Charles Snow - The Affair

“It’s not a decision which anyone in a position of trust could have taken lightly,” said Crawford.

“Do you seriously think,” said Brown, “that we were as irresponsible as what you’ve just said seems to indicate? I should like you to consider that question too, Martin.”

Martin met my eye. This was going to be rough. Tom Orbell, who had been quiet all the evening, was effacing himself and listening. I thought the only thing was to take the offensive.

“All you say is fair,” I replied. “Of course you’re not irresponsible men. I’ve never known people less so. But on your side, do you think that Francis Getliffe is a man to go in for premature judgments? Do you think he would have written as he did, unless he were convinced of it?”

“To an extent, I think you have a point there,” said Crawford. “Getliffe is a distinguished man of science—”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept that as a reason for giving up our own responsibility.” Brown’s voice was steady and full. “I’ve known Francis a long time. Of course we all recognise how distinguished he is. But I have known him make mistakes in judgment. If you were a scientist, Lewis, and were giving your opinion on this case, I should be disposed to give more weight to it than I feel able to give to Francis’. Put it another way. There are two of you who are trying to make us take what to my mind would be a false step. Francis is a scientist and a master of technicalities, but gives me some reason to have reserves about his judgment. While I have respect for your judgment, Lewis, but I know you can’t master the technicalities any more than I can.”

Conciliating, flattering, dividing and ruling, even when he was angry — he was very angry, but he had not lost his touch.

“Of course, I’m in general agreement with you, Senior Tutor,” said Crawford, “but for the sake of fairness we ought perhaps to remember that this isn’t simply a matter of one individual’s judgment. I still consider we were right to resist them, but several men of science in the college, not only Getliffe, have suggested there was a case for enquiry. That’s still your feeling, for instance, Martin, isn’t it?”

“It is, Master.”

“I’m obliged to say,” Brown put in, “that I’m not specially happy about the way all this is being done. I exempt you from that remark, Martin. I can’t pretend I think you’ve been well advised” — he gave his jolly laugh, but his eyes were sharp — “but I’m prepared to admit that any step you’ve taken has been correct. But I’m afraid I can’t say as much for most of your associates. I’m very disappointed in Skeffington. I should have thought he’d have known the way to do things. When we elected him, I didn’t imagine for a second that he’d turn out to be a trouble-maker. As for Francis Getliffe, he’s done nothing more nor less than put a pistol to our heads.”

“The danger about pistols,” said Crawford, “is that sometimes they go off.”

That was as near to a joke as I had heard him make. Tom Orbell gave a suppressed snort, and for an instant Crawford beamed, like a humorist who is appreciated at last. Brown was not beaming, and said: “In a small society, I’ve always felt that it’s a mistake to rush your colleagues as he’s tried to do. Some of us are not all that fond of being threatened.”

“Agreed,” said Crawford.

“If he’d come to see you about his difficulty, Master,” Brown was now turning his full weight on to Crawford, “I might feel differently about it. That would have been the proper thing to do. He ought to have spoken to you before he put a word on paper. Then perhaps we could have smoothed things down in a reasonable fashion. But the way he’s gone about it, it’s making the college into a bear-garden.”

“Again, I agree,” said Crawford. “One would have thought that Getliffe wouldn’t have wished to create unnecessary commotion. I’ll try to have a word with him next Thursday at the Royal Society.”

“Meanwhile,” Brown was continuing to talk, not to the rest of us but to the Master, “I’ve thought about the proper position to adopt, and I think I can say I’ve come down to this. If the college chooses to let itself be rushed, and there’s a majority for asking the Seniors to re-open the case, then by the statutes the Seniors naturally have to do so. That’s all cut and dried. But I don’t see the college losing its head like that. I believe we’re interpreting the wishes of the college if we go on resisting attempts to sweep us off our feet against our better judgment.”

“Are you sure you’re interpreting the wishes of the college?” asked Martin.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to do too much counting heads,” Martin went on, speaking Brown’s own language, “but there are nine out of nineteen feeling the other way.”

“Is that a firm figure, Martin?” Crawford asked.

“There are nine Fellows willing to vote for re-opening.”

“I confess I should be happier,” said Crawford, “if there were clearer weight of opinion one way or the other.”

“I accept Martin’s figures,” said Brown. Well he might, I thought: those two knew each other’s measure and also the score, ball by ball. “But I’m sure he’d agree with me when I say that the nine he’s referred to don’t include, apart from Getliffe and himself, any of our more influential and senior members.”

“That’s quite true,” said Martin. He was not going to overstate his case.

“Still,” said Crawford, “it would be more satisfactory to all concerned if the numbers were wider spaced.”

Once again Martin and I glanced at each other and saw that we agreed. It was time to stop. Quickly I got in before Brown and said that they might be in for another kind of trouble. I explained that old Gay was asking advice about how to sue the college.

Crawford did not think that that was funny. He went to a cupboard and fetched a copy of the statutes. He showed us that, in order to disqualify Gay from the Court of Seniors, the college would have to pass a formal motion. That had never been done, so far as the college history had been traced. So they — not only the Master, but Brown and Winslow — had visited him, written him letters, assuming that he was withdrawing of his own free will. He had not made much protest, once or twice he had verbally acquiesced: but, with a kind of old man’s cunning, more animal than senile, he had not acquiesced on paper.

I had a feeling that Brown felt the Master had not been resourceful or punctilious enough. When Crawford asked me what the legal position was, I said that they didn’t have much to worry about. I could help them string the old man along for a time. If he went to his solicitors, they wouldn’t let him bring such an action. It was just possible that, if he had enough stamina, he could get into touch with an unscrupulous firm — but I couldn’t imagine a man of ninety-four keeping up a grudge long enough, not even Gay.

“I shan’t believe we’re out of that particular wood until we’ve attended his memorial service in the chapel,” said Arthur Brown. His previous annoyance made him less emollient than he would normally have been. Conscientiously he added, “Not that he hasn’t been a grand old boy in his way.”

A few minutes later, Martin and I were in a taxi on our way to Lester Ince’s house in Bateman Street. Martin was asking: didn’t I think that, when the argument over the case got sharp, Brown had spent all his effort keeping the Master up to scratch? Yes, I said. It wouldn’t take much, probably one conversation with Getliffe, for the Master to decide that the case ought to be re-heard.

That meant the majority was in the bag, said Martin. He went on: “But we don’t want it to come like that, do we? They’ve made a mistake, not offering a re-hearing the minute three or four people wanted it. Just for once, Arthur hasn’t played his hand right. It’s a point to us if we can force this majority on them, so that they’re up against it as soon as they start the case again. We don’t want them to let us have it as a favour.”