Bohemia’s GodfatherGeorge William Louis Marshall-Hall

Baz Luhrmann was joking in Moulin Rouge when he suggested the bohemian creed of the nineteenth century consisted of Freedom, Truth, Love and Beauty (all in capitals). Bohemian sentiment in colonial Australia can be more readily identified with Drink, Fornication, Bombast and Racism (more capitals). In the decade before Federation, Australian artists like their European counterparts championed an ostentatious, self-conscious code of masculine behaviour that was commonly identified as bohemian. Painters, illustrators, poets and journalists joyfully embraced this magical word, which managed to capture that exclusive air of independent worldliness universally associated with the artistic community.

Numerous versions of Australian history have cultivated a longstanding infatuation with the period 1890–1900. This was an excitable, self-conscious era which witnessed the emergence of talented painters and authors, the advent of high-minded feminists, sly manoeuvrings by Federation-minded politicians, and dramatic economic calamities. Storytellers, yarn-spinners and legend-makers have not neglected the romantic possibilities of this time. Succeeding generations of artists and writers succumbing to the snare of sentimentality would insist that this period was Bohemia’s golden age. In Melbourne, the decade’s most forceful promoter of bohemian values was neither an artist nor a writer, but a highly strung and habitually rash teacher and composer of music.

George William Louis Marshall-Hall arrived in Victoria in 1891 to take up the post of inaugural professor of music at the University of Melbourne. Marshall-Hall proved to be a fiery import, determined to liven up a drowsy provincial outpost which had been kind enough to raise him to the rank of an academic don. He did not expect his job to be a sinecure and proceeded to revamp and revitalise the local music scene. The university officials were apparently unaware that music might be considered a practical subject rather than an exercise in theory. The newly ordained professor set about correcting the oversight. He organised a local orchestra which was soon offering a well-patronised concert program. He established a conservatorium, renting rooms and paying singing and instrumental teachers out of his own pocket. The miserly university refused to fund any of these projects.

The chair of music, which Marshall-Hall was to occupy with considerable élan, had been generously endowed by Francis Ormond, a wealthy grazier and elder of the Presbyterian Church. Francis Ormond donated large sums of money to the university and though personally quite rich, lived without any obvious display of wealth. He won the admiration of his straight-laced peers, who praised his piety, modesty, philanthropy and other non-bohemian qualities.

The professor’s abundant energies were used to promote his pet obsessions, which included the music of Richard Wagner, German language and culture, absolute faith in the importance of the individual and an unshakeable confidence in the power of sexuality. Acting out the role of an unpaid emissary, Marshall-Hall was determined to bring the enlightened doctrines of Friedrich Nietzsche to the attention of the unsuspecting citizens of the Southern Hemisphere. If an Australian bohemian ever took it into his head to expound a philosophical discourse it would inevitably come out sounding a lot like Nietzsche. The German philosopher’s books were full of fulminations, obscure epigrams, bombastic abuse and withering complaint. Religion, declared Nietzsche, was the undisputed enemy of all mankind. Christianity stood condemned for its promotion of meekness and mediocrity and the ruthless manner in which it used its hackneyed moral code to frustrate men of talent and energy. It relentlessly strove to crush the individual under the weight of its omnipotent god. Priests, described by Nietzsche as the embodiment of meanness and villainy, were well practised in the arts of lying and deception, and they peddled a religion tainted by its connection with Judaism.

In the nineteenth century, racist commentary was commonplace and anti-Semitic rhetoric was the most effective means of invoking fear of undesirable alien influences. Any attack on the influence of Jewish culture secured for an author a body of sympathetic listeners. Nietzsche lacked many of our contemporary prejudices, having no time for what he termed decadent concepts like democracy and equality. He believed emphatically in the superiority of the man of genius, a ‘Lone Hand’ who, inspired by his exceptionally powerful will, accomplished mighty deeds and reached the status of the ‘superman’. The bohemians came to the reasonable conclusion that the all-conquering artist who breaks the conventional mould and overthrows social expectations was the type of superior individual the philosopher had in mind.

Nietzsche never had a steady girlfriend, never married and formed a dependent and unhealthy emotional attachment to his mother and sister. He went absolutely mad towards the end of his life. His mental derangement was caused by syphilis, which legend states was contracted on his first and last visit to a brothel. It can take many years before the symptoms of tertiary syphilis become apparent. When Nietzsche was relatively healthy his books sold poorly and remained largely unread. In the last decade of his life, venereal disease devastated his brain forcing him to face permanent confinement to a wheelchair. He no longer possessed the ability to think, argue or produce academic polemics. His competent but anti-Semitic sister then took charge of his ruined life. She energetically promoted his work and turned him into an intellectual superstar and greatly influenced Marshall-Hall’s generation.

Richard Wagner had his own pet theory on what caused Nietzsche’s mental breakdown. The philosopher, confided Wagner to his doctor, was a habitual masturbator and his constant recourse to self-abuse had unsettled his mental balance. A.G. Stephens, the Bulletin’s literary editor, noted the untimely death of the German thinker and was puzzled by the lack of reports of any mental illness within the family. Stephens took the charitable view the philosopher’s mind was similar to that of a highly charged machine working under furious pressure. The mental pace became too much to bear and Nietzsche’s mind disintegrated under the stress of an excessive workload. There were many inconsistencies in the man’s work wrote Stephens, however he had grasped one central truth, the intellectual overthrow of the Christian religion necessitated the destruction of Christian morality. All that was needed was for society to agree on what was to be built on the ruins.

Marshall-Hall’s interest extended well beyond the bounds of philosophy. He was interested in all aesthetic disciplines and sought out the company of younger artists. He formed a friendship with the painter Arthur Streeton, who in 1892 executed the professor’s portrait. The music-loving bohemian was tall, solidly built with dark hair, strong features and a thick moustache which nearly obscured a bemused half smile. He was an imposing figure, more like a confident big brother or an indulgent uncle than a stern father figure. When Streeton travelled north to Sydney, Marshall-Hall visited his friend and camped with him at the artists’ colony located on the shores of Mosman Bay.

The isolated beaches and coves of Sydney Harbour were a favourite centre of pilgrimage for Australian bohemians. The well-paid university pedagogue was happy to forsake temporarily the comforts of city living and camp out by the sea. For a few precious weeks he revelled in the natural beauty of the harbour setting, talked his head off at night and forgot he was a well-heeled citizen and representative of the genteel class.

To the young artists he embodied everything they hoped to achieve in life. The professor had a well-paid career which allowed him to pursue his musical interests and still find time for Bohemia. He was living proof a fellow can have it all. During the warm summer break, living under canvas at Mosman, surrounded by friends and artists, the university lecturer was delighted to discover how easy it was to act out the role of an itinerant bohemian.

In 1897 Marshall-Hall published Hymn to Sydney, which paid homage to the natural splendour of the city and its surrounds and was dedicated to Arthur Streeton. A quick glance at the foreword reveals the professor favoured a picturesque poetic style.

I am bound with the spell of thy magic.
I tremble, I fear some power draweth me toward thee,
Ah! – and I fall on thy quick panting bosom scarce conscious.
With burning lips sear thy emulous hungering mouth with strong
     limbs enthralled.

While the context is somewhat ambiguous I think it is safe to assume it is not Arthur Streeton’s bosom that the professor is intending to tumble upon. It is the metropolis of Sydney, personified into a sexually desirable woman who has stimulated the author’s ardour. Hymn to Sydney records Marshall-Hall’s conviction that sexual desire was the fundamental force which generated the impetus towards artistic creativity.

The theatrical excesses which typified Marshall-Hall’s verse were not well received by the critics. A.G. Stephens reviewed the professor’s folio in the Bulletin, and expressed distaste for what he regarded as an excessive display of ‘feminine’ emotionalism. Stephens described the professor’s verse as hysterical, eccentric, occasionally interesting but lacking forcible male values. A second collection of poetry was condemned in an outburst of alliteration. The poet, said the reviewer, had displayed the ‘fluent woman’s faculty for weaving phrases’ and the ‘fluent woman’s fibreless flatness’.

For all his prejudices A.G. Stephens could be a perceptive commentator. He well understood the bohemian dedication to male fellowship carried unfortunate erotic connotations. Male bonding was all very well but the recent court case which brought disgrace to Oscar Wilde was still fresh in the critic’s mind. So it was no wonder that Stephens expressed concern over what he described as the ‘feminine preponderance’ lurking within the personality of the professor. Arthur Streeton, much to the amazement of his friends, was described by Stephens as a big and dominating fellow of an artist with plenty of force to attract ‘feeble-pulsed followers’. This was a surprising statement because the young Streeton was usually remembered as a slim, elegant young man with a neat beard and a sensitive disposition. Stephens, an ardent nationalist, had no intention of disparaging a native born son such as Streeton who exhibited such fine skills as a painter; like other Bulletin journalists he had no great affection for the university class.

The professor took the bad reviews in his stride. He was not discouraged by adverse reaction to his work and refused to abandon his literary efforts. In 1898 he published another book of verse which he called Hymns Ancient and Modern. As the official Anglican hymnal of this period bore the same title, these poetic offerings were widely and accurately regarded as a deliberate attempt to mock the Christian religion.

O David was a merry king
Merrily could he harp and sing
He became the father of his nation

It was however, the title poem of this collection, ‘Ancient and Modern’, which embodied the hostile attitude adopted by many Bohemians towards the teachings of the established Churches. A scathing attack launched against the tenets of Christianity, it came tinged with an element of anti-Semitism.

Emblems of nature in beauteous form
Were the gods of the Greeks and the joy of mankind
Hideous scarecrows that flop in the wind
Are your Jew-gods to frighten the weak and the blind.

Any true artist encountered an obvious problem argued the Bohemians with a religion which espoused humility, self-sacrifice, and the repression of natural instincts. When a society fell under the sway of organised religion a harsh and restrictive moral code was imposed on its citizens. The values promoted by the Churches, such as obedience, gentleness, chastity, temperance and sobriety were the very values which the Bohemians despised. The clergy displayed their antagonism toward Bohemianism through their condemnation of drinking, gambling and sexual promiscuity. Protestant clergymen were conspicuous allies of the New Woman and prominent supporters of various Temperance organisations.

Marshall-Hall believed sexuality provided the gateway through which a person advanced to the highest plane of existence, and it was at the point of orgasm that a great truth was revealed. The professor compared the supreme moment of pleasure to a near-death experience. A person released from the mundane hold of the everyday world via sex felt at one with the entire universe. A bout of physical lovemaking acted as a beautiful and splendid allegory of the power of artistic creativity. It was the desire of every artist to transcend the commonplace by creating something both splendid and extraordinary. If the sexuality of the artist provided the means by which they achieved self-realisation and self-knowledge then male artists were faced with the fact that the quality of their work was inexorably linked to their level of virility.

On a winter’s evening in July 1898 the leading citizens of Melbourne made their way to the Town Hall in anticipation of a musical concert organised by the Liedertafel society, a local choral association. In the course of the evening’s entertainment Marshall-Hall was to present a baton to the society’s outgoing conductor. This ceremony provided an opportune moment for a speech. Marshall-Hall told his audience that the baton he held in his hand could be seen as an emblem of war, a kind of marshall’s baton. He then astonished the audience by telling them the phrase ‘Blessed is the peacemaker’, one of the key teachings of Jesus Christ, was a foolish and futile saying. The professor informed his audience that all nature both organic and inorganic was involved in an immense struggle for power, which could be compared to a system of warfare. He praised the vitality and energy of a life lived to the full, in the manner prescribed by Nietzsche. He then introduced the figure of the New Woman into his oration. He told his audience there was something profoundly absurd in the modern ‘petticoat movement’. It was run by dear nervous creatures with exquisite sensibilities, a taste for hysterics and an overreliance on the scent bottle. The modern woman was aching to play the part of ‘saviour to unregenerate modern man’. She wanted above all other things to make him mild and moral and to stop him from ‘reading naughty books nor using naughty words’. If the modern woman had her way, she would see that every male in the country was tucked up safely in bed by half-past eight and so kept out of harm’s way. The man who cannot act and assert himself must go to the wall, declared the professor. ‘In every profession, in every trade, in every occupation the iron pressure of life is felt. A man must conquer or perish. And in truth there is nothing in life worth having but which is gained by conquest and held by main force.’

Marshall-Hall had judged the New Woman and indeed the whole female tribe and found them wanting. Women were moralistic, domestic, timid, restrained and obedient to the moral code laid down by the Christian Churches. Men should be none of these things. Every man living and working in the Australian colonies with any claim to virility needed to free himself from the multitude of social restraints that pressed down upon him. Legitimate artists, dedicated to their work, provided an example to the whole community of what was best in a man. Artists were pugnacious in character: it was a sign of their exceptional vital energy. All true artists possessed an exorbitant level of inventive power which needed an outlet. This creative energy was the principal manifestation of their virility. Artists could proudly take their place in the company of Australian men who made their living as shearers and drovers and were known for their manly and independent spirit. Women, unlike men, were not suited to vigorous competition and could not deal with the stresses which resulted from maintaining an aggressive disposition. Their particular attributes predisposed them to the quieter world of domestic life. The religious and family orientation of women served to exclude them from the moments of creativity experienced by men.

Non-bohemian souls rallied behind the Argus newspaper, which launched a swift counter-attack on Marshall-Hall. Attention was directed to the professor’s new collection of poetry, Hymns Ancient and Modern. The author was publicly berated for disseminating an immodest and impious publication. The Argus journalist must have been paying close attention to the Bulletin’s criticism of Marshall-Hall’s literary efforts. The bohemian musician and poet was charged with committing an unmanly act. In one poem entitled ‘Sapphics’, a ‘shame-faced’ maiden slips into her girlfriend’s bedroom one evening, presumably intent on a night of lovemaking. The professor had been a bit shy when it came to supplying specific details. The very idea of young women from good homes sexually responding to one another was absolutely repugnant to the God-fearing mind. The journalist claimed there was a lewdness in this poem which was ‘insulting to womanhood’, and which would cause the gorge of any true man to ‘rise in revulsion’. He feared the unsettling opinions of Marshall-Hall might lead impressionable female students to dump their Christian beliefs and put their faith in perilous notions of sexual freedom.

The bohemians and their opponents were both pushing radically dissimilar concepts of what constituted manliness and virility. According to the Argus before a fellow could put in a claim to manliness he needed to display a number of refinements which showed he had advanced beyond mere animal aggression. This was the very point seized upon by the Age when it entered the debate. In a leading article it castigated the professor for his militant opinions and suggested the greatest fight which a man could embark on was the battle to counter his own ‘animalism’. A true man engaged in a struggle against his baser instincts rather than trying to engage his neighbours in combat.

Marshall-Hall was undeniably impetuous but he was not a complete blockhead. He had antagonised popular opinion and many influential people were calling for his dismissal from his teaching position. Acquiescing to the voice of prudence, he sought an opportunity to clarify his remarks. He wrote a conciliatory letter to the Age, which communicated his surprise and disappointment at the extent to which his remarks had been misinterpreted. He made it clear his speech was primarily directed towards stiffening the morale of the male component of his audience. He meant no disrespect to the female sex and his theories were not really applicable to women. There had been a great deal of confusion over his use of the word ‘war’. He was of course not referring to bloodshed on a battlefield but highlighting the rivalry every man faced from every other man. When he said war was ‘the best of all things’, he simply wished to imply that competition was the best of all things. Any intense struggle between individuals was a potent sign of virility and vitality at work. Competition, combined with the public recognition of personal achievement, was the fundamental mechanism which granted a man the opportunity to assert his masculinity.

As women inhabited a different dominion to that occupied by men, they were not expected to display any of the masculine traits treasured by bohemians. There was no need for direct competition between men and women as a robust healthy society ensured that the sexes remain confined to their own separate spheres. Conflict between men, however, was a natural part of existence. In the hectic months following his Town Hall speech the bellicose professor would come to appreciate the accuracy of his observation.

One of Professor Hall’s fiercest opponents was Dr William Henry Fitchett, a Protestant clergyman concerned with the provision of Christian education to the young women of Victoria. The Reverend Fitchett proved to be a far more successful author than his bohemian adversary, for he was responsible for one of the best sellers of his era, an immensely popular work entitled Deeds That Won the Empire. This book recounted in stirring detail numerous violent episodes taken from British history. Fitchett assured his readers he had not set out to glorify war, but to nourish patriotism. War, said the clergyman, undoubtedly belonged to an imperfect stage of human development. Nevertheless he hoped young people would take heart from his collection of colourful tales which provided many fine examples of heroic fortitude, the dread of dishonour, and passionate love of the Fatherland. A list of rousing stories extolling the lives of famous British military officers then followed. Strangely, the university professor and the Methodist minister shared similar views on the worthiness of fierce competition and masculine aggression. It was Marshall-Hall’s truculent atheism combined with his disturbing faith in the creative power of sexuality which transformed him into the devil’s agent in the eyes of his clerical antagonists. When not beating the drums of war the Reverend Fitchett allowed himself one small bohemian vice. When he felt the need to relax, he would retire to his study, light up his pipe and indulge his appetite for fine grade tobacco.

Fitchett combined religious piety with a marked entrepreneurial streak. He owned and operated a suburban newspaper, acted as a correspondent for the Argus and was founding president of The Methodist Ladies College Kew. William Fitchett supported social conservatism, free enterprise and regular attendance at Sunday Church services. He believed people ought to abstain from hard liquor and any form of gambling which did not come under the heading of business transactions. He fully supported the modern trend toward the higher education of women. Civilised well-read young girls would exert a refining influence on rowdy uncivilised colonial youths. Women had been entrusted with one of life’s more challenging missions. They had been given the responsibility of trying to save men from self-inflicted moral ruin. A well-informed, soundly educated, confident woman should have more success in salvaging masculine souls than a poorly educated ignorant insecure female. It would be an outright social disaster if impressionable young women were to fall under the sway of bohemian notions of sexual licence. There would be nobody left to guide men to the pathway of salvation. It would be a terrible blow to the community if the offspring of society’s elite were to suffer damage to either their faith or their morals due to an untimely exposure to flawed doctrines. It was the duty of every responsible educator, Christian clergyman and concerned citizen to protect young women from moral danger. Fitchett and other clerics were therefore determined to press for the dismissal of the unruly professor from the teaching staff of Melbourne University.

Marshall-Hall must have been exasperated by the response to his public pronouncements. No matter how loudly he proclaimed his faith in the ascendancy of virility, his critics continued to cast doubt on the direction of his own sexual orientation. Part of the professor’s problem lay in his choice of career. Music was held to be an emotional art which appealed mainly to women and music classes at university level consisted predominantly of female students.

Colonial Australians believed any man who actively preferred the company of women to that of men deserved to have his virility questioned. Marshall-Hall’s teaching commitments ensured he spent much of his working day sequestered in the company of young women. When a fellow was surrounded on all sides by the female sex, he was forced to curb the tone and content of his language and to pay his respects to feminine sensibilities, and thereby ran the risk of becoming to some degree ‘feminised’. The bohemians used a similar line of argument to discredit their clerical foes. Parsons were ridiculed for taking endless cups of tea with members of the ladies’ auxiliary. Having overdosed on excessive levels of polite conversation, most suburban clergymen suffered from deficiencies in their virility levels. The best means by which a fellow could prove the soundness of his character was by seeking out the company of other men.

Marshall-Hall wrote to the University Council defending himself from allegations of improper behaviour and insisting his writings and public remarks represented no threat to the moral character of the students attending the university. He assured the governing body of the university, ‘on his honour as a gentleman’, that when he wrote his poems his mind had been clear of any impure or indelicate thoughts. He respectfully pointed out no specific charge of misconduct had been laid against him. He laboured to convince the Council that the categories of bohemian and gentleman were not mutually exclusive. Speaking as a man of integrity, conscious of his public position, the professor assured the University Council that young women placed in his care would not be exposed to bohemian and atheistic propaganda.

The university administration was not receptive to his pleas. Following the failure of Marshall-Hall to resign his position, the Council of the University of Melbourne passed a motion of censure. No comment was made in regard to the professor’s appalling literary style. However the councillors did detect a certain ‘libidinous character’ in his poems, and noted other writings displayed an ‘ostentatious parade of disbelief in Christianity or any form of Theism’. What was worse, the troublesome academic had failed to hide his contempt for those people who did hold such beliefs, a number of whom were sitting on the University Council. By voicing contentious opinions on the nature of belief the professor was condemned for ‘infringing the principles of neutrality in religious matters’. The university was exceptionally sensitive to any form of religious controversy. This was not an age of ecumenical goodwill. The leading denominations, Anglican, Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian and Baptist maintained an intense rivalry which often passed beyond the bounds of polite debate. Sectarian hatred was latent in the community and many pious believers eagerly sought any opportunity to damn the members of another sect. The ungodly professor had unsettled the community and upset education administrators by blundering into such a sensitive area. Some councillors feared any controversy over religion and morals would discourage parents from sending their daughters to the university. Victoria was emerging from a painful depression which had seen the state government slash education spending. One-third of students attending the university were female and the fees they paid helped keep Higher Education in a state of solvency.

Despite issuing an apparently severe reprimand, it seemed likely by the middle of 1900, when the professor’s tenure came up for renewal, that the University Council was prepared quietly to extend his contract. Unfortunately for Marshall-Hall his position quickly deteriorated when William Fitchett and other members of the clergy mobilised community support against his reappointment.

Melbourne in June 1900 was the scene of an intense political campaign. Rival factions besieged the meetings of the University Council trying to influence its upcoming vote on the professor’s future. Council members had already voiced in private their anxieties over the bohemian tendencies of colonial youths. John Macfarland, principal of Ormond College and respectable churchgoer, had a poor opinion of the male university students placed under his care. He thought they were badly mannered, addicted to gambling, and decidedly ‘loose’ with regard to women. The one saving grace of his students was that they were not total drunkards.

The Presbyterian Elders Association did not share the students’ fondness for alcohol and eroticism. They issued a statement claiming the late and deeply lamented Francis Ormond would have been terribly grieved at the recent uproar at the university. The chair of music had been endowed by an upright moral citizen who would have been appalled to see it filled by a man who cared nothing for religious ideals. Money obtained through proper Christian commerce was being used to nurture an unabashed atheist. There was also the question of the professor’s private life. Like many bohemians Marshall-Hall had married young, and following the pattern of many of these unions subsequently separated from his wife. At the time of the controversy he was living with his mistress and had fathered an illegitimate child. A deeply annoyed Professor Hall supplied the press with his own unedited thoughts on the venerable Elders. Their views were worthless because ‘the half-inch soul of an unfeeling, cold-blooded, pitiless, Presbyterian bigot’ trapped within its ‘dungeon bosom’ was incapable of either enlightened emotion or any form of higher understanding.

The headmistresses of most of Victoria’s primary schools lent their support in the gathering crusade against Marshall-Hall and his bohemian beliefs. The headmistresses were precisely the sort of individuals the professor had in mind when he attacked the modern woman for her excessive moral fussiness. Seventy-eight female head teachers now returned the compliment. They filled in the form letter thoughtfully sent to them by the professor’s enemies petitioning the university to sever Marshall-Hall’s tenure. So great was the dislike of Marshall-Hall, that sectarian differences could be temporally buried as the various Christian denominations united to fight the common bohemian foe.

The University Council decided to receive rival delegations and allow them to voice their arguments for and against reappointing Marshall-Hall to the chair of music. Support for the professor came from the conservatorium teachers, other professors, the Melbourne Liedertafel, and parents of past and present students at the conservatorium. Tom Roberts read to the Council resolutions passed at a meeting of Melbourne artists which acknowledged Marshall-Hall’s services to art but at the same time were careful not to endorse his views on matters of morality or religious belief. Roberts liked to parade as a bohemian swanning down the street in his black cape and top hat while working out of an elegantly appointed city studio. He made his living painting the portraits of well-to-do members of the upper class, and he had no intention of jeopardising his livelihood through an indiscreet stand in favour of bohemian values.

The only woman in either delegation to the Council was Elise Wiederman, a singing teacher employed by the conservatorium, and wife to the local Austrian consul, a well-known patron of the arts. She spoke favourably about the professor’s musical abilities but she too was unable to support his bohemian philosophy. She told the council music was an emotional art and nearly all great musicians were highly strung and the professor was no exception. Sudden erratic explosions from men of genius were to be expected, and signified that their creative faculties were in proper working order. If the professor had generated unintended offence she recommended to the Council the adage ‘to err was human and to forgive was divine’. The Bishop of Melbourne responded to her suggestion by saying that Madame Wiederman had made a pleasant speech, ‘especially as it was delivered in a pretty foreign accent’, but forgiveness was not part of his agenda.

The professor’s opponents selected their protest committee with care. One of the more effective speakers against reappointment was John Gavan Duffy, a prominent Catholic politician from a famous family siding with the Protestant sects. He declared his presence on the delegation showed the movement against the professor enjoyed widespread support and was not solely confined to a narrow Calvinist clique. John Gavan Duffy informed the University Council he was addressing them on behalf of all the citizens and fathers within the state. Marshall-Hall, said Duffy, was a gentleman of great ability and personal magnetism which was the crux of the problem. If he had been simply a dull clod his utterances would have attracted little attention. Music was an emotional art form which had a profound effect on impressionable naive intellects. Young persons were at risk because their impulses were not fully under control. The excitement generated by the musical impulse might see them tempted into pursuing unsound bohemian pastimes.

On 25 June 1900, the Council of the University of Melbourne met to decide formally the fate of the resident incumbent of the Ormond Chair of Music. Considering the forces opposed to Marshall-Hall, the ballot taken by the Council to determine his future was remarkably close. The council was split down the middle, and the deadlock was only broken when the chairman’s casting vote went against Marshall-Hall. Soon after this decision was announced an unusual news item made its way into the daily press. A labourer from the town of Leongatha had suffered a remarkable hallucination. He claimed the spirit of both Jesus Christ and Marshall-Hall had entered into and taken possession of his body. A higher power had ordered him to undertake a great mission for the good of humanity which was to bring about the unification of the Catholic, Presbyterian and Wesleyan Churches. The public career of this self-proclaimed prophet was short-lived, as he was quickly apprehended by the police and placed into protective custody.

The professor’s career suffered only a temporary eclipse following the loss of his university teaching post. He did not leave the colony, nor did he adopt the life of a vagabond and go in search of remote bohemian encampments. He stayed in Victoria, married his mistress and continued to teach music at the conservatorium which he had founded and which still remained under his control. The maestro was sustained in all his endeavours by the liberal support freely provided by a wide circle of friends, admirers and music lovers.

Step by step the once notorious professor became fully respectable. The wife of the Governor-General Lady Northcote was even persuaded to become the patron of his private orchestra. Perhaps even more surprising was the reconciliation reached between Marshall-Hall and the newspaper which initially damned his morals and called for his dismissal from the university. In 1907, while holidaying in Europe, Marshall-Hall was contracted to send home reviews of musical festivities and concert programs which were then published in the Argus, the journal which had once been his sternest critic. The deference and respect freely granted to prominent citizens became more and more important to the professor as he grew older. He was no longer interested in challenging a complacent community and his notorious bohemian outbursts gradually become little more than a declining memory.

In his radical younger days Marshall-Hall once had the audacity to describe himself as a socialist. In 1908, suffering under the misapprehension he might still harbour anti-establishment feelings, elements within the Victorian Labour movement wrote seeking his assistance. The annual May Day parade needed a musical director. The Labourites, eager to entertain the crowd with a selection of rousing songs, had chosen the Marseillaise, the French national anthem as the first item on their music program. The lyrics of this song, a product of the age of revolutions, called citizens to arms and encouraged them to set about shedding the blood of their enemies. The mature conductor placed his faith in the power of the individual and had come to despise both collectivist ideals as well as any manifestation of French culture. Marshall-Hall wrote an open letter to the Argus rebuking the May Day committee for promoting ‘foreign hymns’, which he alleged were designed to encourage ‘chaos and savagery’. He told the committee the most effective way of alleviating the ills of society was to instill the concepts of ability, industry and honesty amongst the masses. Following this public snubbing of the socialists, the Argus published a favourable editorial which described Marshall-Hall as an astute man who possessed a fine wit and general good sense. In case anyone might have forgotten the professor’s literary credentials, the paper reminded its readers that Marshall-Hall had written a great deal of poetry and prose, much of which displayed ‘considerable force and distinction’. In the fateful year of 1914 the professor had achieved such a state of social rehabilitation that for the second time in his life he was appointed to the Ormond Chair of Music at the University of Melbourne.

The Marshall-Hall controversy implanted the notion in the minds of a new generation of Australian bohemians, such as the young Norman Lindsay, that any artist who attempted to publicly assert his ideas or challenge conventional notions automatically aroused feelings of envy and resentment, and men of genius (women were not recognised as serious artists) risked being brought low by a bigoted and ignorant multitude. Immoral atheists were to be condemned while manly individualists were widely esteemed. The name Marshall-Hall could be anathema one year but quite acceptable the next. As the bohemians inevitably grew older they came eventually to a moment of decision. In order to resolve the tension between themselves and the rest of society they either compromised like Marshall-Hall, drank themselves into ill health and death like Marcus Clarke, suicided like Adam Lindsay Gordon, or courted disgrace like Oscar Wilde. Most of them were sensible enough to take the compromise option. Reckless youths devoid of any social standing were free to spend their days acting out the role of urban gypsies. Older artists saddled with family responsibilities hungered for the material rewards which came with recognition. The bohemian, like other exotic species found in nature, followed a distinctive life cycle, and was capable of the most startling transformations.