THE CYGNET
COMMITTEE. Editor: M. LEWIS.
Treasurer: J. LAPRAIK.
Third Year Representative—V. A. BASILEWITCR Second Year Representative—M. M. EVANS. First Year Representative — S. BIRD.
THE CYGNET UNE 1932
Editorial
A
T the final meeting of the committee a resolution was passed to the effect that the non-productivity of the masses is the curse of the state. This was followed by another motion, viz.: that the Cygnet shall in future be run for the financial benefit of the Committee. We therefore proceeded to award the prize for the ' Abstract of St. Hugh's ' to Migs M. Evans, and to adopt the immoral course of printing entries for other contributions without awarding a prize. With which terse remark I shuts up.
The Murder of a Tutor She stood by the tutor's bedside, a Liddell and Scott's Lexicon in one hand, a cushion in the other, a bicycle lamp—a borrowed one—held between her teeth. A faint light glimmered through the curtains : the melancholy screech of owls sounded from the trees outside. Goaded by the gadfly of repeated gammas for her most painstaking proses, inflamed by the intoxicating draughts of claret cup which she had recklessly imbibed at the bump supper of that evening, she was about to take a not inappropriate revenge—
IS THIS CUSTOMARY?' SHE THOUGHT. a revenge which would have been dear to the Mikado's heart. Her destined victim lay sleeping in peaceful unconsciousness of impending Nemesis. But even at this eleventh hour a haunting doubt stayed her tutri-
cidal hand. Is this customary?' she thought. Not for worlds would she
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transgress the statutes, or even the unwritten precepts which govern the conduct of all right-minded junior members of the university. She had even put on a cap and gown for this interview with her tutor. This question, she felt, must be settled before she could proceed. She laid the Liddell and Scott beside her tutor's head on the pillow. The tutor gave an uneasy moan—was it a premonition, or merely the effect of the tough chicken eaten that evening? On the bedside table lay a copy of the Statutes, together with a crib for the Latin parts. Hastily she turned over the leaves. No : there was no statute De Tutoribus non Interficiendis. Closing the book, she placed the cushion resolutely over her tutor's head, crowning the work with the weighty Liddell and Scott. She allowed three and a half minutes to elapse ; then she removed the Lexicon and the cushion. The tutor had expired without a groan. The jury brought it in ' Accidental Death,' and added a rider to the effect that stricter supervision should be exercised over the age of the fowls used for bump suppers. R. M.
ABSTRACT OF ST. HUGH'S.
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Ruthless Rhymes for a Callous College One night when things were rather slack A homicidal maniac Poisoned the water jugs on high Thus causing all the dons to die. Selina's comment, when I told Her this sad news, seemed somewhat cold : ' Good job I changed my night,' she said, To dine on high, or I'd he dead.'
The Ides of March 1933 ACT I. SCENE I. Oxford : A Room in a College.
Enter PORTIA, a scholar, reading a note : ' It grieves me, Portia, that your discourse yet lies hid in some crammed recess of my study. An it again see the light, I will inform thee straight. Lay this to thy heart, and .farewell.' Is't possible? My essay lost again, And she but grieved, forsooth ; and I must fawn And say it matters not . . .
(Alaruin. Knocking without.) How now ! Come in !
(Enter the conspirators, CASSIA, LUCIA and LAVINIA, their caps plucked about their ears, and half their faces buried in their gowns.) CASSIA. I think we are too bold upon your rest. Good morrow, Portia. Do we trouble you? PORTIA. I have been up this hour, awake all night, Writing another discourse—to be lost. CASSIA. The fault, dear Portia, is not in our stars But in ourselves that we do suffer this. PORTIA. What you would work me to, I have some aim ; But now, my noble friend, chew upon this— Portia had rather be a commoner, Than to repute herself a scholar sage, Under these hard conditions as this hag (Exit.) Is like to lay upon us. LUCIA. The gods smile fair upon our enterprise. We've won the noble Portia to our party, And Portia, as you know, is Julia's scholar. (Re-enter PORTIA, bearing Petit de Julleville.) PORTIA. 0 that we could but come by Julia's vagueness • And not dismember Julia. But alas ! Julia must bleed for it, my gentle friends. LAVINIA. I'll bring her to the lecture-room myself. CASSIA. And we will all of us be there to meet her. (Exeunt severally.) PORTIA. By the ninth hour, that is the uttermost.
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SCENE 2. The same. A lecture-room. (PORTIA, CASSIA and LUCIA are discovered seated. They converse apart. Enter JULIA, LA.VINIA following.) JULIA. Are we all ready? Can you see the board? LUCIA. I pray thee to excuse Metella's absence, For now, upon this raw and gusty day, The troubled Isis chafing with her shores, Accoutred as she is, she plunges in, The others follow. JULIA. Lucia, be not fond ; Though thou dost bend and pray and fawn for her, 'Twas most essential she should come to-day. Is there no voice more worthy than my own LUCIA. To sound more sweetly in our Julia's ear? PORTIA. As low as to thy foot doth Portia fall To beg Metella may have leave to swim. JULIA. I could be well moved, if I were as you, But I am constant as the dinner-bell ; And I was constant that she should be here, And constant do remain to keep it so. LAVINIA,. 0 JuliaHence ! Wilt thou lift up the Radcliffe? JuLIA. LUCIA. Vague Doth not Portia gownless kneel? JULIA. CASSIA. Speak, hands, for me ! (CASSIA first, then the other conspirators and PoRTIA, stab JULIA:, (Dies.) JULIA. Et toi, Portia? Then fall Julia.
If the mental agenda Of B -11- and of Br - nd Were submitted to analysis The August would have paralysis.
The Mocking Bird The satyr has crushed underfoot the sweet vine And forsaken the noonlong amorous sport, Ungathered the flowers and untasted the wine, The dryades mourn that they flee forth uncaught. Under the green cool pomegranite tree The satyr is bowed in sullen despair, The mocking bird calls with a voice like the sea, A dryad peers forth but there's nobody there. Does she lie laughingly hid in the close leaves, Gathering the pomegranite seeds that are sweetest, For a glance of her loveliness all the wood grieves, Can she lie hid where the high grass is deepest?
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Long has she called them, long have they sought her, Hundreds of years in the glow of the noon, By starlight or twilight in earth, air and water And wept for her voice in the white of the moon. Listening in vain for the song he has heard, Brooding the satyr sits, the dryad is still, She is flown in a dream is the green mocking bird ; The sun has long dipped and the shadows grow chill.
The Second Year Play The performance of ' Caesar and Cleopatra' on March 8th provided much enjoyment--for which Mr. Bernard Shaw was only part-responsible. We were not quite certain at the beginning (the prologue excepted), whether he was going to be responsible at all, but we soon realized that he was, and that we were enjoying his play, apart from unrehearsed' effects (but perhaps they were not absent from rehearsals ?) A vacation and a term have gone the way of all flesh since the event, but we can still remember Ptolemy's eyes. (This is not so wrong of us as might be imagined, since he was only ten years old). Barbara Sturgis's representation of a small boy was perfect—his powerlessness and yet his dignity, and the serious regard in which he held himself. It was a pity we could not see more of him. Myfanwy Evans as Caesar, and Joan Lippold as Cleopatra, both took difficult parts exceedingly well—Cleopatra with more ease than Caesar. He had had difficulty with his wrinkles, and an atmosphere of struggle was still about him. Margaret Phillips was unwaveringly sinister as Ftatateeta, and Margaret Lewis was a delightfully aesthetic Apollodorus. Theodotus. (D. Jeudwine) and Pothinus (H. Charles) were also conspicuously good, and Sylvia Goodfellow showed a new side to her acting in the part of the cowardly sentinel. If the remarks of the highly respectable Britannus, though diverting, became a little tedious towards the end, that was the fault of Mr. Shaw and not of Roseen Preston. She was well-chosen for the part ; and that can be said also of H. French (Rufio), M. Tamplin (Achillas) and B. O'Donovan (Centurion). Edith Temple (Charmian) must be congratulated for a very naturalsounding giggle, and J. Burton for being a boatman of a cheerful, ruddy countenance. (The boatmen we have met in real life have always been either gloomy Socialists, or still gloomier evangelists : the contrast was refreshing.) We were always glad to see the two Auxiliaries again (N. Salinger and B. le Fanu) : they made such interesting entrances. We never grew tired of B. le Fanu's helmet ; or of wondering whether they would leave their spears behind, or their spears leave them—and whether the electric light and scenery would survive it all. Stage armies, whether on or off, are usually amusing, and one tin whistle can indeed produce wonders. We laughed considerably during this perfomance—but we also followed it with serious interest, for it was often impressive. The scenic effects—especially at the opening—were little short of miraculous ; and Margaret Lewis is to be congratulated on her production. The one obvious point in which the performance could have been impfoved was the simple one of learning parts. Too much prompting had to be given—but more than this, we could tell that a few characters were spending their energy upon remembering the text.
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General Knowledge Paper (See page ii for Answers.) i. What is the Excuse of Excuses? 2. What are the root meanings of (a) eradicate' ; (b) ' delude' ? 3. Why are their no poems to the inimitable Miss Shelley in this magazine? 4. Whose tutor said, ' I am so glad you haven't done an essay this week ' ? 5. What is the D.O.G.A. ?
Down the Cherwell : May Evening Batlight, Gloam of day, The soft splash Of paddles dipt in dark, and dash, From the lifted, quivering keel of our fleeting canoe, Of miniature spray. Sudden, amazing glitter ! I turn to you. ' I'm digging for silver . . . lovely . . ; the drops rain down. You look so swart. . . . A. Cherokee Indian . . . a Siou, And . . . Oh there ! Keep your head straight. It's rocking.' You frown, Startled, intent . . . take up the rhythm again. Colour and light and shape, they swiftly drain From the face of things, and only shadows remain ; And shadow-reflections . . . they loom at times too near Of a sudden . . . quick breath, strong pull of the wrist . . . All clear ! ' We slip by the curve where the willow stoops from the bank, Scarce seen across a moonless, darkling sky. A plop. Look there, there in the light ! ' you cry ; Silver rings where some water-rat or vole Dived. Look ! ' A brave little head borne high, Urged, swimming, breathless, against the stream, to his hole, Till the watery dark sucks him in, secret and dank. You murmur musingly, Bijou riverside residence.' . . . Remember the quaint Tale of the Rat and the Mole . . . The Wind in the Willows' ? I nod. Silence creeps out with breathing faint, Flees once as some craft shoots by ; behind it billows The stream in tiny imitation of waves ; And all along the shadows the water laves The bank, and fuses in manifold whispering plaint. We glide now calm, in the widest stretch of river, Sword bright, Catching what light Still lingers. And see, disturbed by uneasy shiver, One star reflection. elrowned ; it rises a-quiver Behind us. The stream is a mirror of polished steel, As they used in Rameses' Egypt (tarnish and rust The shadows, and silver scratches spread from our keel),
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The face that gazed in it—dust. Among the flickering forms of the other side, Leaf, and blade, and ripple, one square still head Juts from the shadows there—one had almost said A giant water-horse wallowed drinking. Inside, Somewhere behind the bushes, a murmuration, A laugh, a rustle, a low-toned conversation, Betray the half-hid punt. . . . And now the stream Narrows. I wave a torch ; shapes in a dream Flit past, catching the up-thrown gleam, As though explorers brought to primal night Of a subterranean passage the first known light. But now, round the bend, voices come to our ears ; Ahead on the bank a range of light appears . . . The boathouse . . . the floating jetty . . . the line of boats Heaving in the quick swell. Our vessel floats Careless, others pass laden. . . . Music . . . a cry . . . ' That'll do. . . . Steady.' We grate. Hands draw us by The raft. We scramble out, stiff, and our knees Yes. To-morrow, please. Uncertain beneath us. Good-night.' The same time, yes.' A shadow salutes. We turn. A step up, and over the boards to the light.
The First Year Play In the Surfeit of Lampreys ' the First Year ventured out of the wellworn ruts of topical allusion, and produced a play that depended for its success on the humour of plot and characterisation. The original idea, which came from P. Evans, was elaborated by the Committee, and the wit superimposed by various members of the year. Even the harassed Third-year seeking consolation for Schools must have enjoyed it, and although the theme of college food was unnecessarily drawn out and tedious, pearls such as Between you and me and the gate-book ' will probably go down to posterity. M. Ross was undoubtedly the star performer, and all college must have longed for a Bernard to make love to them. J. Richardson, though she occasionally forgot her Cockney accent, made the play a riot whenever she appeared, and C. Loveday acted the part of the French jester with unobtrusive skill. At times the dialogue dragged very slowly, particularly in the drinking scenes, which seems to exercise an everlasting fascination upon undergraduette play-wrights, although the inevitable redundance of women makes real humour impossible. The production, however, was good, considering the difficulties of converting the drawing-room into a stage, and the dresses were magnificent. M.N.P.
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ABSTRACT OF ST. HUGH'S.
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Personal HAM.—Have you given me the slip? Worried.—Tom. NIGHT SERVICE.—Our baths run at frequent intervals from 10.30 p.m. onwards. Private hire. Put a call through any time. KEW 841. FISHERS OF MEN use the new Sub-fuse' mesh. Invaluable for catching
sharks in schools. D.M.C. for first-class Old English fancy-work. Dine at The High Table.' Better food, better service, better company. No extra cost.
WHY NOT To-NIGHT?
Chinese Vase Prinked with flowers a meadow blue Curves the circled ivory vase, Brittle flowers that never grew And coloured like the summer stars. There proudly steps in fabled dream A mandarin of long ago Where scentless azure lilies gleam Swayed by winds that never blow. Blue his eye ; sapphire the silk Of jutted cape, from each joint swings Polished, lacquered white as milk, A tinkling bell that never rings. Trim upon the river lies His pointed junk that never sails Those waves of jewelled turquoise dyes, Or trades her priceless silken bales. Fantastic music he makes sing Treble notes no mortal hears On his lute with silver string, Remote, too sweet for human ears.
The Crystal A young man walked listlessly along the rough track. A grey half-light shadowed everything, except a few stray firs at the eastern edge of the forest, and they glinted warmly in the watery beams of the sun. Everything seemed unreal ; even the crackling of the twigs, as the young man snapped them beneath his feet, was muffled and dream-like. He had no illusions ; he told himself sternly, almost passionately, that to expect an easy life was to be absurdly, unwarrantably confident. All those he knew
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who had reason to be hopeful of life had met sorrow and unbearable hardship ; some had died and left weeping behind them, and some lived on— existed, rather—half oblivious of the horror of their own circumstances. There is tragedy wherever I go, wherever I look,' said the young man. ' Is is fate, or life itself ? ' he wondered, as he kicked a stone along the track ; and he thought of eagles and other birds of prey, of stoats and mice-eating owls, of spiders, and of parasites that suck life from the beautiful virile forest trees. It is life,' he said. He was not profound, but he was serious, and, as he said that, in a flash it came upon him that he had solved the problem of existence. No, no ; of course,' he told himself, it is life itself for the bird that it devoured by the eagle, for the little harmless rabbit, and even for the grand forest tree, but for us—for us, it is not life, nor even Fate—it is our own stupidity. Peter, now, his is a tragic situation, but he is a stupid man, I know ; so is Ivor the carter, and Anna the cobbler's daughter, a weak, foolish girl. All stupid—stupid—stupid.' And already there lurked beneath his sensitive, self-conscious disillusionment a faint spring of hope for his own destiny, as there always does in those who feel they have discerned the foibles and weaknesses of others. The grey light brightened, and the sun, gathering in its pale rays, moved slowly into a clear patch of sky, light turquoise coloured and streaked with narrow silver white clouds like swans' wings reflected in a silken stream. The young man looked at the tops of the firs cresting proudly on to the pure blue of the sky, and began to run, and he ran until he arrived, excited and breathless, at the first of the forest trees. I am not stupid,' he though, as he leant against the firm trunk, and looked up through the star-shape formed by its branches to the hopeful sky above. He repeated this several times to himself, but somehow complete self-confidence would not come. Suddenly he remembered the wizard—at least they said he was a wizard in those parts, and regarded him with reverence and superstition. He took the path into the forest, and walked swifty into its quiet depths. At last he came upon the wizard's hut, standing in a small clearing. The sun had caught the roof and the place was lit up with a golden aura of hope. He strode to the door and knocked, lifted the latch, and went in. He hardly looked at the low-beamed room, but stepped straight across it, until he stood before the old man, with his great white forehead and queerly glinting eyes. I've come about my life,' said the young man, rather tensely. The old man fondled the large clear crystal that was on the table beside him with his old, bony hands, and smiled an invitation to the youth. Better see it,' he said, and gave a dry old chuckle. The young man had a moment's foreboding, but ignored it, and sat down by the crystal. He saw his babyhood, his childhood, and then his early boyhood, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the table as he waited for something new to appear. Then followed his school-days and adolescence, correct in every detail. Then a gap (for the present), and then — he took a deep breath and watched intently—two girls . . . a choice between them . . . his early married life . . . friends coming to the house, two in particular,
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one of whom he loved as a brother . . . dark suspicions crossing his mind that some man was making free in his house, and with his wife, a blind, unreasoning jealousy, like a cloud, apparent in his face. Himself crossing the street to the house of his beloved friend . . . attacking his friend with perfidy and then . . . cutting off his explanation with a knife in his breast . . . horror ! And then . . . remorse ! His wife's horror at the murder, and confession to having been unfaithful to him—with the other man. Horror upon horror ! And then—the last act of his life—the knife in his own breast. The wizard gave a low cough, and smiled rather triumphantly at the youth. But the young man was already half-way out of the door and running back through the forest. He was filled with horror of what he had seen, but his heart was filled with happiness. This terrible tragedy, more terrible than anything that he had imagined even in his most pessimistic moments, could be averted •' he knew what he must do, knew that his whole life depended on a choice between persons, knew . . . Exultantly he ran faster than ever towards the fringe of the forest. At last he emerged on the hillside where he had walked that morning. There was the same grey half-light again, but now, instead of the water-pale sunlight, a sullen red glow touched the western sky. As he entered his own village a group of young men and girls came laughing towards him ; he looked at their gay expressions and loughing eyes. Suddenly his heart grew cold ; he remembered now—all the faces in the crystal had been blank.
If I were going down I know what I would do : I would go into the town And make away with one or two Of the people that I knew.
Answers to General Knowledge Paper z. 2.
3. 4. 5.
Miss Henderson's reply that she had been unable to return a book owing to a severe bout of leprosy. (a) To leave or cause to leave the Radder. (b) To cheat at ludo. (Obsolete.) Because all the rhymes to her name are vaguely unpleasant or slightly indecorous. No one's. This is known as the pathetic fallacy. The Defence of Grey Allen Act. Next year barbed-wire will be issued free to all Schools candidates, and it will be permissible to shoot at sight.
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Tennis Report The Editor has refused to accept the meteorological article that we submitted in place of this report. We shall therefore confine ourselves to stating that, owing to the unprintable state of the weather, tennis has been chiefly confined to a few high spots. It has been extremely difficult to choose the team this term owing to the fact that there were so many people with apparently equal qualifications. Miss Burton's dynamic drive and Miss Lewis's push-and-pull provided an adequate first couple ; ourselves and Miss Lippold appeared satisfactory at second ; but the third couple remained a perpetual welter of the Misses Phillips, Woolf, Thorpe and Goodfellow. Cuppers were heroic but slightly tragic. A glorious and unexpected victory over L.M.H. was followed by a complete crumbling v. O.H.S. The Second Cuppers, too, had their moments, but L.M.H. were too much for us. It only remains for us to thank Miss Burton for her energetic secretaryship, to which we owe an enjoyable if brief season. I. A. JOSEPHY.
HOLYWELL PRESS. OXFORD.
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CONSTITUTION OF THE COLLEGE MAGAZINE. I.—That the Magazine be called THE CYGNET.' 2.—That the officers of the Magazine shall be an Editor and a Treasurer, elected by the J.C.R., and an elected representative from each year. 3.—Contributions shall be accepted or refused by the decision of the majority of the Committee, the Editor reserving the right of the casting vote. 4.—The Committee shall not be held responsible for any opinions expressed in the Magazine. 5.—Nothing of intrinsic merit shall be excluded on account of views expressed therein. 6.—The anonymous character of contributions shall be respected when required. 7.—Contributions are eligible from the Senior and Junior Common Rooms, past and present. 8.—The Committee shall be empowered at their discretion to invite contributions from anyone not a member of the College.