university is merely a holding company for the colleges. The latter have always been independent institutions, each with its own governing body, buildings, endowment, and faculty. Down to the present day it is the college, not the university, which occupies most of a student's daily life. One is admitted to the university at the start, in the matriculation ceremony. During the years to follow one might attend some lectures provided by the university or participate in one of the university athletic matches against Cambridge or other universities. Moreover, it is the university that administers final examinations and grants degrees. Yet the “university” in 1900, and still in many respects today, represented a faint abstraction compared to the concrete reality of the colleges.
Nearly all of the colleges were huddled next to one another near the urban center. The city of Oxford had been a thriving market town and administrative center since the Middle Ages. Prior to the advent of Morris Motors, the local economy was dominated by handicrafts and cottage industries. The city's location was ideal, for it was about as centrally located as one could get – both in geography and trade. About fifty miles northwest of London, Oxford borders the River Thames and is on or near many of the major roads linking southern and northern England. The coming of canals and railroads made it even easier to reach. Oxfordshire had been an area known for its beautiful, though not especially prosperous, farmlands. Immediately to the west, however, is the region known as the Cotswolds, which in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was world-famous for the quantity and quality of the wool it produced. That trade has dwindled in the twentieth century, but the charming Cotswold villages remain. With names like Bourton-on-the-Water, Chipping Campden, and Upper (and Lower) Slaughter, still today they are a favorite retreat for tourists. Most of their cottages are built with the famous golden limestone from the local quarries. That same “Cotswold stone” was used for many of the Oxford colleges as well as for the Duke of Marlborough's palace at Blenheim.
Matthew Arnold called Oxford the city of “dreaming spires.” Even today, despite the noxious incursions of motor traffic and modern architecture, one is overcome with the beauty of the city. When one looks at it from nearby Boar's Hill or Port Meadow, it almost seems that the entire town is composed of medieval steeples and towers. The main thoroughfare, the High Street, curves its way along the colleges, churches, and shops and remains one of the most impressive avenues in all of Britain.
Through the late nineteenth century the yearly editions of the Baedeker guide to England described Oxford as “on the whole more attractive than Cambridge to the ordinary visitor” and advised the traveler to “visit Cambridge first” or “omit it altogether if he cannot visit both.”2 In James Hilton's 1933 novel Lost Horizon, when one of the characters first sees Shangri-La he sighs wistfully and says it reminds him of Oxford. To be fair, one must admit that Cambridge has more than its share of admirers who prefer it to Oxford. Certainly both college towns possess enough majesty and quaintness to seduce both students and tourists.
When the first American scholars arrived in Oxford in the fall of 1904 they would have had difficulty finding the “university.” Most of the buildings belonged to the separate colleges. Each college resembled a medieval castle, with high walls surrounding it on all sides and one main entrance. This entrance was the porter's lodge, staffed by a head porter, a deputy head porter, and so on down the line. Though the streets outside might be bustling with traffic, life inside the college was serene. Depending on the size of the college, there might be one or several quads, each one with a dizzying array of gardens. Most of the students lived in college during at least two of their three years of study. Most of their tutors also lived in college. Until the late 1870s all college fellows had to be unmarried, and a high proportion of them were Anglican clergymen. The teaching fellows resided in two or three-room flats that were scattered around the residence halls. In 1904 more than half of the college fellows still fitted the old mold. The other, “modern” faculty lived in apartments or houses elsewhere in the city-this was especially true for those who had families. The colleges had no accommodations for married persons.
This mingling of students and faculty was at the heart of what Cecil Rhodes wanted to impart to his scholars. An Oxford education was about more than just book learning. It provided an environment in which students and teachers lived, studied, dined, and socialized together. Most students played on one or more of their college sports teams in intramural contests against the other colleges. If everything worked well, life in such a closed community built character, stimulated discussion and reflection, and produced lifelong friendships.
Oxford was thought to combine all good features of a large university and a small college. The total student body numbered about three thousand at the turn of the century. The colleges offered an intimate atmosphere and individualized instruction, whereas the university furnished a comprehensive library (the Bodleian), science laboratories, and lecture halls. The university also provided a governing apparatus through which the colleges could work in common. The titular head of the university was the chancellor, whose position was largely ceremonial. The person who actually managed the day-to-day affairs was the vice-chancellor, who generally was selected from the heads of the colleges. The vice-chancellor worked closely with the Hebdomadal Council, which functioned as a type of cabinet. Two other, larger bodies also governed university affairs. Congregation consisted of members of the administrative and academic staff who held M.A.'s from the university; this body acted as the university's parliament, voting on all major changes. Finally, there was Convocation, the name given to the body of all Oxford M.A.'s whose names were listed in the college books. By 1900 the powers of this last body had waned, being limited to the right to vote in a handful of occasional elections – for example, selecting a new chancellor or a new professor of poetry. This administrative machinery continues in effect down to the present day.
The Oxford M.A. has never been an academic degree. Rather, it gives one a kind of permanent membership in the university as a corporation. There are three requirements for obtaining this degree: one must have graduated with an earned degree (the B.A. or some higher level); one must wait until twenty-one terms after matriculation-in other words, about five years after graduation; and one must pay a nominal fee. These three criteria having been met, one can apply for and receive the M.A.
The basic teaching method in the colleges was the tutorial. There were some lectures provided by the university, but these were strictly optional-which meant that students tended to ignore them, unless the particular lecturer was an especially fine speaker. An old, standard joke in Oxford was that the invention of the printing press had made lectures unnecessary, but that respect for tradition kept anyone from abolishing them.
In the standard tutorial, a student went once each week to his tutor's rooms in college. In a one-on-one encounter the student read an essay he had written based on readings of the previous week. The tutor would stop him occasionally to ask questions or to poke holes in the student's evidence or logic. There were no grades, no quizzes, no midterm examinations. Nor was there an accumulation of credits earned by the taking of separate, semester-long courses. At the end of the first year there might be a preliminary examination. As long as a student passed that, he was authorized to continue. At the end of the third year (or in some courses of study, the fourth) there would be several days of essay examinations. The examinations were
