by C. P. Snow
‘I want to thank all you gentlemen, and particularly Mr Brown, for what you’ve done for the boy. I’m very grateful for all your care. I know he’s not first class academically, and there was a time when it worried me, but now I’ve realized that he’s got other qualities, you know what I mean?’
‘I don’t think you need worry about him,’ said Brown.
‘He’s an extremely good lad,’ said Jago, overdoing it a little. ‘Everyone likes him. It’s a miracle that he’s not hopelessly spoiled.’
‘I’m interested to hear you say that,’ said Sir Horace. ‘I haven’t got the slightest worry on that account. I’ve always been certain about his character. I saw that his mother took all the trouble she could about his education in that respect.’
‘I’m sure that we all regard him as doing you the greatest credit,’ said Brown.
‘And speaking with due respect as a stupid sort of person in front of first-class minds, character does count, don’t you agree with me?’
‘There are times, Sir Horace,’ Jago broke out, ‘when I think young men like your nephew are our most valuable products. The first-class man can look after himself. But the man of personality who isn’t much interested in learning – believe me, they’re often the salt of the earth.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that, Dr Jago.’
So it went on. Sir Horace pursued the subjects of his nephew, education, character versus intelligence, the advantages of the late developer, the necessity of a good home background, enthusiastically and exhaustively. Jago was his chief conversational partner, though Brown now and then put in a bland, emollient word. Chrystal tried once or twice to make the conversation more practical.
‘I must apologize for the old chap I introduced to you,’ said Chrystal.
‘Mr Winslow?’ said Sir Horace, who did not forget names.
‘Yes. He’s one of our liabilities. He’s impossible. By the way, he’s the Bursar, and if he weren’t so impossible we should have asked him to meet you. In case we had a chance of continuing where we left off last time.’
‘Every organization has its difficult men, you know,’ Sir Horace replied. ‘It’s just the same in my own organization. And that’s why’ – he turned to Jago – ‘I do attach the greatest importance to these universities turning out–’ Indefatigably he continued to exhaust the subject of education. I wanted to see Brown and Chrystal successful, wanted to go to bed, but I was also amused. Sir Horace was showing no effects of wine; he was tireless and oblivious of time. He was as much a master of tactics as Brown and Chrystal, and he was used to men trying to pump him for money. It was like him to cloud his manoeuvres behind a smokescreen of words, and when he was using this technique he did not much mind what he said. He called it ‘thinking aloud’. Often, as was the case that night, he talked a lot of humbug. He was genuinely fond of his nephew, and was himself diffident in societies like the college which he did not know. But his own sons had real ability, and that was what Sir Horace valued. The idea that he had a veneration for stupid men of high character, or thought himself to be anything but intelligent, was absurd – and alone, in cold blood, he knew it was absurd.
Even Jago’s vitality was flagging. Brown’s eyes were not as bright as usual, Chrystal had fallen silent. The midnight chimes had sounded some time before. In the short lulls between Sir Horace’s disquisitions, one heard the rain tapping on the windows. Sir Horace had worn us all down, and went on uninterrupted. Suddenly he asked, quite casually: ‘Have you thought any more of expanding your activities?’
‘Certainly we have,’ said Chrystal, coming alertly to life.
‘I think someone suggested – correct me if I’m wrong – that for certain lines of development you might need a little help. I think you suggested that, Mr Chrystal.’
‘I did.’
‘We can’t do anything substantial placed as we are,’ said Brown. ‘We can only keep going quietly on.’
‘I see that,’ Sir Horace reflected. ‘If your college is going to make a bigger contribution, it will need some financial help.’
‘Exactly,’ said Chrystal.
‘I think you said, Mr Chrystal, that you needed financial help with no conditions attached to it. So that you could develop along your own lines. Well, I’ve been turning that over in my mind. I dare say you’ve thought about it more deeply than I have, but I can’t help feeling that some people wouldn’t be prepared to exert themselves for you on those terms. You know what I mean? Some people might be inclined to see if financial help could be forthcoming, but would be put off at just making it over to you for general purposes. Do you agree with me or don’t you?’
Brown got in first: ‘I’m sure I should be speaking for the college in saying that it would be foolish – it would be worse than that, it would be presumptuous – only to accept money for general purposes. But you see, Sir Horace, we have suffered quite an amount from benefactions which are tied down so much that we can’t really use them. We’ve got the income on £20,000 for scholarships for the sons of Protestant clergymen in Galway. And that’s really rather tantalizing, you know.’
‘I see that,’ said Sir Horace again. ‘But let me put a point of view some people might take. Some people – and I think I include myself among them – might fancy that institutions like this are always tempted to put too much capital into bricks and mortar, do you know what I mean? We might feel that you didn’t need to put up a new building, for instance.’
‘It’s the go-ahead colleges who are building,’ said Chrystal. ‘Take some examples. There are two colleges whose reputation is going up while we stay flat–’
Chrystal showed great deference to Sir Horace, a genuine humble deference, but he argued crisply. Just as Sir Horace’s tactics formed behind a cloud of vague words, Chrystal’s and Brown’s were hidden in detail. Sharp, precise, confusing details were their chosen weapon. Complete confidence in the value of the college: their ability to treat Sir Horace as the far more gifted man, but at the same time to rely on the absolute self-confidence of the college as a society: their practice at handling detail so that any course but their own became impossible: those were the means they opposed to Sir Horace’s obstinate imagination.
The argument became lively, and we all took a hand. Sir Horace shook his head: ‘I’m sorry, Mr Chrystal. For once I don’t agree with you.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Chrystal, with a tough, pleasant, almost filial smile.
Sir Horace had guessed completely right. If the college secured a benefaction, Chrystal and Brown were eager to put up a building: they were eager to see the college of their time – their college – leave its irremovable mark.
At the beginning Brown had, as he used to say, ‘flown a kite’ for compromise, and now Chrystal joined him. Clearly, any college would welcome thankfully a benefaction for a special purpose – provided it could be fitted into the general frame. Sir Horace was assenting cordially, his eyes at their most open and naive. All of a sudden, he looked at Chrystal, and his eyes were not in the least naive. ‘I also shouldn’t be very happy about thinking of financial help which might be used to release your ordinary funds for building,’ he said in his indefatigable, sustained, rich-sounding, affable voice. ‘I can imagine other people taking the same line. They might be able to think out ways of preventing it, don’t you agree with me? If people of my way of thinking got together some financial help, I’m inclined to believe it would be for men. This country is short of first-class men.’
‘What had you in mind?’ asked Brown.
‘I’m only thinking aloud, you know what I mean. But it seems to an outsider that you haven’t anything like your proper number of fellowships. Particularly on what I might call the side of the future. You haven’t anything like enough fellowships for scientists and engineers. And this country is dead unless your kind of institutions can bring out the first-rate men. I should like to see you have many more young scientific fellows. I don’t mind much what happens to them so
long as they have their chance. They can stay in the university, or we shall be glad to take them in industry. But they are the people you want – I hope you agree with me.’
‘That’s most interesting,’ said Jago.
‘I’m afraid you’re doubtful, Dr Jago.’
‘I’m a little uncertain how much you want to alter us.’ Jago was becoming more reserved. ‘If you swamped us with scientific fellows – you see, Sir Horace, I’m at a disadvantage. I haven’t the faintest idea of the scale of benefaction you think we need.’
‘I was only thinking aloud,’ said Sir Horace. In all his negotiations, as Chrystal and Brown perfectly understood, an exact figure was the last thing to be mentioned. Sums of money were, so to speak, hidden away behind the talk: partly as though they were improper, partly as though they were magic. ‘Imagine though,’ Sir Horace went on, ‘people of my way of thinking were trying to help the college with – a fairly considerable sum. Do you see what I mean?’
‘A fellowship,’ said Chrystal briskly, ‘costs £20,000.’
‘What was that, Mr Chrystal?’
‘It needs a capital endowment of £20,000 to pay for a fellowship. If you add on all the perquisites.’
‘I fancied that must be about the figure,’ said Sir Horace vaguely. ‘Imagine that a few people could see their way to providing a few of those units–’ His voice trailed off. There was a pause.
‘If they were giving them for fellowships in general,’ said Chrystal at last, ‘it would be perfect. There are no two ways about that. If the fellowships were restricted to science–’
‘I am interested to hear what you think, Mr Chrystal.’
‘If they were, it might raise difficulties.’
‘I don’t quite see them.’
‘Put it another way,’ said Brown. ‘On the book, today, Sir Horace, we’ve got four scientific fellows out of thirteen. I wouldn’t maintain that was the right proportion, we should all agree it wasn’t enough. But if we changed it drastically at a single stroke, it would alter the place overnight. I should be surprised if you regarded that as statesmanlike.’
‘Even the possibility of a benefaction is exciting,’ said Jago. ‘But I do agree with my colleagues. If the fellowships were limited to one subject, it would change the character of our society.’
‘You will have to change the character of your society in twenty years,’ said Sir Horace, with a sudden dart of energy and fire. ‘History will make you. Life will make you. You won’t be able to stop it, Dr Jago, you know what I mean?’
He had heard from the others that Jago was likely to be the next Master, and all the evening had treated him with respect. Sir Horace was charmed, Jago had for him the fascination of the unfamiliar, he wanted to be sure of Jago’s unqualified approval. Brown and Chrystal he was more used to, he got on well with them, but they were not foreign, exciting, ‘up in the air’.
All of us were waiting for a concrete bargain. Sir Horace, however, was willing to let a talk like this fade inconclusively away. He said: ‘Well, I can’t tell you how valuable I’ve found it to have all your opinions. It’s most stimulating, I hope you agree with me? It gives us all plenty to think about.’
He relished the power of giving or withholding money. It was always a wrench for him to relinquish it. He liked men waiting on him for a decision. There was sometimes a hidden chuckle beneath the anticlimax. Like Chrystal, he loved the feel of power.
It was after two o’clock, but he returned happily to the talk on education. He had great stamina and no sense of time, and another hour passed before he thought of bed.
16: An Hour of Pride
When I went into my sitting-room next morning, half an hour before my usual time, there was Sir Horace, bright and trim and ready for his breakfast. He had had less than five hours’ sleep, but he was as conversational as ever. He referred to our common acquaintances, such as Francis Getliffe’s brother; he asked questions about the men he had met the night before. He was much taken with Jago. ‘There’s an unusual man,’ said Sir Horace. ‘Anyone could see that in five minutes. Remarkable head he’s got. Will he be your next Master?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Brown and Chrystal want him, don’t they?’
I said yes.
‘Good chaps, those.’ Sir Horace paused. ‘If they were in industry they’d drive a hard bargain.’
I put in the thin edge of a question. But, though he had begun the day so talkative and affable, Sir Horace was no more communicative than the night before. His intention became masked at once in a loquacious stream about how much his nephew owed to Brown’s tutoring. ‘I want him to get an honours degree. I don’t believe these places ought to be open to the comfortably off, unless the comfortably off can profit by them,’ said Sir Horace, surprisingly unless one knew his streak of unorganized radicalism. ‘I hope you agree with me? If this boy doesn’t get his honours degree, I shall cross off the experiment as a failure. But he’d never have touched it if it hadn’t been for Brown. I’ll tell you frankly, Mr Eliot, there have been times when I wished the boy didn’t require so much help on the examination side.’
We had not long finished breakfast when Roy Calvert came in. They had met for a moment after the feast. Sir Horace was automatically cordial. Then he went to the window, and looked out at the court, lit by the mild sunshine of a February morning.
‘How peaceful it all is,’ Sir Horace observed. ‘You don’t realize what a temptation it would be to quit the rough-and-tumble and settle down here in peace.’
He smiled with his puzzled, lost, friendly look, and Roy smiled back, his eyes glinting with fun.
‘I don’t think we do,’ said Roy. ‘I’ll change with you, Sir Horace.’
‘You wouldn’t get such peace.’
‘I don’t know. Are some of your colleagues on speaking terms? Ours just manage it. Should you call that specially peaceful?’
Sir Horace laughed uneasily; he was not used to affectionate malice from young men half his age. But he had an eye for quality. Up to that moment he had placed Roy as an ornament and a flâneur; now he captured his interest, just as Jago had done. He began asking Roy about his work. He was mystified by most of Roy’s explanation, but he felt something here that he had not met. I saw him studying Roy’s face when it was not smiling.
Soon he was asking if he could be shown Roy’s manuscripts. They went off together, and I did not see them until midday. Then Roy ran up the stairs to say that the ‘old boy’ was going; he fetched Brown and Chrystal and we all met at the side door of the college, where the car was garaged. The chauffeur had just arrived, and Sir Horace was standing by the car in a tremendous fur coat, looking like an Imperial Russian general.
‘I’m sorry I’ve not seen anything of you this morning, Mr Chrystal,’ said Sir Horace. ‘I’ve had a very interesting time looking at Mr Calvert’s wonderful things. There were several points last night I should like to explore with you again, you know what I mean? I very much hope we shall have the opportunity some time.’
The car drove off, Sir Horace waving cordially. As it turned out of sight, Roy Calvert asked: ‘Is he going to unbelt?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Chrystal. He added loyally: ‘Of course, men in his position have to make a hundred decisions a day. I expect he looks on this as very small beer – and just puts it off until he’s got important things finished. It’s unfortunate for us.’
‘I’m not giving up hope yet,’ said Brown, robust against disappointment. ‘I can’t believe he’d lead us up the garden path.’
‘It would be funny if he did,’ said Roy. ‘And took a series of dinners off us. Never getting to the point.’
‘I don’t call that funny, Calvert,’ Chrystal said irritably.
‘I believe it may come right,’ said Brown. He added, in a hurry: ‘Mind you, I shan’t feel inclined to celebrate until I see a cheque arrive on the bursary table.’ He said aside to Chrystal: ‘We’ve just got to think of ways and means agai
n. I should be in favour of letting him lie fallow for a month or two. In the meantime, we shall have time to consider methods of giving him a gentle prod.’
The sky was cloudless and china-blue, there was scarcely a breath of wind. The sun was just perceptibly warm on the skin, and we thought of taking a turn round the garden before lunch. Roy Calvert and Chrystal went in front. They were talking about investments. Roy was the only child of a rich man, and Chrystal liked talking to him about money. Brown and I followed on behind. Our way to the garden was overlooked by the windows of the tutor’s house, and as we walked I heard my name called in Jago’s voice.
I stayed on the path, Brown strolled slowly on. Jago came out from his house – and with him was Nightingale.
‘Can you spare us a moment, Eliot?’ Jago cried. His tone was apologetic, almost hostile.
‘Of course.’
‘Nightingale and I have been discussing the future of the college. Naturally, we all think the future of the college depends on the men we attract to college offices.’ Jago’s words were elaborate, his mouth drawn down, his eyes restless. ‘So that we’ve been speculating a little on which of our colleagues might consider taking various college offices.’
‘These things have a way of being settled in advance,’ said Nightingale.
‘I hope it doesn’t embarrass you to mention your own future,’ Jago had to go on.
‘Not in the slightest,’ I said.
‘I know it’s difficult. No one can pledge themselves too far ahead. But I’ve just been telling Nightingale that, so far as I know, you wouldn’t feel free to think of a college office in the next few years.’
‘I shouldn’t. I can be ruled out,’ I said.
‘Why? Why can we rule you out?’ Nightingale broke out in suspicion.
I had to give a reason for Jago’s sake.
‘Because I don’t want to break my London connection. I can’t spend two days a week in London and hold an office here.’
