by C. P. Snow
Brown smiled affably at his friend’s brisk triumphant air.
‘Wonderful,’ he said again.
‘That’s how we left it. I’ve got the college office running round to get hold of people for this afternoon. It shocked old Despard too much to think of having an informal meeting in the combination room.’ Chrystal gave a tough grin. ‘So it will be in my rooms. I’ve called it for 2.30. I tell you, Arthur, we’ve done something between us. It’s a good day for the college.’
When I arrived in Chrystal’s sitting-room that afternoon it was already arranged to seat the fellows, with a dozen chairs round the dining table. Ten men turned up by half-past two; Luke had gone early to the laboratory, did not return for lunch, and so no message had reached him; Gay was not there, and I suspected that Chrystal had taken care that that invitation had miscarried. We sat down round the table, all except Chrystal, who stood watching us, like a commanding officer.
‘It’s time we began,’ he said. ‘I move Mr Despard-Smith take the chair.’
Brown seconded, and there was a murmur, but Despard-Smith said: ‘I ought to say that I consider this meeting is definitely irregular. I find myself in a dilemma. It would be scandalous not to let the college know as soon as I properly can of a communication which I received this morning. On the other hand I cannot conceal from myself that the communication was sent to me under the misunderstanding that I still had the status of Deputy for the Master. I do not see the way clear for the college to receive an official communication during the dies non while there is a vacancy in the office of Master. I see grave difficulties whatever view we decide upon.’
At last, Despard-Smith was persuaded to take the chair (which, as Roy whispered, he had been determined to do all the time). He began: ‘The least irregular course open to us in my judgement is for me to disclose to you in confidence the contents of the communication I received this morning. I am p-positive that we cannot reply except to explain that I am no longer Deputy but that the letter will be laid before the new Master as soon as he is elected. Very well. The communication is from Sir Horace Timberlake, who I believe is a relative of one of our recent men. It will ultimately call for some very difficult decisions by the college, but perhaps I had better read it.
Dear Mr Deputy,
During the past year I have had many interesting talks upon the future of the college. I have had the privilege in particular of hearing the views of Dr Jago–’ (I wondered for a second if Sir Horace had timed his letter to assist Jago in the election; he was quite capable of it) ‘and frequently those of Mr Brown and Mr Chrystal. I should like to add my own small share to helping the college, feeling as I do its invaluable benefits to my nephew and the great part I can see it playing in the world. I am clear that the most useful assistance anyone can give the college at the present time is the endowment of fellowships, and I am clear that a substantial proportion should be restricted to scientific and engineering subjects. I wish to lay the minimum conditions upon the college, but I should not be living up to my own ideas of the future if I did not ask you to accept this stipulation. If the college can see its way to agree, I should be honoured to transfer to you a capital sum of £120,000–’ (there was a whistle from someone at the table) ‘which I take to be the equivalent to the endowment of six fellowships. This capital sum will be made over in seven equal yearly instalments, until the entire endowment is in your hands by 1944. Four of these six fellowships are to be limited to scientific and engineering subjects and one is to be held in any subject that the college thinks fit. You will appreciate that this letter is not a formal offer and I shall crystallize my ideas further if I learn that the general scheme is acceptable to the college. I shall also be able to crystallize my ideas about the one remaining fellowship which I hope to designate for a special purpose.’ I saw some puzzled frowns and could not imagine what was coming. ‘The best way to make a contribution to my purpose has not yet presented itself to me, but I am desirous of using this fellowship to help in the wonderful work of–’ Despard-Smith read solemnly – ‘Mr Roy Calvert, by which I was so tremendously impressed. Possibly his work could be aided by a fellowship on special terms, but no doubt we can pursue these possibilities together. I am not sufficiently conversant with your customs to know whether you attach distinguishing titles to your endowments, and I should not wish in any case even to express a view on such a delicate topic.’
Someone whistled again as Despard-Smith finished. There were glances at Roy Calvert, who was looking serious. A rustle went round the table. The only person who stayed quite still was Winslow; he had been gazing down in front of him throughout the reading of the letter, and now he did not move.
‘This is the largest benefaction the college has ever had,’ said Chrystal, who could contain himself no longer. ‘I call this a day.’
‘I foresee grave difficulties,’ said Despard-Smith. ‘I am positive that it will need the most serious consideration before the college could possibly decide to accept.’
‘Somehow, though, I rather think we shall,’ said Crawford, with the only trace of irony I had ever seen him show. ‘I must say this is a one achievement, Chrystal. I suppose we owe this to you, and you deserve a very hearty vote of thanks. Speaking as a man of science I can see this college taking the biggest jump forward it’s ever made.’
‘Good work, Chrystal,’ said Francis Getliffe. ‘It’s going to make a terrific difference. Good work.’
‘I can’t accept all these congratulations for myself,’ said Chrystal, curt but delighted. ‘There’s one man who’s been more responsible than I have. That’s Brown. He nursed young Timberlake. He looked after Sir Horace. It’s Brown you ought to thank. Without him, we shouldn’t have come within shouting distance.’
‘I’m afraid that I’m compelled to disagree,’ said Brown, settling himself comfortably to enjoy passing a good round compliment to Chrystal. ‘The sense of the college is absolutely right in thinking that we owe this magnificent endowment to the Dean, as no one is in a better position to appreciate than I am. If other fellows had been able to witness the time and trouble, the boundless time and trouble, that the Dean has bestowed upon securing this benefaction, I can assure the college that its sense of indebtedness to him would be even more overwhelming than it is. For his untiring devotion and unparalleled skill, I believe we ought to rank the Dean himself among the great benefactors of this society.’
‘I associate myself wholeheartedly with those remarks,’ said Crawford. Francis Getliffe and others said hear, hear.
‘I feel we also owe the deepest gratitude to our other colleague Brown,’ said Jago. I joined in the applause, even Nightingale said an amiable word. Roy Calvert grinned.
‘The old boy has unbelted to some purpose,’ he said. ‘I wonder how many free meals he could have taken off us before we gave him up.’
‘You’re not in a position to complain,’ said Chrystal severely, provoked because Roy did not seem weighed down by his obligation.
‘Certainly not.’ Roy was still grinning. ‘But it would have been beautiful if the old boy’s patience hadn’t given out.’
‘It will make your subject, young man,’ Crawford reproved him.
‘Just so. We’ll polish it off,’ said Roy.
Winslow had not yet spoken. Words went to and fro across the table, expressing gratification, mild misgivings, disapproval from some that Roy Calvert had been singled out, triumphant emphasis from Brown, Jago, and myself. In all of these exchanges Winslow took no part, but went on sitting with his head bent down – until at last, when the table happened to fall silent, he looked up from under his lids.
‘I confess that I am not particularly confident of disentangling the sense of this remarkable letter,’ he said. ‘The style of our worthy friend is not apparently designed to reveal his meaning. But correct me if I am wrong – I gather some members of the college have been discussing this benefaction with Sir Horace?’
‘In the vaguest terms you can possibl
y imagine,’ said Brown, prompt and emollient. ‘Put it another way: Sir Horace asked me among others one or two questions, and it wouldn’t have been ordinary decent manners not to reply. I imagine the Dean was placed in the same rather embarrassing position.’
‘It must have been most embarrassing,’ said Winslow. ‘I take it, my dear Tutor, you were forced most unwillingly to discuss the finances of the college?’
Roy Calvert was scribbling on a piece of paper. He passed it to me along the table: it read ‘Winslow will never recover from this.’
‘Naturally we shouldn’t consider ourselves competent,’ said Brown. ‘No one’s got a greater respect for the Dean’s financial acumen than I have – but, if either of us had had the remotest idea that Sir Horace was going to make a definite proposition without giving us time to look round our first thought would have been to go straight to the Bursar.’
‘That doesn’t need saying,’ Chrystal joined in.
‘I recall very vividly,’ said Brown, ‘one evening when the Dean asked me what I thought was the point of Sir Horace’s questions. “I suppose it can’t mean money,” he said. “If I had the slightest hope it might” – I think I’m remembering him properly – “our first step would be to bring the Bursar in”.’
‘I’m very much affected by that reminiscence,’ said Winslow, ‘I’m also very much affected by the thought of the Dean expending “countless time and trouble” without dreaming for a moment that there would be any question of money.’
‘I’m sure I’m speaking for the Dean as well as myself,’ said Brown, ‘when I say that nothing would distress us more than that the Bursar should feel in the slightest degree left out. It’s only the peculiar circumstances–’
‘I’ve never had much opinion of myself as Bursar,’ said Winslow. ‘It’s interesting to find others taking the same view. It looks at any rate as though my judgement remains unimpaired. Which will be a slight consolation to me in my retirement.’
Despard-Smith said: ‘I hope you’re not suggesting–’
‘I’m not suggesting, I’m resigning,’ said Winslow. ‘I’m obviously useless when the college goes in for money seriously. It’s time the college had someone who can cope with these problems. I should have a great deal more faith in the Dean or Mr Brown as Bursar than they can reasonably have in me.’
‘I couldn’t consider it,’ said Chrystal, and Brown murmured in support.
‘This is disastrous,’ said Despard-Smith.
There were the usual exclamations of regret, incredulity, desire that Winslow should think again, that followed any resignation in the college. They were a shade more hurried than usual, they were more obviously mingled with relief. Despard-Smith remembered that no resignation could be offered or accepted while the college was without a Master. ‘In that case,’ said Winslow, ‘the new Master will have a pleasant duty for his first.’ His grim sarcasm was more repelling than ever now, and there was no warmth in the attempts to persuade him back. No one dared to be sorry for him. Then suddenly Jago burst out: ‘This is a wretched exchange.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ said Crawford.
‘I mean,’ Jago cried, ‘that we’re exchanging a fine Bursar for a rich man’s charity. And I don’t like it.’
‘It’s not our fault,’ said Chrystal sharply.
‘That doesn’t make it any more palatable.’ Jago turned to his old enemy and his eyes were blazing. ‘Winslow, I want you to believe that we’re more distressed than we can say. If this choice had lain with us, you mustn’t be in any doubt what we should have chosen. Sir Horace would have had to find another use for his money. We can’t forget what you’ve done for us. In one office or another, you’ve guided this college all your life. And in your ten years as Bursar the college has never been so rich.’
Winslow’s caustic smile had left him, and he looked abashed and downcast.
‘That’s no thanks to me,’ he said.
‘Won’t you reconsider it?’ cried Jago.
Winslow shook his head.
The meeting broke up soon after, and Roy Calvert and I went for a stroll in the garden. A thick mist was gathering in the early evening, and the trees stood out as though in a Japanese print. We talked over the afternoon. Roy had enough trace of malice to feel triumphant; he imitated the look on some of their faces, as they heard of the bequest to him. ‘Sir Timberlake’s a bit of a humorist,’ he said. ‘Oh dear, I shall have to become respectable and stuffed. They’ve got me at last.’
We walked into the ‘wilderness’, and I mentioned Winslow. Roy frowned. We were both uncomfortable; we shared a perverse affection for him, we had not liked to watch his fall, we had admired Jago’s piece of bravura at the end. But we were uneasy. Somehow we felt that he had been reckless and indiscreet; we wished he would be quiet until the election. Roy showed an unusual irritation. ‘He will overdo things,’ he said. ‘He never will learn sense. All this enthusiasm about Winslow’s work as Bursar. Absurd. Winslow’s been dim as a Bursar. Chrystal would be much better. I should be an extremely good Bursar myself. They’d never let me be. They wouldn’t think I was sound.’
It seemed odd, but all he said was true.
Then we saw Winslow himself walking through the mist, his long heavy-footed stride noiseless on the sodden grass.
‘Hullo, Winslow,’ said Roy. ‘We were talking about you.’
‘Were you?’ said Winslow. ‘Is there much to say?’
‘Quite a lot,’ said Roy.
‘What shall you do, now you’ve got some leisure?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. I can’t start anything new.’
‘There’s plenty of time,’ I said.
‘I’ve never lacked for time,’ he said. ‘Somehow, I’ve never had the gift of bringing things off. I don’t know why. I used to think I wasn’t a fool. Sometimes, by the side of our colleagues, I thought I was a remarkably intelligent man. But everything I’ve touched has come to nothing.’
Roy and I looked at each other, and knew it was worse to speak than to stay silent. It would not have consoled him if we spoke. It was better to watch him, stoically facing the truth.
Together the three of us walked in silence through the foggy twilight. Bushes and trees loomed at us, as we took another turn at the bottom of the garden. We had covered the whole length twice before Roy spoke again, to ask a question about Dick Winslow. He had just got engaged, said Winslow. ‘We scarcely know the girl,’ he added. ‘I only hope it’s all right.’
His tone was warm and unguarded. His son had been the bitterest of his disappointments, but his love glowed on. And that afternoon the thought of the marriage refreshed him and gave him pleasure.
32: The Virtues of the Other Side
While we were walking round the garden, Roy Calvert asked Winslow to go with him to the pictures. Winslow was puzzled by the invitation, grumbled that he had not been for years, and yet was touched. In the end, they went off together and I was left in search of Brown.
I wanted to talk to him alone, for I still thought it might be worth while for me to go round to Gay’s. But, when I arrived, Chrystal was just sitting down. He was smoking a pipe, and his expression was not as elated as it had been that morning. Even when Brown produced a bottle of madeira – ‘it needs something rather out of the ordinary to drink Sir Horace’s health’ – Chrystal responded with a smile that was a little twisted, a little wan. He was dispirited because his triumph, like all triumphs, had not been as intoxicating as he had imagined it.
He emptied his glass absently, and smoked away. He interrupted a conversation with a sharp question: ‘What was your impression of this afternoon?’
‘My impression was,’ said Brown, who sensed that his friend needed heartening, ‘that everyone realizes you’ve done the best day’s work for the college that anyone has ever done.’
‘Not they. They just take it for granted,’ said Chrystal.
‘Everyone was full of it,’ said Brown.
‘I believe they thin
k we’ve treated Winslow badly. That’s the thought they’ve gone away with.’ Chrystal added, with hurt and angry force: ‘Jago is amusing.’
‘He wanted to soften the blow,’ said Brown.
‘There may have been a bit of policy in it,’ I suggested. ‘He may have wanted to make a gesture. He’s bound to be thinking of the election.’
‘Certainly. I was glad to see him showing some political sense at last,’ said Brown. He had followed my lead with his unceasing vigilance: he knew it was untrue, as well as I did: we were trying to take Chrystal’s attention away.
‘I don’t believe it, Eliot,’ retorted Chrystal.
‘He’s not a simple character,’ I went on.
‘I give you that,’ Chrystal said. ‘By God, I give you that. And there’s something I wouldn’t confess outside this room.’ He paused and looked at us. ‘There are times,’ he said slowly, ‘when I see the other side’s case against Jago. He’s too much up and down. He’s all over you one minute. Then he discovers some reason for getting under one’s skin as he did this afternoon. I say, I wouldn’t confess it outside this room, but there are times when I have my doubts. Don’t you? Either of you?’
‘No,’ said Brown with absolute firmness.
‘Some of what you say is true,’ I said. ‘But I thought it over when I decided on Jago. I didn’t believe it mattered enough to count against him. I still don’t.’
‘Not more than you did?’
‘No, less,’ I said.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Chrystal.
Then Chrystal said, with a pretence of offhandedness: ‘Anyway, it doesn’t look as though we’re going to get him in.’
‘I don’t quite follow you,’ said Brown, but his eyes were piercing.
‘Has Pilbrow cabled back to you yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘There you are. I shall expect him when I see him. Sometime next year.’
