Charles Snow - The Masters

Winslow was talking, with a veneer of indifference, about his son. ‘He’ll never get into the boat,’ he said. ‘He’s thought to be lucky to have gone as far as this. It would be pleasant for his sake if they made another mistake in his favour. Poor boy, it’s the only notoriety he’s ever likely to have. He’s rather a stupid child.’

His tone was intended to stay caustic — it turned indulgent, sad, anxiously fond. Brown said: ‘I’m not prepared to agree. One might say that he doesn’t find examinations very congenial.’

Winslow smiled.

‘Mind you, Tutor,’ he said with asperity, ‘it’s important for the child that he gets through his wretched tripos this June. He’s thought to stand a chance of the colonial service if he can scrape a third. Of course, I’m totally ignorant of these matters, but I can’t see why our colonies should need third-class men with some capacity for organized sports. However, one can forgive the child for not taking that view. It’s important for his sake that he shouldn’t disgrace himself in June.’

‘I hope we’ll get him through,’ said Brown. ‘I think we’ll just about manage it.’

‘We’ll get him through,’ said Jago.

‘I’m sorry that my family should be such a preposterous nuisance,’ said Winslow.

The wine went round again. As he put down his glass, Winslow asked: ‘Is there any news of the Master tonight?’

‘There can’t be any,’ said Chrystal.

Winslow raised his eyebrows.

‘There can’t be any,’ Chrystal repeated, ‘until he dies. It’s no use. We’ve got to get used to it.’

The words were so curt and harsh that we were silent. In a moment Chrystal spoke again: ‘We’ve got to get used to him dying up there. That is the fact.’

‘And him thinking he will soon be well,’ Jago said. ‘I saw him this evening, and I tell you, I found it very hard to sit by.’

Chrystal said: ‘Yes. I’ve seen him myself.’

‘He’s quite certain he’ll soon be well,’ Jago said. ‘That is the most appalling thing.’

‘You would have told him?’

‘Without the shadow of a doubt.’

‘I’m surprised that you’re so convinced,’ said Winslow, ready to disagree.

‘I am utterly convinced.’

‘I don’t like to suggest it, but I’m inclined to think that Dr Jago may be wrong.’ Winslow glanced round the table. ‘If I’d had to make Lady Muriel’s decision, I think I might have done the same. I should have thought: this will mean for him a few days or weeks of happiness. It’s the last happiness he’ll get — he ought to have it if it’s in my power. Do any of you share my view?’ Winslow’s eyes fell on Chrystal, who did not reply: then on Brown, who said: ‘I haven’t thought it out.’

‘No,’ said Jago. ‘You’re presuming where no one has a right to presume.’ His tone was deep and simple, no trace of awkwardness left. ‘There are a few things no one should dare to decide for another man. There are not many serious things in a man’s life — but one of them is how he shall meet his death. You can’t be tactful about death: all you can do is leave a man alone.’

We were all watching him.

‘Winslow,’ Jago went on, ‘you and I do not often see things with the same eyes. Neither you nor I have been friendly with Royce through most of our lives. We know that, and this is not a good time to pretend. But there is one thing we should never have disagreed about. We had a respect for him. We should have admitted that he always faced the truth, even when it was grim. We should have said that he was the last man among us to be drugged by lies when he was coming near his death.’

Winslow was staring at his empty glass. Chrystal broke the silence: ‘You’ve said things I should like to have said myself.’

Silence came to the table again. This time Brown spoke: ‘How long will it be before they have to tell him?’

‘Three or four months,’ I said. ‘It may be sooner. They say it’s certain to be over in six months.’

‘I can’t help thinking of his wife,’ said Brown, ‘when she has to break the news.’

‘I’m thinking of the Master,’ said Chrystal, ‘the day he hears.’

The coffee was brought in. As Winslow lit a cigar, Brown took the chance of bringing them to earth.

‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘that the position about the Master will have to be reported to the next college meeting?’

‘I’m clear that it must,’ said Chrystal.

‘We have one, of course,’ said Brown, ‘on the first Monday of full term. I feel that we’re bound to discuss the Mastership. It’s very painful and delicate, but the college has got to face the situation.’

‘We can’t elect while the Master is alive. But the college will have to make up its mind in advance,’ said Chrystal.

Winslow’s temper was not smoothed. He was irritated by Jago’s effect on the party, he was irritated by the competence with which Chrystal and Brown were taking charge. He said deliberately: ‘There’s a good deal to be said for discussing the wretched business this term. We can bring it to a point in some directions.’ His eyes flickered at Jago, then he turned to Brown as though thinking aloud. ‘There are one or two obvious questions we ought to be able to decide. Are we going outside for a Master, or are we going to choose one of ourselves?’ He paused, and said in his most courteous tone: ‘I think several of the society will agree that there are good reasons for going outside this time.’

I caught sight of Luke leaning forward, his face aglow with excitement. He was a sanguine and discreet young man, he had scarcely spoken at the table that night, he was not going to intervene now of all times, when Winslow was deliberately, with satisfaction, undermining Jago’s hopes. But I thought that little had escaped young Luke: as acutely as anyone there, he was feeling the antagonism that crackled through the comfort-laden room.

‘I didn’t mean,’ said Brown, roundly but with a trace of hurry, ‘that the college could go nearly as far as that at the present time. In fact I’m very dubious whether it would be proper for a college meeting to do more than hear the facts about the Master’s condition. That gives us a chance to talk the matter over privately. I’m afraid I should deprecate doing more.’

‘I agree with Brown,’ said Chrystal. ‘I shall propose that we take steps accordingly.’

‘You believe in private enterprise, Dean?’ Winslow asked.

‘I think the Dean and I believe,’ said Brown, ‘that with a little private discussion, the college may be able to reach a very substantial measure of agreement.’

‘I must say that that is a beautiful prospect,’ said Winslow. He looked at Jago, who was sitting back in his chair, his lips set, his face furrowed and proud.

Winslow rose from the head of the table, picked up his cap, made off in his long loose stride towards the door. ‘Goodnight to you,’ he said.

I called at Brown’s rooms, as we had arranged with Chrystal, at eleven o’clock next morning. They were on the next staircase to mine, and not such a handsome set; but Brown, though he went out each night to his house in the West Road, had made them much more desirable to live in. That day he stood hands in pockets in front of the fire, warming his plump buttocks, his coat-tails hitched up over his arms. His bright peering eyes were gazing appreciatively over his deep sofas, his ample armchairs, his two half-hidden electric fires, out to the window and the snowy morning. Round the walls there was growing a set of English watercolours, which he was collecting with taste, patience, and a kind of modest expertness. On the table a bottle of madeira was waiting for us.