Charles Snow - The Masters

Even of those, I thought, Jago was tormented by anxiety and hope. Perhaps only two mourned Royce enough to forget the excitement round them.

At half-past four many of us began to sit down in our places, but Gay finished his tea at leisure, talking loudly to anyone near. The clock struck the quarter before he said: ‘Ah. The time I fixed for our meeting. Let us make a start. Yes, this is the time.’

He took the chair, and looked round at us. The hum died away. Then slowly and with difficulty Gay rose unstably to his feet, and supported himself by gripping the table with his hands.

‘Remain seated, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘But I should like to stand, while I speak of what I have summoned you to hear today.’ He looked handsome and impressive; his beard was freshly trimmed, it took years from his age to be presiding there that day. ‘I have grievous news. Indeed I have grievous news. Yesterday evening our late Master passed away. In accordance with the statute I have requested you to meet on this the following day. First I wish to say a few words in honour of his memory.’ Gay went on to make a speech lasting over half an hour. His voice rang out resonantly; he did not seem in the least tired. Actually, it was a good speech. Once or twice his memory failed him and he attributed to Royce qualities and incidents which belonged to earlier Masters. But that happened seldom; his powers had revived that afternoon; he was an eloquent man who enjoyed speaking, and he remembered much about Royce which was fresh to many of us. The uncomfortable nature of the speech was that he made it with such tremendous gusto; he was enjoying himself too much.

‘And so,’ he finished, ‘he was stricken with the disease, which, as my old saga-men would say, was his bane. Ah indeed, it was his bane. He bore it as valiantly as they would have borne it. He had indeed one consolation not granted to many of them. He died in the certainty of our Christian faith, and his life was so blessed that he did not need to fear his judgement in the hereafter.’

Then Gay let himself back into his chair. There was whispering round the table, and he banged energetically with his fist.

‘Now, gentlemen,’ he said briskly and chidingly, ‘we must set ourselves to our task. We cannot look back always. We must look forward. Forward! That’s the place to look. It is part of my duties to make arrangements for the election of a new Master. I will read the statutes.’

He did read the statutes, not only that on the election of the Master, which he kept till last, but also those on the authority, qualifications, residence, and emoluments. He read very audibly and well, and a good many more minutes passed. At last he came to the statute on the election. He read very slowly and with enormous emphasis. ‘“When the fellows are duly assembled the fellow first in order of precedence attending shall announce to them the vacancy…”’ He looked up from his book, and paused.

‘I hereby announce to you,’ said Gay resoundingly, ‘a vacancy in the office of Master.’

He went back to his reading ‘“…and shall before midnight on the same day authorize a notice of the vacancy and of the time hereby regulated for the election of the new Master, and cause this notice to be placed in full sight on the chapel door.”’

‘Cause to be placed! Cause to be placed!’ cried Gay. ‘I shall fix it myself. I shall certainly fix it myself. Shall I write the notice?’

‘I’ve got one here,’ said Winslow. ‘I had it typed ready in the Bursary this morning.’

‘Ah. I congratulate you. Let me read it. I can’t get out of the responsibility for any slips, you know. “Owing to the death of Mr Vernon Royce, there is a vacancy in the office of Master of this college. The fellows will meet in the chapel to elect a Master, according to statutes D — F, at ten o’clock in the morning of December the twentieth, 1937.”

‘That seems fair enough,’ Gay went on, as though unwilling to pass it. ‘December the twentieth? No one’s made a slip there, I suppose?’

‘The vacancy occurred in term,’ said Winslow impatiently. ‘It is fifteen days from today.’

‘Indeed. Indeed. Well, it seems fair enough. Does everyone understand? Shall I sign it?’

‘Is that necessary?’ said Despard-Smith. ‘It’s not in the statutes.’

‘It’s fitting that I should sign it,’ said Gay. ‘When people see my signature at the bottom, they won’t doubt that everything is in order. I shall certainly sign it.’

He wrote his great bold signature, and said with satisfaction: ‘Ah. That’s a fine notice. Now I must fix it.’ Chrystal and Roy Calvert helped him with his overcoat, and as they did so he heard the clock strike. It was six o’clock. He chuckled: ‘Do you know, our old friend Despard wrote to me last night and said this would be a purely formal meeting. And it’s lasted an hour and a quarter. Not bad for a purely formal meeting, Despard, old chap! An hour and a quarter. What do you think of that, Winslow? What do you think of that, Jago?’

It was raining hard outside, and we put on overcoats to follow him. Roy slipped Gay’s arms through the sleeves of his gown again. We followed him out into the court, and Chrystal opened an umbrella and held it over the old man as he shuffled along. The rest of us halted our steps to keep behind him, in the slow procession across the first court to the chapel. The procession moved very slowly through the cold December evening.

When we arrived at the chapel door, it was found there were no drawing pins. Chrystal swore, and, while Luke ran to find some, tried to persuade Gay that it was too chilly for him to stay there in the open.

‘Not a bit of it, my dear chap,’ said Gay. ‘Not a bit of it. There’s life in the old dog yet.’ Luke came back panting with the pins, and Gay firmly pushed in eight of them, one at each corner of the sheet and one in the middle of each side.

Then he stood back and admired the notice.

‘Ah. Excellent. Excellent,’ he said. ‘That’s well done. Anyone can see there’s a vacancy with half an eye.’

The funeral was arranged for December 8th, and in the days before a sombre truce came over the college. Full term ended on the 7th, and the undergraduates climbed Brown’s stairs to fetch their exeats, walked through the courts to Jago’s house, more quietly than usual; even the scholarship candidates, who came up that day, were greeted by the hush as soon as they asked a question at the porters’ lodge. On the nights of the 5th and 6th, the two nights which followed Gay’s meeting, I did not hear a word spoken about the Mastership. Chrystal was busy arranging for a fellows’ wreath, to add to those we were each sending as individuals; Despard-Smith was talking solemnly about the form of service; there was no wine drunk. Roy Calvert did not dine either night; he was looking after Lady Muriel, and she liked having him eat and sleep in the Lodge.

On the afternoon of the 7th, I wanted to escape from the college for a time and went for a walk alone. It was a dark and lowering day, very warm for December; lights were coming on in the shop windows, a slight rain was blown on the gusty wind, the wind blew down the streets as though they were organ-pipes, umbrellas were bent to meet it.

I walked over Coe Fen to the Grantchester meadows, and on by the bank of the river. There was no one about, the afternoon was turning darker; a single swan moved on the water, and the flat fields were desolate. I was glad to return to the lighted streets and the gas flares in Peas Hill, all spurting furiously in the wind.

While I was looking at the stalls under the gas flares, I heard a voice behind me say: ‘Good Lord, it’s you. What are you doing out on this filthy day?’