The Masters (13 page)

‘So have I. Why hasn’t someone spoken to me about it? Why haven’t I been told?’

It was raining, and we had hurried through the court into the gateway, for Brown was on his way home. We stood under the great lantern.

‘Why, to tell you the truth, Luke, we thought you might naturally want to vote for Crawford. And we didn’t want to put any pressure on you.’

‘I’m buggered if I vote for Crawford,’ cried Luke. ‘You might have given me credit for more sense. Jago would make one of the best Masters this college has ever had.’

So Luke appeared for the Sunday lunch in Brown’s rooms, once more effacing himself into discretion again, dressed with a subfusc taste more cultivated than that of anyone there except Roy Calvert. Unobtrusively he inhaled the bouquet of his glass of Montrachet.

Brown had placed Chrystal at one end of the table, and took the other himself. After we had sipped the wine, Brown said contentedly: ‘I’m glad most of you seem to like it. I thought it was rather suitable. After all, we don’t meet for this purpose very frequently.’

Brown’s parties were always modest. One had a couple of glasses of a classical wine, and that was all – except once a year, when his friends who had a taste in wine were gathered together for an evening. This Sunday there was nothing with lunch but the Montrachet, but afterwards he circulated a bottle of claret. ‘I thought we needed something rather fortifying,’ said Brown, ‘before we started our little discussion.’

We were content after our lunch. Pilbrow was a gourmet, young Luke had the sensuous gusto to become one; Chrystal and Roy Calvert and I enjoyed our food and drink. Pilbrow was chuckling to himself.

‘Much better than the poor old Achaeans–’ I distinguished among the chuckles. We asked what it was all about, and Pilbrow became lucid: ‘I was reading the
Iliad
– Book XI – again in bed – Pramnian wine sprinkled with grated goat’s cheese – Pramnian wine sprinkled with grated goat’s cheese – Oh, can anyone imagine how
horrible
that must have been?’

Six of us went on enjoying our wine. Meanwhile Nightingale sat over a cup of coffee, envying us for our pleasure, trying to be polite and join in the party.

In time Brown asked Chrystal whether we ought not to make a start with the discussion. There was the customary exchange of compliments between them: Chrystal wondered why he should act as chairman, when Brown himself was there: Brown felt the sense of the meeting required the Dean. At last, the courtesies over, Chrystal turned sharply to business. He wished us each to define our attitude to the Mastership, in order of seniority; he would wind up himself. So, sitting round the littered table after lunch, we each made a speech.

Pilbrow opened, as usual over-rapidly. But his intention was clear and simple. He was sorry that Jago had some reactionary opinions: but he was friendly, he took great trouble about human beings, and Pilbrow would vote for him against Crawford. It was a notable speech for a man of seventy-four; listening with concentration, I was surprised how little he was attended to. Chrystal was spinning the stem of a glass between his fingers; even Brown was not peering with acute interest.

Brown was listened to by everyone. For the first time, he spoke his whole mind about Jago, and he spoke it with an authority, a conviction, a round integrity, that drew us all together. Jago would make an outstandingly good Master, and his election would be a fine day’s work for the college. Put it another way: if the college was misguided enough to elect Crawford, we should be down twice: once by getting a bad Master, once by losing a first-class one. And the second point was the one for us to give our minds to.

Nightingale made a circuitous attack on Crawford, in the course of which he threw doubts, the first time I had heard him or anyone else suggest them, on Crawford’s real distinction as a scientist. ‘His work may be discredited in ten years, any work of his sort may be, and then the college would be in an awkward situation.’ The others round the table became puzzled and hushed, while Nightingale smiled.

I developed Pilbrow’s point, and asked them what human qualities they thought they wanted in a Master. For myself, I answered: a disinterested interest in other people: magnanimity: a dash of romantic imagination. No one could doubt Jago had his share of the last, I said, and got a laugh. I said that in my view he was more magnanimous than most men, and more interested in others.

Roy Calvert took the same line, at greater length, more fancifully. He finished with a sparkle of mischief: ‘Lewis Eliot and I are trying to say that Jago is distinguished as a man. If anyone asks us to prove it, there’s only one answer – just spend an hour with him. If that isn’t convincing it isn’t our fault – or Jago’s.’

Luke said no more than he was sure Jago would be a splendid Master, and that he would vote for him in any circumstances.

Chrystal had made a note on the back of an envelope after each speech. Now he summed up, brusque, giving his usual hint of impatience or ill-temper, competent and powerful. He had wanted to be certain how far the party were prepared to commit themselves. Unless he had misunderstood the statements, Brown, Nightingale, and Luke were prepared to vote for Jago without qualifications; Eliot and Calvert would support him against any candidate so far mentioned; Pilbrow promised to support him against Crawford. ‘Have I got anyone wrong?’ he asked sharply.

Brown and I were each watching Nightingale. No one spoke. One by one, we nodded.

‘That’s very satisfactory as far as it goes,’ said Chrystal. ‘I’m not going to waste your time with a speech. I can go at least as far as Pilbrow, and I think I find myself with Eliot and Calvert. I’m for Jago against Crawford and any other names I’ve heard. I’m not prepared to go the whole way with Brown just yet. I don’t think Jago is an ideal candidate. He’s not well enough known outside. But he’ll do.’

He looked across the table at Brown.

‘There’s a majority for Jago in this room,’ he said. ‘I don’t think there’s anything more to do this afternoon.’

We were all stimulated, there was a glow of success and conspirators’ excitement round the table. Brown and Chrystal told of the moves which had gone on before the present Master was elected. I learned for the first time that Jago had tried, in that election, to get together a party for Winslow. I asked whether they were remembering right. ‘Oh yes,’ said Brown, ‘they hadn’t got across each other so badly then. I shouldn’t have said they were ever specially friendly, though, should you?’ he asked Chrystal.

The talk kept to elections of past Masters. Pilbrow began to laugh. ‘I’ve just thought–’ then he added with complete clarity: ‘In my almost infinite period as a fellow, I’ve never even been mentioned as a possible candidate. And I’ve never taken the slightest useful part in getting one elected. That’s a long-distance record no one can ever beat.’ He went on laughing. He did not care. He was known, admired, loved all over Europe; he had great influence in letters; but nothing could make him effective at a college meeting. It was strange – and I thought again of Roy Calvert at the last meeting – that those two, both very natural men, should not be able to project themselves into a committee. Perhaps they were too natural. Perhaps, for influence in the affairs of solid men, one had to be able to send, as the Master said, the ‘old familiar phrases reverberating round’. Neither Pilbrow nor Roy Calvert could do that without laughing. To be an influence in any society, in fact, one can be a little different, but only a little; a little above one’s neighbours, but not too much. Pilbrow did much good, Roy Calvert was often selfless; but neither of them was humble enough to learn the language of more ordinary men.

But, even if they had tried their hardest, neither of them could ever have been the power that Brown or Chrystal was. Groups of men, even small groups, act strangely differently from individuals. They have less humour and simpler humour, are more easy to frighten, more difficult to charm, distrust the mysterious more, and enjoy firm, flat, competent expositions which a man by himself would find inexcusably dull. Perhaps no group would ever let itself be guided by Roy Calvert.

In the same way, the seven of us sitting at the table through the winter afternoon became more enthusiastic for Jago than any of us taken alone: our pleasure was simple, our exhilaration intense. Even Nightingale caught it. We were together, and for an hour everyone surrendered to the excitement; Jago would win, we wanted Jago, and all seemed bright.

The kitchen porters brought in tea at four o’clock. The excitement broke; we split into twos and threes; muffin in hand, Chrystal talked quietly to me about Sir Horace’s visit a month hence. Then, as had been arranged, Jago came into the room.

‘Good afternoon, Dean. Good afternoon, Brown. You mustn’t let me interrupt. I expect you haven’t finished your business. I should be so sorry to interrupt.’

He was restless with anxiety, and at his worst. Chrystal stood up, stiff and dominating. If Jago was to be Master, he wanted it clear between them that he had brought it about. His expression was hard, almost threatening.

‘We’ve finished, Jago,’ he said. ‘I can tell you that we’ve had a satisfactory meeting.’

‘Just so,’ said Roy Calvert, trying to soothe Jago’s nerves.

‘I mustn’t ask about your secrets,’ said Jago. His smile was vivid but uneasy. There was a lull, and then Pilbrow asked about some old member in the Foreign Office. Would he help about a refugee? Was he approachable? What was he like?

‘You’ll find his general attitude utterly unsatisfactory according to your views,’ said Jago. ‘He’s what the Dean and Brown and I would consider sound.’

‘Sound,’ Pilbrow said. ‘You’ll lose the bloody empire and everything else, between you. Sound.’

‘I was going to say, however much we’re on different sides, we’re none of us above doing a job for a friend. I should be very much upset if–’

He promised to write that night about Pilbrow’s refugee, and Pilbrow, mollified, asked about others at the Foreign Office. Jago was still on edge, eager to say yes, eager to keep the conversation alive. Did he know H—? A little. Sir P—J—? Reluctantly, Jago said no. Did he know P—?

‘Do I know P—?’ cried Jago. ‘Do I know P—, my dear Eustace? I should think I do. The first time I met him, he asked my advice about a minister’s private life!’

He stayed in that vein, at his most flamboyant, until the party broke up. Roy Calvert and Brown knew the reason, and Roy, as though in fun, actually in kindness, laughed at him as if it were a casual tea party and gave Jago the chance to score off him in reply. Jago took it, and amused us, especially Nightingale, with his jokes at Roy’s expense. But the anxiety returned, and with it his flow of extravagance. Chrystal did not respond much, and went away early; then Pilbrow and Luke. Nightingale seemed to be enjoying himself, and I began to listen to the quarters, each time they chimed outside. So long as he stayed, Jago could not ask.

At last he went. The door closed behind him, and Jago turned to Arthur Brown with a ravaged look. ‘Well?’

‘Well,’ said Brown comfortably, ‘if the election had been this afternoon, you would have got in nicely.’

‘Did everyone here–’

‘Everyone you’ve seen said that, as things stood at present, they were ready to vote for you.’

‘That’s wonderful.’ Jago’s face lit up the room. ‘That’s wonderful.’

His smile was still radiant, but became gentler as he added: ‘I’m touched to think of dear old Eustace Pilbrow throwing away his prejudices and being ready to support me. I don’t suppose we’ve agreed on a single public issue since I became a fellow. We’ve disagreed on everything two men could disagree on. Yet he is willing to do this for me.’

‘You ought to be touched about young Luke,’ said Brown. ‘He’s the most enthusiastic supporter you’ve got. And he’s acting against his own interests.’

‘Ah, I think I’m better with young men than with people my own age.’ He added with a flash of extraordinary directness and simplicity: ‘I don’t have to show off to them, you see.’ Roy caught my eye. His smile was sharp.

Then Brown spoke: ‘I don’t want to be a skeleton at the feast, because I’ve been feeling very gratified myself, but I think it would be remiss not to remind you that the thing’s still open.’ Brown settled himself to give a caution. ‘You oughtn’t to let yourself think that we’re completely home. If the election had come off today, as I told you, you would be Master. But you realize that these people can’t give a formal pledge, and one or two actually made qualifications. I don’t think they were important qualifications, but you mustn’t think it’s absolutely cut-and-dried. The picture might just conceivably alter – I don’t think it’s at all likely, but it might – before things happen to the present Master as they must.’

‘But you’re satisfied?’ said Jago. ‘Are you satisfied? Will you tell me that?’

Brown paused, and said deliberately: ‘Assuming that the college was bound to be rather split, I consider things couldn’t look much healthier than they do today.’

‘That’s quite good enough for me.’ Jago sighed in peace, and stretched his arms like a man yawning. He smiled at the three of us. ‘I’m very grateful. I needn’t tell my friends that, I think.’

He left us, and we stood up and walked towards the window. It was a clear winter evening, the sky still bright in the west. The lamps of the court were already lit, but they seemed dim in that lucid twilight. The light in the Master’s bedroom was already shining.

‘I hope I didn’t say too much,’ said Brown to Roy Calvert and me. ‘I think it’s all right. But I’m not prepared to cheer until I hear the votes in the chapel. Some of us know,’ he said to me, with his wise, inquisitive smile, ‘that you’ve got astonishing judgement of men. But, if you’ll believe anyone like me, there are things you can only learn through having actually been through them. I’ve seen elections look more certain than this one does today, and then come unstuck.’

I was beginning to watch Jago walk slowly round the court.

‘You see,’ said Brown, ‘we haven’t much weight in our party. Pilbrow doesn’t count for very much, and you’re too young, Roy, and Eliot hasn’t been here long enough. I suppose Chrystal and I are all right, but we could do with a bit more solid weight. Put it another way: suppose another candidate crops up. Someone who was acceptable to the influential people on the other side. I think it’s just imaginable that Chrystal would feel we hadn’t enough weight to stand out against that. He might feel obliged to transfer. You noticed that he covered himself in case that might happen. I don’t say it’s likely, but it’s just as well to keep an eye open for the worst.’