Charles Snow - The Masters

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.