The Masters (26 page)

The talk went on. Winslow said: ‘Even the idyllic spectacle of the lion lying down with the lamb does not entirely reconcile me to the Dean’s ingenious idea.’

Later, Brown finished up for the night: ‘In any case, before I come to any conclusion, I shall certainly want to sleep on it.’

‘That goes without saying,’ said Despard-Smith. ‘It would be nothing less than s-scandalous for any of us to commit ourselves tonight.’

I was surprised to hear a couple of days later that Winslow had decided to join. He had talked to his party: what had been said, I did not know: I was uneasy, but I noticed that so was Francis Getliffe. I was surprised that Winslow had not pushed his dislike of Jago to the limit. Was there a shade of affection, underneath the contempt? Once Jago had supported him: was there some faint feeling of obligation? Or was it simply that, despite his exterior, despite all his attempts to seem it, Winslow was really not a ruthless man?

Winslow’s decision made it hard for Brown to stay outside. He felt his hand was forced, and he acquiesced with a good grace. But he was too cautious, too shrewd, too suspicious, and too stubborn a man to be pleased about it. ‘I still don’t like it,’ he confided to me in private. ‘I know it improves Jago’s chances, but I can’t come round to liking it. I’d rather it had come later after we’d had one stalemate vote in the chapel. I’d rather Chrystal was thinking more about getting Jago in and less about shutting the Visitor out. I wish he were a bit stronger against Crawford.

‘Nevertheless,’ Brown added, ‘I admit it gives Jago a great chance. It ought to establish him in as strong a position as we’ve reached so far. It gives him a wonderful chance.’

The six of us met again, and drafted a note to the two candidates. Despard-Smith did most of the writing, but Brown, for all his reluctance to join the ‘memorialists’ (as Despard-Smith kept calling us), could not resist turning a sentence or two. After a long period of writing, rewriting, editing, and patching up, we agreed on a final draft:

In the view of those signing this note, it is most undesirable that the forthcoming election to the Mastership should be decided by the Visitor. So far as the present intentions of fellows are known to us, it seems that neither of the candidates whose names we have heard mentioned is supported by a clear majority of the college. We accordingly feel that, in conformity with the spirit of college elections and the desire of the college that this forthcoming election shall be decided internally, it would assist our common purpose if each candidate voted for the other. If they can see their way to take this step, it is possible that a clear majority may be found to declare itself for one or other candidate. If, on the other hand they find themselves unable to cast their votes in this manner, the signatories are so convinced of the necessity of an internal decision that they will feel compelled to examine the possibility of whether a third candidate can be found who might command a clear majority of the college.

A T D-S

G H W

A B

C P C

E G

L S E

Oct. 29, 1937

‘In other words,’ said Chrystal, ‘there’ll be the hell of a row.’ He winked. There was often something of the gamin about him.

The note was sent to all fellows. It caused great stir at once, and within a few hours we learned that Jago and Crawford wished to meet the six. Roy Calvert said: ‘I must say it’s a coup for Chrystal.’ Jago had said nothing to Brown or me, not a telephone message, not a note. Later that day, Roy brought news that Jago was brooding over the ultimatum. He was half-delighted, so Roy said, because of his chances – and also so much outraged that he intended to speak out.

The two candidates arranged to meet us after hall, at half-past eight. Both came in to dinner, and Jago’s face was so white with feeling that I expected an outburst straightaway. But in fact he began by
clowning
. It was disconcerting, but I had seen him do it before when he was strung up and about to take the centre of the stage. He pretended – I did not know whether it was a turn or a true story – that some undergraduate had that afternoon mistaken him for an assistant in a bookshop. ‘Do I look like a shop assistant? I’m rather glad that I’m not completely branded as a don.’

‘You’re not quite smart enough,’ said Roy, and in fact Jago was usually dressed in an old suit.

Jago went on with his turn. No one noticed the change in him when we were sitting in the combination room.

Word had gone round that the ‘memorialists’ were to confer with Crawford and Jago, and so by halfpast eight the room was left to us. The claret was finished, and Crawford lit a cigar.

‘I think we can now proceed to business, Mr Deputy,’ he said.

‘Certainly,’ said Despard-Smith.

‘Our answer is a tale that’s soon told.’ Crawford leaned back, and the end of his cigar glowed. ‘The Senior Tutor and I have had a word about your ultimatum. We haven’t any option but to accept it.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Chrystal.

‘If there are no other candidates, we shall vote for each other,’ said Crawford imperturbably. ‘Speaking as a private person, I don’t think one can take much exception to what you want us to do. I think I do take a mild exception to the way you’ve done it, but not so strongly as my colleague. However, that’s past history, and it’s neither here nor there.’ He smiled.

Jago leaned forward in his chair, and slight as the movement was, we all looked at him. ‘For my part, I wish to say something more,’ he said.

‘I should leave it alone,’ said Crawford. ‘What’s done can’t be undone. You’ll only take it out of yourself.’

In fact, Jago was looking tired to breaking point. His face had no colour left, and the lines were deep – with sombre anger, with humiliation, with the elation that he might be safe again.

‘It’s good of you,’ said Jago to Crawford, ‘but I should be less than honest if I didn’t speak. I take the strongest exception to the way this has been done. It was unnecessary to expose us to this kind of compulsion. Apparently you’ – his eyes went round the table – ‘consider that one of the two of us is fit to be your Master: I should have hoped that you might in the meantime treat us like responsible persons. I should have hoped that was not asking too much. Why couldn’t this have been settled decently amongst us?’

‘We don’t all share your optimism, my dear Senior Tutor,’ said Winslow.

‘We were anxious to get everything in order,’ said Brown, eager to smooth things down. ‘We didn’t want to leave any loose ends, because none of us know how much time we’ve got left.’

‘That’s no reason for treating Crawford and me like college servants,’ said Jago.

‘Since when have college servants been required to vote for each other?’ Winslow asked.

Jago looked at him. His anger appeared to quieten. His white and furrowed face became still.

‘You are taking advantage of my position as a candidate,’ he said. ‘A candidate is fair play for any kind of gibe. You know that he’s not at liberty to speak his mind. No doubt he deserves any gibes you care to offer him. Anyone who is fool enough to stand for office deserves anything that comes his way.’

Winslow did not reply, and no one spoke. Crawford smoked impassively on, but all our attention was on Jago. He dominated the room.

‘You have taught me that lesson,’ he said. ‘I shall vote for Crawford at the election.’

As we were leaving, Jago spoke in a low voice to Chrystal: ‘I should like to say something to you and Brown and Eliot.’

‘We can go back,’ said Chrystal. So, standing in the combination room, Jago faced three of his supporters.

‘I should have been told about this.’ His voice was quiet, but his anger had caught fire again.

‘I passed the word along as soon as we had decided to push forward,’ said Brown.

‘I should have been told. I should have been told at the first mention of this piece of – persuasion.’

‘I don’t see why,’ said Chrystal.

‘When I find my party is negotiating behind my back–’

‘This isn’t a party matter, Jago,’ Chrystal broke in. ‘It’s a college matter.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jago, in a tone as brusque as Chrystal’s, ‘but I’m not used to having my actions dictated. Before my friends arrange to do so, I expect them to tell me first.’

‘Perhaps the circumstances are a little unfortunate,’ said Brown, ‘but I’m inclined to suggest that we’re all losing our sense of proportion. I think you’re forgetting that something very notable has been achieved. I’m not saying that it’s all over bar the counting of the votes, but I do put it to you that things look brighter than they have done since Nightingale got angry with us. You’re standing with a clear majority again, and the sensible course for us all is to keep it intact until we walk into the chapel.’

He went on: ‘I expect you know that you owe it entirely to the Dean. Put it another way: the Dean is the only man who could have forced a vote out of the other side. It was a wonderful night’s work.’

Beneath the round, measured, encouraging words there was strength and warning. Jago knew they were intended for him. He gazed into Brown’s eyes; there was a pause, in which I thought I saw a quiver pass through his body; then he said: ‘Your heads are cooler than mine. You must make allowances, as I know you’re only too willing to do. I know Chrystal appreciates that I admire everything he does. This was an astonishing manoeuvre, I know. I’m very grateful, Chrystal.’

‘I’m glad it came off,’ Chrystal replied.

I walked back with Jago to his house to fetch a book. He scarcely spoke a word. He was at the same time elated, anxious, and bitterly ashamed.

I was thinking of him and Crawford. That night, Crawford had been sensible, had even been kind to his rival. I could understand the feeling that he was the more dependable. It was true. Yet, of the two, which was born to live in men’s eyes?

And Jago knew it. He knew his powers, and how they were never used. The thought wounded him – and also made him naked to life. He had been through heartbreak because of his own frailty. He had seen his frailty without excuses or pity. I felt it was that – not his glamour, not his sympathy, not his bouts of generous passion – it was that nakedness to life which made me certain we must have him instead of Crawford. He was vulnerable in his own eyes.

Why had he never used his powers? Why had he done nothing? Sometimes I thought he was too proud to compete – and also too diffident. Perhaps at the deepest level pride and diffidence became the same. He could not risk a failure. He was born to be admired from below, but he could not bear the rough-and-tumble, the shame, the breath of the critics. His pride was mountainous, his diffidence intense. Even that night he had been forced to clown before he scarified his enemies. He despised what others said of him, and yet could not endure it.

There was one other thing. Through pride, through diffidence, he had spent his life among men whose attention he captured without an effort, with whom he did not have to compete. But it was the final humiliation if they would not recognize him. That was why the Mastership lived in his mind like an obsession. He ought to have been engaged in a struggle for great power; he blamed himself that he was not, but it sharpened every desire of his for this miniature power. He ought to have been just Paul Jago, known to all the world with no title needed to describe him, his name more glowing than any title. But his nature had forced him to live all his life in the college: at least, at least, he must be Master of it.

In November we heard that the Master was near his death.

On December 2nd, Joan told Roy Calvert: ‘The doctor has just told us that he’s got pneumonia. This is the end.’ As we were going into hall on December 4th, the news was brought that the Master had just died. Despard-Smith made an announcement to the undergraduates, and there was a hush throughout the meal. In the combination room afterwards coffee was served at once, and we listened to a simple and surprising eulogy from old Despard-Smith.

Soon, however, he and Winslow and Brown were occupied with procedure.

‘I am no longer Deputy,’ said Despard-Smith. ‘I ceased to be Deputy the moment the Master died. The statutes are explicit on this point. The responsibility for announcing the vacancy passes to the senior fellow. I must say I view with apprehension having to rely on Gay to steer us through this business. It places us in a very serious position.’

They studied the statutes again, but they had done so frequently in the past weeks, and there was no way out. The governing statute was the one which Despard-Smith had read out at the first meeting of the Lent term.

‘There’s no escape,’ said Brown. ‘We can only hope that he’ll get through it all right. Perhaps he’ll feel the responsibility is too much for him and ask to be excused. If so, as Pilbrow isn’t here, it will devolve on you, Despard, and everything will be safe. But we shouldn’t be in order in passing over Gay. The only thing remaining is to let him know at once.’

Despard-Smith at once wrote a note to Gay, telling him the Master had died at 7.20 that night, explaining that it was Gay’s duty to call a meeting the following day, telling him that the business was purely formal and a meeting at the usual time need only take ten minutes. ‘If you feel it is too dangerous to come down to college in this weather,’ Despard-Smith added, ‘send me a note in reply to this and we will see the necessary steps are taken.’

The head porter was called into the combination room, and asked to take the letter to Gay’s house. He was told to see that it reached Gay’s hands at once, whether he was in bed or not, and to bring back a reply.

I went off to see Roy Calvert: the others stayed in the combination room, waiting for Gay’s reply.

The night was starless and a cold rain was spattering down. As I looked round the court, I felt one corner was strangely dark. No light shone from the bedroom window of the Lodge.