Charles Snow - The Masters

He appeared to eat as his daily tea a meal not much less copious than the one he put away before college meetings. He did not talk, except to ask us to pass plates, until he was well through. Then I decided to come back to our attempt.

‘You’re occupying an exceptional position in this election,’ I said.

‘Ah. Indeed,’ said Gay, munching a slice of black fruit cake.

‘You’re the great scholar of the college.’

‘The greatest Northern scholar of the age, my Berlin friends used to say,’ Roy put in.

‘Did they now, Calvert? Splendid.’

‘You’re also responsible as senior fellow for seeing that this election is properly carried out,’ I went on. ‘And we’ve noticed that you don’t interpret that in a purely legalistic sense. You’re not concerned simply with the ceremony. We know that you want to see the proper choice properly made.’

‘Just so,’ said Roy.

‘I shall never want to escape my duty,’ said Gay.

‘Isn’t that your duty?’

‘I agree with you,’ said Gay, cutting another piece of cake.

‘We need a lead. Which only you can give. We’re extremely worried,’ said Roy.

‘Ah. Indeed.’

‘We want you to advise us on the two candidates,’ I said. ‘Crawford and Jago. We want you to show us how to form a judgement.’

‘Crawford and Jago,’ said Gay. ‘Yes, I think I know both of them. Let me see, isn’t Jago our present Bursar?’

This was baffling. We could not predict how his memory would work. Everything about the world of scholarship was clear before his eyes: but he would suddenly enquire the name of Despard-Smith, whom he had known for fifty years.

‘I thought,’ said Roy, ‘that you had promised to support Crawford?’

‘Perhaps I have, perhaps I have.’ Suddenly he seemed to remember quite well, and he nodded his head backwards and forwards. ‘Yes, I recollect indicating support for Crawford,’ he said. Then, with a kind of simple, cheerful cunning he looked at us: ‘And you two young men want me to change my mind?’ He guffawed: it seemed to him the best of jokes.

For a second, Roy blushed. I thought it was best to brazen it out.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you’re not far off the mark.’

‘You see,’ said Gay, in high feather, ‘you can’t pull the wool over my eyes.’

‘Yes,’ said Roy, ‘we want you to think again about those two. You do remember them, don’t you?’

‘Of course I remember them,’ said Gay. ‘Just as I remember your address in Berlin last summer, young man. Jago — that’s our Senior Tutor. He’s not taken quite enough care of himself these last few years, he’s lost a lot of hair and he’s put on too much weight. And Crawford. A very sound man. I hear he’s well spoken of as a man of science.’

‘Do you want a scientist as Master? Crawford’s field is a long way from yours,’ I said.

‘I should never give a second’s thought to such a question,’ Gay rebuked me. ‘I have never attached any importance to boundary lines between branches of learning. A man can do distinguished work in any, and we ought to have outgrown these arts and science controversies before we leave the school debating society. Indeed we ought.’

I had been snubbed, and very reasonably snubbed. The only comfort was, the old man had his mind and memory working, and we were not fighting in a fog.

‘What’s your opinion of Jago?’ asked Roy.

‘Jago’s a very sound man too. I’ve got nothing but good to say for Jago,’ Gay replied.

I tried another lead. ‘At present you’re in a unique position. There are six votes for each man without you. If it’s understood that you vote for Crawford, the whole thing is cut and dried and the chapel election is just a formality.’

‘Cut and dried,’ Gay repeated. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘It means,’ said Roy, extremely quick, ‘that the whole thing is settled from today. It’s all over bar the empty form.’

Gay’s faded blue eyes were screwed up in a frown.

‘I certainly indicated support for Crawford. He’s a very sound man. Jago is a very sound man too, of course.’

‘Need that be final?’ I asked. ‘In those days it didn’t look such a near thing. But you’ve had the opportunity, which none of the rest of us have, of surveying the whole position from on high.’

‘Ah. Those old gods looked down from Odin’s hall.’

‘I should have thought,’ I said, ‘you might now consider it best to remove yourself from the contest altogether. Mightn’t it be best to stand aloof — and then in your own good time decide the election one way or the other?’

‘It would make every one realize how grave a choice it was,’ said Roy.

Gay had finished his last cup of tea. He smiled at Roy. In looks he might have been Roy’s grandfather. But I thought at that moment how young he was at heart.

‘You two are still trying to bamboozle me into voting for Jago,’ he said.

This time Roy did not blush.

‘Of course we are,’ he said. ‘I very much hope you will.’

‘Tell me,’ said Gay, ‘why do you prefer him so much?’ He was asking the question in earnest: he wanted to know.

‘Because we like him better,’ said Roy.

‘That’s spoken like an honest man,’ Gay said. ‘I congratulate you, Calvert. You’re much closer to these two men than I am. I may survey the position from on high’ — he was actually teasing us — ‘but I’m too far away. And I’ve always had great faith in the contribution of youth, I respect your judgement in this matter, indeed I do.’

‘Will you vote for Jago?’ asked Roy.

‘I won’t give you an undertaking today. But I am inclined to reserve my vote.’ Then he went on: ‘The election mustn’t be taken for granted. Our founders in their wisdom did not lay it down for us to meet in chapel just to take an election for granted. Why, we might just as well send our votes by post.’

‘You will think of Jago, will you?’ I persisted.

‘I shall certainly think of Jago. I respect your judgement, both of you, and I shall take that very considerably into account.’

As we got up to go at last, Gay said: ‘I congratulate you both on presenting me with the situation in this splendid way.’

‘We’re the ones who’ve learned something,’ I said.

‘I will write to Despard telling him I propose to reserve my vote. Casting vote, that’s the line for me. Thank you for pointing it out. Thank you, Calvert. Thank you. Old heads on young shoulders, that’s what you’ve got.’

In the dark, Roy and I walked down the Madingley Road. He was singing quietly in his light, clear, tuneful voice. Under the first lamp he glanced at me. His eyes were guiltless and sparkling.

‘Well done,’ he said.

‘He didn’t do so badly, either.’

‘Shall we get him?’

‘I shall be surprised if we don’t,’ I said.

‘Just so. Just so.’

I left Roy at the great gate, and walked round to Jago’s house. Mrs Jago received me with a hostile, angry explanation that she had not been feeling well yesterday. Perhaps she could make amends by offering me some ‘refreshment’? She was so self-conscious that it was painful to be near, jarringly apologetic, more resentful of me with each apology she made.

‘I badly want to see Paul this evening,’ I said.

‘I can perfectly well understand that,’ she replied. ‘You naturally don’t want to take the risk of me making an exhibition of myself again.’

‘You don’t think I mind, do you? It would have done you more harm to stay by yourself.’

‘I know some people are willing to bear with me out of charity — but I won’t accept it.’