Nearly half a century has elapsed since Dr Luard became a member of Trinity College. When he came up, the University was a very different place from what it is now; the Statutes of Elizabeth were still in force; and the only study which obtained official recognition was that of mathematics. It is true that a Classical Tripos existed, but anybody who wished to be examined in it was obliged to obtain an honour in Mathematics first. The first Commission was not appointed until 1850, the year in which he proceeded to the degree of Master of Arts. Nor were the changes that resulted from their labours so sweeping as to alter, to any overt and material extent, the character of the University. The University of our own time, due to more recent legislation, did not come into being until he had reached middle life.

These prefatory sentences are necessary to explain his character, which has often been misunderstood. He passed his youth and many years of his manhood in the old University, and though he was compelled, intellectually, to admit the advantage of many of the changes which have taken place in recent years, I doubt if he ever cordially accepted them. He was a man of the older generation, who had lived down into the present, and though he made friends in it, and derived many substantial advantages from it, he was always casting lingering looks behind, and sighing for a past which he could not recall. He remembered the time when the resident Fellows of his college were few in number, when they all lived in college rooms, and met every day at the service in Chapel or the dinner in Hall, and commonly took their daily exercise, a walk or a ride, in each other’s company. As his older friends passed away, he found a difficulty in making new ones; he felt out of his element; he was distracted by the multiplicity of tastes and studies; and vehemently disapproved of the modifications in the collegiate life which the new statutes have brought about. Though he himself, by a strange irony of fate, was the first Fellow to take advantage of the power of marrying and still retaining the Fellowship, he bitterly regretted that such a clause had ever become law; and it is hardly too much to say that he predicted the ruin of the college from such an innovation. And yet he was by no means an unreasoning or unreasonable Conservative. In many matters he was a Reformer; I have even heard him called a Radical; but, when his beloved college was concerned, the force of early association was too strong, and he regarded fundamental change as sacrilege.

Luard was fourteenth wrangler in 1847, a place much lower than he had been led to expect. The cause of his failure is said to have been ill-health. His disappointment, however, was speedily consoled by a Fellowship, a distinction to which he is said to have aspired from his earliest years. A friend who sat next him when he was a student at King’s College, London, remembers his writing down, “Henry Richards Luard, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge,” and asking, “How do you think that looks?” But, though he was really a first-rate mathematician, his heart was elsewhere. He delighted in classical studies, especially Greek, and to the end of his life continued to collect early editions, and more, to read Greek authors. Not long ago, in the interval between two pieces of hard work, I think between two volumes of his edition of Matthew Paris, I found him reading the Supplices of Euripides. He complained that it was dull, but he went through with it. His acquaintance with Greek scholarship was very accurate and remarkable. He knew all about the emendations in which the scholars of the last century displayed their ingenuity; he spoke of Bentley, Porson, Gaisford, Elmsley, and the rest, as though they had been his personal friends, and he could quote from memory, even to the last, many of their most brilliant achievements. For Porson he had a special cult, and the Life of him which he contributed to the Cambridge Essays (1857) is a model of what such a composition should be, as remarkable for good taste and temperate criticism, as for erudition. He resented any slights on Porson as almost a personal affront; and spoke with unmeasured denunciation of any edition of a Greek Play, or other classical work, in which Porson did not seem to be fully appreciated. He had a priceless collection of Porsoniana, books which had belonged to Porson, and had been annotated by him, with notices of his life and labours, all of which he bequeathed to the Library of Trinity College; and he edited Porson’s Correspondence, and the Diary of Edward Rud, which throws so much light on the history of the college during the stormy reign of Dr Bentley. It must be confessed that Luard’s affection for these giants of classical criticism rather blinded him to the merits of their successors in our own time. He had a particular dislike for English notes; and I had rather not try to remember what I have heard him say about English translations printed side by side with the original text.

Let it not be supposed, however, that Luard confined his attention in literature to the classics. He was an insatiable reader of books on all subjects, and if the book was a new one he was particular that his copy should be uncut. He liked to read sitting in his armchair, and to cut the leaves as he went along. What he began, he considered it a point of honour to finish. It was a joke against him that he had read every word of The Cornhill Magazine, which he had taken in from the beginning; and I have heard him admit, more than once, that this was really the case. I think it quite likely that he had submitted the volumes published under the authority of the Master of the Rolls, to the same searching investigation; for he could give a curiously minute account of the merits and demerits of each work, supported, as usual with him, by numerous quotations, cited with much volubility of utterance, and, it may be added, with unerring accuracy. The pace at which he got through a ponderous volume—without skipping, be it remarked—was really astonishing, and when he had come to the end he could not only give a clear and connected account of what he had read, but it became part of himself, and he could quote long afterwards any passage that had specially struck him.

The variety of Luard’s interests at all periods of his life, was remarkable, especially when it is remembered that he was a genuine student, with a horror of superficiality, and a conscientious determination to do whatever he took in hand as well as it could be done. But he was no Dry-as-dust. He was keenly alive to all that was passing in the world, and unlike a contemporary Cambridge antiquary who was once heard to ask, “Is the Times still published?” he not only read the paper through every day, but had his own very definite opinions on men and measures. There was nothing narrow about him; he was a patriotic Englishman, but he did not ignore the existence of the Continent, and his favourite relaxation was foreign travel. As a young man he had travelled extensively, not only in Europe, but in Egypt, where he had ascended the Nile as far as the second cataract: and, as he grew older, he still sought refreshment in going over parts of his old tours, especially in those by-ways of Central Italy which lie within the limits of what he affectionately called “dear old Umbria.” He spoke more than one foreign language fluently; and, being entirely destitute of British angularity, and British prejudices in politics and religion, he always got on exceedingly well with foreigners, especially with foreign ecclesiastics. I feel that I am saying only what is literally true when I affirm that few Englishmen have understood the creed and the practice of the Roman clergy in Italy so thoroughly as he did. In illustration of this view I would refer my readers to an article called Preaching and other matters in Rome in 1879 which he contributed to the Church Quarterly Review^[119]. Further, he took an intelligent interest in antiquities of all sorts, and had an acquaintance with art that was something more than respectable. Here his excellent memory stood him in good stead, for he never forgot either a picture which he had once seen, or the place in which he had seen it.

In politics he called himself a Tory, and he certainly did vote on that side; but he was in no sense of the word a party-man. For instance, when his friend Mr George Denman came forward as a Liberal candidate for the representation of the University in 1855, Luard was an active member of his committee. His knowledge of Italy made him watch the course of events there in 1859 with an enthusiastic sympathy, which was divided almost equally between the Italians and their French allies. With a curious perversity, which was not uncommon in his appreciation of men and his judgment of events, he hated Garibaldi as much as he admired Victor Emmanuel and Cavour. But from the first he never doubted of the cause of freedom, and astonished his Conservative friends by offering a wager across the high table at Trinity as to the time it would take the combined French and Italian forces to occupy Milan. So far as I can remember, he was right almost to the very day.

From his boyhood Luard had been an ardent collector of books, and it was probably this taste that induced him to take a further excursion into the past, and begin the study of manuscripts. Professor Mayor tells me that the influence and example of Dr S. R. Maitland turned his attention to the Middle Ages in the widest sense—their history, their literature, and their life. This may well have been the case, for I know, from many conversations, that he had the profoundest respect and admiration for Dr Maitland’s character, and for the thoroughness of his studies and criticisms. I do not know how Luard acquired his very accurate knowledge of medieval handwriting; but I remember that in 1855 or 1856 he gave me some lessons of the greatest value. In the second of these years the first volume of the Catalogue of Manuscripts in the University Library was published, into the preparation of which he had thrown himself with characteristic enthusiasm. As time went on, the direction of the work was left more and more to him; he became the editor, and to him the excellent index, published in 1867, is mainly, if not entirely, due.

From the study of manuscripts to their transcription and publication the transition is easy, and we need therefore find no difficulty in accounting for his employment by the Master of the Rolls. He began his work on that series in 1858 by editing certain Lives of Edward the Confessor, written in old French. This work, on which he had bestowed infinite pains, was not free from errors. The study of the language in which it is written was not understood at that time as it is now, and it is no discredit to Luard’s memory to admit that he was not fully prepared for the task. But such mistakes as he made are no justification for the savage and personal attack to which he was subjected, eleven years afterwards, by a critic who ought to have known better. I do not feel that this is the place to criticise, or even to mention, the long list of historical works that Luard subsequently edited, the last of which appeared not long before his death. His labours in this field of research have been better appreciated in Germany than in England, but even here scholars like Bishop Stubbs and Professor Freeman have spoken with cordial appreciation of the value of his work. It is worth noting too that here his passion for old methods of editing deserted him; nothing can be more thoroughly modern than his treatment of these ancient records. Nor can I leave this part of my subject without noticing his indexes. He was the very prince of index-makers; every sheet, before it was finally passed for press, was fully indexed, with the result that not only were mistakes recognised and corrected, but the index itself, worked out on a definite system conceived from the beginning, was carried through to a satisfactory conclusion without haste or weariness, and became a real catalogue of the subjects referred to in the work itself.

Luard was Registrary of the University from 1862 to his death in 1891. To this work he brought the same painstaking accuracy, and the same unselfish readiness to endure hard work, that distinguished his other labours. The ordinary duties of his office were discharged with marvellous rapidity, and almost painful attention to detail; and the records were admirably re-arranged. Mr Romilly, his predecessor, had brought order out of confusion, and prepared an excellent catalogue on modern lines; but Luard went a step farther. He bound the contents of Mr Romilly’s bundles in a series of volumes, each of which he indexed with his own hand. These separate indexes were then transcribed, and finally bound together so as to form a complete catalogue of the contents of the Registry. Every paper can now be found with the least possible loss of time, while each bound volume contains a complete history of the subject to which it relates, so far as it can be illustrated by documents in the Registry.

Luard’s duties as Registrary, added to the continuous strain of his historical work, would have been enough for most people; but he never forgot that he was a clergyman, as well as a man of letters, and he took care always to have some active clerical work to do. He was an eloquent preacher, and his sermons in the College Chapel used to be listened to with an interest that we did not always feel in what was said to us from that pulpit. They were plain, practical, persuasive; the compositions of one who was not above his congregation; who had nothing donnish about him, but who spoke to the undergraduates as one who had passed through the same temptations as themselves, and who was, therefore, in a position to show them the right road. On the same principles, for the twenty-seven years during which he was Vicar of Great S. Mary’s, he laboured in the parish in a spirit of true sympathy. There was no fussiness about him; he did not take part in movements; he did not ‘work’ a parish as a modern clergyman does, on the principle of perpetual worry, leaving neither man, nor woman, nor child at peace for a moment; he led his people to better things by gentle measures; he sympathized with their troubles; he relieved their necessities; in a word, he exercised an unbounded influence over them, while refraining from interference in matters of moral indifference. His memory will long be venerated there for active benevolence, and punctual discharge of all that it became him to do. I have heard that the full extent of his charities will never be known. He hated display, and avoided reference to what he was about unless it was necessary to stimulate others by mentioning it; but those who know best tell me that his labours among the poor were unremitting, and that his generosity knew no limits.

Nor should it be forgotten, in even the most summary record of Luard’s life at Cambridge, that it was he who got Great S. Mary’s restored in the true sense of the word, by removing the excrescences which the taste, or, rather, want of taste, of the last century had piled up in it. He pulled down the carved work thereof—the hideous ‘Golgotha’—with axes and hammers, and exhibited to an astonished and by no means complacent University the noble church in the unadorned simplicity of its architecture. The restoration of the University Church to something like its ancient arrangement will be an enduring monument of his parochial life.

He was a High Churchman, but a High Churchman with a difference. He belonged to the school of Pusey and Liddon rather than to that of the modern Ritualist, whose doings were as alien to his convictions and feelings as those of the party whom he scornfully styled ‘those Protestants.’ I have heard him called narrow and intolerant. I beg leave to refer such detractors to the sermon preached by him on the Sunday after the death of Frederick Denison Maurice. And this brings me to what was, perhaps, the leading principle of his whole life—his absolute honesty and fearlessness. He held certain beliefs and certain opinions himself, which he cherished, and which were of vital importance to himself; but he did not shut his eyes to the possibility that others who held diametrically opposite views might be in the right also. And if he found a man sincere, no considerations of party, of respectability, of imaginary dangers concealed behind opinions held to be heretical, would prevent him from speaking out and proclaiming his admiration.

In manners Luard had much of the stately courtesy which we commonly ascribe to the last century, joined to a vivacious impulsiveness due, no doubt, to his French extraction. This impulsiveness led him into a rapidity of thought and utterance which often caused him to be misunderstood. He said what came first into his thoughts, and corrected it afterwards; but, unfortunately for him, people remembered the first words used, and forgot the explanation. Hence he was often misunderstood, and credited with opinions he did not really hold. He delighted in society, and few men knew better how to deal with it, or how to make his house an agreeable centre of Cambridge life. In this he was ably seconded by his admirable wife, qui savait tenir un salon, as the French say, more successfully than is usual in this country. Without her help he would hardly have been able to find the time required for his continual hospitalities. The house was different from any other house that I have ever known, and reflected, more directly, the peculiar gifts and tastes of its owner. The pictures, the china, the books that lined the walls, bespoke the cultivated scholar; but the modern volumes that lay on the tables showed that he was no dry archaeologist, but full of enthusiasm for all that was best in modern literature. He had a keen sense of humour, and an admirable memory; and when the conversation turned that way, would tell endless stories of Cambridge life, or repeat page after page of his favourite Thackeray. At the same time he did not engross the conversation, but drew his guests out, and led each insensibly to what was interesting to him or to her. It is sad to think that all this has passed away; that exactly one month after Luard’s death his friends stood again beside his grave to see his only child laid in it; that his house will pass into alien hands; and that his library will share the fate of similar collections. ‘Eheu! quanto minus est cum aliis versari quam tui meminisse.’