Modern architects have taken such delight in seeing what can be done with Pembroke that we have scarcely any vestiges of the old building. The long, low street front of the first court, a reminiscence of Oxford, with its double oriel, was refaced in 1726. It was the era of Gibbs and Burrough, and the treatment is therefore thoroughly conservative. But since then, Archbishop Rotherham’s fine, monastic plan has been ruthlessly spoiled. The oldest existing part is the Ivy Court, a pretty double range of rooms at the back of the Hall. The north side dates from 1633; the south, or Hitcham Building, from 1659, at which period Rotherham’s Library still formed the upper storey of the Hall, and the Chapel stood in the north-west corner of the first court. Bishop Wren’s chapel superseded the latter building[54] after the Restoration. It was consecrated in 1667, and is in curious contrast with the same prelate’s chapel of 1632 at Peterhouse. His nephew, the great Sir Christopher Wren, was the architect of this building and the adjoining cloister, which is so pleasant a feature of the western side of the court. Wren’s genius is clearly visible in the stately unpretentious exterior; but inside, the chapel is cold and ineffective. Stained glass of the type which has been employed at the east end of St Paul’s Cathedral, is wanted to complete the design.

Pembroke escaped Essex and Wilkins, but it can hardly be congratulated on what it has acquired instead. The south side of the old court has perished; the quaint two-storied building which contained the Hall and Library, has disappeared, and, instead, we have the modern Hall, a very insignificant Gothic apartment quite out of keeping with the traditions of Pembroke. Mr Waterhouse’s street front, south of the chapel, is quite the worst modern building in Cambridge so far as appearance goes; his library and clock-tower are, fortunately, in a not very obtrusive position. Of late years, Mr G.[57] G. Scott has built a very pretty court in a French Renaissance style at the back of the college, where Downing Street meets Tennis Court Lane, but, in building the Laboratory opposite in precisely the same style, he has committed an error which he would have done well to avoid. This court belongs to 1883; the Master’s Lodge, between it and the rest of the college, is by Waterhouse, and was finished ten years earlier.

“O Domus antiqua et religiosa!” said Queen Elizabeth, as she passed by the gates of Pembroke Hall. Very few colleges deserve the epithet better, for Pembroke has been one of the most religious of all Cambridge foundations, and its history is closely connected with the Church. Like Clare, Pembroke owes its origin to a woman. Marie de St Paul, daughter of Guy, Count of St Paul and Chatillon, married Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. There is a legend that the Earl was killed at a tournament on his wedding day, and Gray embodied the tradition in his noble Installation Ode—
“Sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn,
That wept her princely love.”

History, however, has made short work with this story. At all events, after her husband’s death, the Countess retired from the world, and, among other charitable works, founded Pembroke[58] Hall or, as she called it, the Hall of Valence-Mary. This name did not continue long in use; the college was very soon known, on the analogy of Clare, as Pembroke Hall, and the title of College was given to it in the last century. The foundation dates from 1347, when a Master, fifteen scholars and four Bible-clerks were established on the present site. Robert de Thorpe was first master.

Pembroke is intimately connected with the revival of learning in England. Henry VI. contributed generously to the foundation, and practically set it upon a new footing. Laurence Booth, who became master in 1450 and held the office until his death, was a man of great learning. His ecclesiastical promotion was rapid; he became Bishop of Durham in 1457, and Archbishop of York in 1476. Thomas Rotherham* succeeded him as Archbishop of York and Master of Pembroke. Rotherham, whose actual surname was Scott, was one of the most active promoters of learning in England. He had previously filled the sees of Rochester and Lincoln, and was Archbishop of York for twenty-one years. While Bishop of Lincoln, he had built the east side of the University Library, and he became the second founder of Lincoln College at Oxford. As Lord Chancellor of England, his political career was stormy. Fuller, in speaking of his library at Pembroke, says “Many have mistaken this for the performance of Richard the Third, merely because his Crest the Boar is set up therein. Whereas the truth[59] is that Rotheram having felt the sharp Tuskes of that Boar (when imprisoned by the aforesaid King for resigning the Great Seal of England to Queen Elizabeth, the relict of King Edward the Fourth) advanced his arms thereon that he might ingratiate himself.” Rotherham fell on more peaceful days when Henry VII. came to the throne. He resigned the mastership in 1488, and died of the plague at Cawood in 1501.

Curiously enough, the next master but two, Richard Foxe (* copy of Oxford pictures) founded Corpus Christi College at Oxford, just as Rotherham had re-founded Lincoln. He was at that time Master of Pembroke and Bishop of Winchester. Foxe was one of the greatest prelates of that great age. His benefactions to learning were innumerable and priceless; three colleges at Oxford and three at Cambridge count him among their benefactors; his splendid chantry at Winchester, one of the finest pieces of Renaissance sculpture which we possess, is entirely characteristic of this princely ecclesiastic. His enlightened religious views made him the friend and patron of the great scholars who flourished during the reign of Henry VII. He was also remarkable for his political activity; he was the chief agent in the establishment of the Tudor dynasty, and was one of the supporters of the throne against Perkin Warbeck’s rebellion. Ford, in his historical drama of Perkin Warbeck, drew Foxe’s character with admirable force. He died in 1528, old and almost blind, but still retaining all his vigour[60] and adhering to his bishoprick with great tenacity. Foxe may be regarded as one of our earliest and wisest Reformers: he died too early for the final quarrel with Rome, but there can hardly be any doubt that he would have exerted his influence to prevent a formal breach.

A reformer of a different kind was Nicholas Ridley,* master from 1540 to 1553, and Bishop of London during the last three of these thirteen years. It is easy to see the tendencies which the enthusiasm of Rotherham and Foxe for the New Learning had directed, in the fact that Bradford* and Rogers, also martyrs for Protestantism, were members of this college. After Elizabeth’s accession, Edmund Grindal,* a Protestant of a somewhat extreme type, became master for three years, during which, like Ridley, he held the see of London. He resigned the mastership in 1562. In 1570 he was translated from London to York, and in 1575 became Archbishop of Canterbury. His successor at Pembroke was the equally famous Matthew Hutton, a learned theologian. His life was closely connected with Cambridge; he took his bachelor’s degree in 1551, and ten years later, became Margaret Professor. Becoming head of Pembroke in the following year, he obtained the Regius Professorship of Divinity. He also was married twice to ladies of the neighbourhood. His first wife, Katherine Fulmetby, was niece to Bishop Goodrich of Ely; his second, Beatrice Fincham, also came from Ely. In 1567 he was made Dean of York and left Pembroke. His[61] preferment was almost entirely due to his scholastic disputations before Elizabeth on her visit to Cambridge. While at York, he married a third time, with the true zeal of a post-Reformation prelate for the married state. He was made Bishop of Durham in 1589 and was translated to York in 1594. His effigy, brilliantly painted and attired in the costume of an Elizabethan prelate, stands upright against the south wall of the choir at York Minster.

Whitgift’s mastership, lasting for a few months in 1567, gives another Archbishop to Pembroke. But he soon left the college for Trinity. Twenty-two years later, Lancelot Andrewes* became master. As Bishop successively of Chichester, Ely and Winchester, his name is familiar to students of the Laudian movement. He was one of those great men who, by their spirituality rather than their energy, vindicated the Church of England from Papal claims on one side and from Genevan doctrine on the other. He is buried, as is well known, in the Collegiate Church of St Saviour at Southwark. His influence is noticeable in the characters of his immediate successors. Samuel Harsnet, master from 1605 to 1616, was also Bishop of Chichester from 1609 to 1619 and of Norwich from 1619 to 1629; and distinguished himself in all these offices by his peaceful and devout spirit. Nicholas Felton,* Bishop of Bristol, was master from 1616 to 1618, and Bishop of Ely from 1619 to 1628. His next successor but one, Benjamin Laney,* was a stout Royalist, and[62] was conspicuous for his fidelity to the exiled King during the Commonwealth. At the Restoration, he received much recompense. He was made Bishop of Peterborough in 1660, Bishop of Lincoln in 1663, and Bishop of Ely in 1667. This unique example of promotion in the Eastern sees closes the list of Pembroke bishops for some time. Since then, the most famous prelate connected with the college has been Edward Maltby,* Bishop of Chichester in 1831 and of Durham from 1836 to 1856. He was the first of the Bishops of Durham under the regulations by which at the death of Bishop Van Mildert, the Prince-Bishoprick was finally disestablished.

While these “men of much motion and promotion” were occupying the mastership of the college, the foundation was not without its famous sons. They are not, however, very many, and the chief lustre of the college seems to have found its centre in the master. Richard Crashaw was in residence here for some time, doubtless attracted by the saintly fame of the masters of the Stewart epoch. But undoubtedly the greatest son of the college is Edmund Spenser,* who entered the house probably during Hutton’s mastership. Of this splendid name Pembroke may well be proud, although it has no very intimate relation with the life of the University. Bishop Matthew Wren,* Master of Peterhouse, was a fellow here. His benefactions are remarkable; they include the fine chapel. He also bequeathed his silver mitre to[63] the College; and this, although somewhat ugly in itself, is one of the most valuable pieces of plate in Cambridge.

Passing over the age of Anne and George I. we come to the long mastership of Dr Roger Long (* Benj. Wilson) who ruled the college from 1733 to 1770. Long became Lowndean Professor of Astronomy in 1750. His astronomical studies were commemorated at Pembroke by a hollow sphere of metal, which had a diameter of eighteen feet and was a complete guide to the solar system. It was contained in a building which terminated the north side of the second court, but it was destroyed in 1871. Dr Long was also much interested in the liberal arts; he was a musician and mechanic; he was also a wit of a not very refined order. His “Musick Speech” delivered in Great St Mary’s at the Commencement of 1714, is quoted in Mr J. W. Clark’s book on Cambridge. He was then fellow of his college. As master, he was a friend of Thomas Gray. When that sensitive poet left Peterhouse, he met with a royal reception at Pembroke, which proves that the college was progressive in the direction of culture. Gray joined the society, and resided in the second court for fifteen years. His rooms were famous for their comfort in a day when no one thought of furnishing a room with more than a table and a few chairs, and the blue pots in his window were the wonder of Cambridge. He was devoted to his adopted college, and the influence of its structure may be traced in several[64] passages of his poems. From 1768 to 1771, he held the chair of Modern History. There are one or two portraits of him in the college. That by Benjamin Wilson, now in the Combination Room, was painted after his death. Another poet, his close friend and personal admirer, William Mason (* Reynolds) belonged to the society for many years, and died in 1797.

If among poets Pembroke claims Spenser, she can also claim William Pitt among statesmen. There are two portraits of the illustrious Prime Minister, one, by Harlow, in the Hall; the other, by Gainsborough, in the Combination Room. Pitt is, however, the property not so much of a single college as of the University, whose politics have been largely directed by his memory. His name is preserved in the Pitt Club, which was established soon after his death and took his coat of arms. It is to-day the best social club in the University, and has rooms in Jesus Lane. In later years, Pembroke elected John Couch Adams (* Herkomer), the discoverer of Neptune, to a fellowship, thus adding to a list which, if not long, is at least highly distinguished. Under the mastership of Dr Searle (* Ouless), who was elected in 1880, it has become an exceedingly popular college, and its numbers are very largely augmented. Dr Edward Bickersteth, the late Bishop of the Church of England in Japan, was among the most celebrated of its recent members, and held an Honorary Fellowship. The present Bishop of Wakefield is the latest addition to its roll of prelates.