THE GISSING NEWSLETTER “More than most men am I dependent on sympathy to bring out the best that is in me.” – George Gissing’s Commonplace Book. ********************************** Volume VII, Number 4 October, 1971 ********************************** -- 1 -- Part I of Born in Exile: Peak (and Gissing) at College Robert L. Selig Purdue University Although Gissing tends more towards autobiography than most writers of fiction, he does not attempt to transmute directly, in any of his twenty-two novels, a central experience of his life: his expulsion from Owens College and imprisonment at the age of nineteen for petty thefts for Nell, the young prostitute with whom he had fallen in love. It is, in fact, a weakness of much of his lesser fiction that the hero is so often fitted out with an Oxford or Cambridge background of such rich respectability that it seems little more than a wish-fulfilling dream. In Part I of Born in Exile, however, Gissing does deal, in an oddly oblique fashion, with his days of humiliation at college. Yet this one-hundred-and-fifty-nine-page prelude to one of his finest works has *************************************************** Editorial Board Pierre Coustillas, Editor, University of Lille Shigeru Koike, Tokyo Metropolitan University Jacob Korg, University of Washington, Seattle Editorial correspondence should be sent to the editor: 10, rue Gay-Lussac, 59-La Madeleine-lez-Lille, France, and all other correspondence to: C. C. Kohler, 141 High Street, Dorking, Surrey, England. Subscriptions Private Subscribers: 62½p per annum ($1.50) Libraries: £1.25 per annum ($3.00) *************************************************** -- 2 -- received little attention because it stands apart from the book’s central theme – the attempt by the agnostic protagonist, years later, to masquerade as a candidate for the clergy in order to win an upper-class wife. But Gissing’s reshaping of his own early troubles in these introductory chapters helps to explain why he once said to Bertz that “‘Born in Exile’ was a book I had to write.” (1). The college that Gissing actually attended is changed in the novel to Whitelaw College, founded in the Midlands by Sir Job Whitelaw, Bart., whose name is an obvious echo of Sir Joseph Whitworth, Bart. (1803-1887), one of Owens College’s most important backers. (2) But because of the needs of his plot, Gissing had to minimize the vast gulf of prestige dividing Oxford and Cambridge from a new school in the provinces. Gissing’s fictional college is attended, in fact, by sons of the local gentry, for Peak, as a student, must meet Buckland Warricombe in order to make plausible the hero’s later scheme of friendship with the Warricombes. In the real England of the time, such rich country gentlemen would have considered attendance at a young provincial college as a form of social exile and even humiliation (3). When Gissing entered Owens College in 1872, there were reasons, besides mere snobbery, for being less than overwhelmed by its institutional glory. In his freshman year, Owens was attended by 334 day students, 537 night students, and 112 medical students, but they were all crammed into a single, three-storey house, only five-windows-wide across the front, that had once been the private residence of Richard Cobden. The rooms were so overcrowded that professors were forced to choose between students being stifled by lack of air or being forced, in the generally cold weather, to wear thick overcoats in front of open windows. (4) Still less exalted was the neighborhood around the Cobden house. Both students and faculty agreed that the area was “... one of the worst parts of town,” filled with “... scenes of revolting misery and squalor,” where “... the coarsest forms of vice festered...,” and students “... had to wade through vileness of every sort. .” (5) Students of late-Victorian under- culture will recognize in these vague condemnations many variants of standard euphemism for the fact of prostitution. Less vague but still carefully indirect is the fol- --3 -- lowing account from a privately printed memoir: The entrance from Deansgate was guarded by a very Scylla and Charybdis of disreputable licensed houses. On the one hand where Messrs. Crane’s great music warehouse now stands was the Dog Inn, a fully licensed house with singing room, at the back of which shocking scenes were enacted. On the other hand was a beerhouse of an equally dangerous character. In this tradition of our day reported that a former Owens College porter had been inveigled, robbed and ejected in puris naturalibus. (6) The existence of back-room prostitution adjacent to the old Cobden house could hardly have escaped the notice of young Gissing. By the time of his involvement with Nell, though Owens had moved at last to a new and better place, (7) the knowledge undoubtedly remained of where, in Manchester, prostitutes could be found. Even the improvements of the new Owens campus lacked the splendid ambiance of Gissing’s Whitelaw College. But, to make it seem sufficiently splendid in the book, Gissing omits any real description of either buildings or grounds and concentrates instead, in the opening pages, on describing a statue of the founder (I, 7-8). The man of marble, as a symbol of the college, is made to stand for the undescribed whole. Gowned professors, “exemplars of finished courtesy, of delicate culture” (I, 82), wander about in an atmosphere of learning purified of physical detail. The only sordid element that Gissing retains from his days at Owens College is a passage describing Peak’s rented rooms “in a very ugly street in the ugliest outskirts of the town; … a monotone of grimy, lower middle-class dwellings, occasionally relieved by a public-house” (I, 75). Pierre Coustillas, the most thorough researcher of Gissing’s life at Owens, looked at his lodgings there a few years ago, close to the second campus, and found them very run down but hoped that they might have been better a century ago. (8) In any case, both Whitelaw and Owens at that time lacked residence halls. (9) Significantly, perhaps, in the passage lamenting Peak’s squalid dwelling place, Gissing -- 4 -- connects the desolate environment with vague, unmentioned temptations: An impartial observer might have wondered at the negligence which left him to arrange his life as best he could, notwithstanding youth and utter inexperience. It looked indeed as if there were no one in the world who cared what became of him. Yet this was merely the result of his mother’s circumstances, and of his own character. Mrs. Peak could do no more than make her small remittances, and therewith send an occasional admonition regarding his health. She did not, in fact, conceive the state of things, imagining that the authority and supervisal of the College extended over her son’s daily existence, whereas it was possible for Godwin to frequent lectures or not, to study or waste his time, pretty much as he chose, subject only to official inquiry if his attendance became frequently irregular. His independent temper, and the seeming maturity of his mind, supplied another excuse for the imprudent confidence which left him to his own resources. Yet the perils of the situation were great indeed. A youth of less concentrated purpose, more at the mercy of casual allurement, would probably have gone to wreck amid trials so exceptional. (I, 76) Peak does, in fact, engage in the “spasmodic debauch” of a one night’s spell of drinking (I, 92-94, 96), but this reflects very dimly Gissing’s own “allurement” by Nell, his prostitute love, which was neither brief nor “casual.” Coustillas has illumined much of this story through letters sent to Gissing by John George Black, his close friend at Owens. A fictional counterpart of Black appears in Born in Exile under the name of John Edward Earwaker (I, 25) which may owe something to John Parsons Earwaker (1847-1895), an antiquarian and distinguished alumnus of Owens, who preceded Gissing there by only a few years. (10) In the latter part of the novel, dealing with Peak’s masquerade as a candidate for the church, his friend John Earwaker is the only one with the faintest suspicion of what the hero is doing (II, 175-76). In actual life, John Black had similar suspicions of his friend’s predicament with Nell. (11) Gissing, of course, was caught stealing money for his prostitute from the cloak- -- 5 -- room at Owens, was arrested, convicted, given hard labor for a month, stripped of academic honors, and expelled with public condemnation of his sexual adventures. (12) “How easy it would be,” the narrator declares at the time of Peak’s brief bout with alcohol, “for him to lapse by degrees of weakened will into a ruinous dissoluteness “ (I, 96). The moralizing tone is curiously similar to that of the Principal of Owens in reporting to the Senate that “… Gissing… had…been leading a life of immorality and dissipation” and had been guilty of “profligate courses.” (13) Yet Gissing allowed the real disgrace of his days at Owens College to enter into his novel only in strange disguises. Both Peak in Born in Exile and Gissing in life were brilliant students driven from their colleges just before earning their degrees. But if Gissing was expelled for both theft and sexual misadventures, Peak is self-expelled for reasons that seem innocent and even laughable. He is mortified when Cockney Uncle Andrew plans to start a restaurant across from the campus in order to win the business of his nephew’s college friends: “Tickles you, eh, bo-oy? ‘Peak’s Refreshment an’ Dinin’ Rooms!’ Everything tip-top, mind; respectable business, Godwin; nothing for nobody to be ashamed of – that wouldn’t do, of course” (I, 40-42).