Charles Snow - The Affair

Dawson-Hill was sitting upright, with his head thrown back. “I have to conclude that the answer may be yes. For after all, his speculations before this Court — and with all my veneration, my heartfelt veneration for Sir Francis, I am not able to call them more than speculations — might involve the good name of others. They might, by a fantastic stretch of improbability, involve the good name of a most respected member of this Court. Dr Nightingale faced this issue plainly yesterday morning, and it would, I know, be going against his wishes, it would be less than fair to the respect that we all ought to bear him, if I didn’t state it just as categorically now.” He inclined his head to Nightingale, whose eyes lit up. “I put to you this possibility. It might be considered by some that, if this Court reverses its decision, if it reinstates Howard, then it is giving some weight to Sir Francis’ speculations. It might even be considered by some that it indicated a lack of confidence in Dr Nightingale. Could one blame Dr Nightingale if he took that line himself? I am not authorised to say that he or others will take that view. I mention it only as a possibility. But I suggest that it exists.”

That was bold. Bolder than I counted on, or wanted. Afterwards, the rest of Dawson-Hill’s speech went according to plan. Dismissing Getliffe’s speculation, he said, he came back to the much more natural alternative, which sensible men had taken for granted all along, that the photograph had disappeared by accident, that probably it had disappeared before the Bursar saw the notebook, and that he had, to his own inconvenience, suffered a trick of memory, that it had been a genuine photograph, and that the caption was just an old man’s ill-judged comment, “perhaps a shade too optimistic, for his own private eye”. Surely that was the rational explanation, for rational men who weren’t looking for plots and conspiracies and marvels?

“Which brings me to the very simple alternative with which the Court had to cope in the beginning,” he said. “Regrettably, there has been a piece of scientific chicanery. We all know that, and it is a misfortune which the college didn’t deserve. The Court previously had to choose, and still has to choose, between attributing this chicanery to one of two men. One was a man rightly honoured, an eminent scholar, devout and pious. The other is a man whom we can form our own opinions of. Master, I am a rather simple man. I don’t possess the resources of my distinguished colleague. I don’t find it easy to denigrate good old men, or to find virtues in those who have renounced all that most of us stand for. If I had been a member of the Court, I should have made the same choice as the Court has made before. I now suggest to the Court that in spite of the painful circumstances, all it can do is repeat that same choice and reiterate that same decision.”

As he stopped, the grandfather clock in the corner racketed, coughed, whirred, and then gave a stroke just audible like the creak of a door. It was a quarter past three. Crawford blinked, and said: “Thank you, Dawson-Hill. Thank you both.” Staring straight in front of him he said: “Well, that brings us to the last stage of our labours.”

“Master,” said Brown, quick off the mark, “I wonder if I might make a suggestion.”

“Senior Tutor?”

“I don’t know whether you or our other colleagues feel as I do,” said Brown, “but as far as I’m concerned, listening to what to all of us have been difficult and distressing arguments, I think I’ve almost shot my bolt. I wonder whether you would consider breaking off for today, and then the Seniors could meet in private tomorrow morning when we’re a little fresher?”

“In private?” Crawford looked a little bemused, listening, as he had done for so many years, to Brown’s guidance.

“I don’t think we need call on our legal friends. We’ve got to reach a settlement on the basis of what they’ve said in front of us. Then we can perhaps discuss the terms of the settlement with them tomorrow, later in the day.”

For an instant Crawford sat without responding. Then he said: “No, Senior Tutor. I gave notice yesterday that I should have something to say this afternoon. Speaking as Master, I wish to say it before we finish today’s hearing.”

He said it with a mixture of dignity and querulousness. In exhaustion, he was letting something out. Right through his Mastership, for fifteen years Brown had held his hand, told him which letters to write, advised him whose feelings wanted soothing. He had used Brown as a confidential secretary: had he noticed how much he depended upon him? Until the affair, it had been a good Mastership. Did he know that he had Brown to thank for that? Now, when for once he asserted himself and upset Brown’s protocol, one saw that he did know; but he didn’t thank Brown for it. It was the kind of service which no one ever thanks a grey eminence for.

“As I’ve just told the Senior Tutor,” Crawford announced to the room at large, “I wish to make a statement myself. But first of all, am I right in assuming” — he turned to Winslow — “that you are of the same way of thinking as you were yesterday?”

Nightingale’s voice came from beyond Winslow.

“I certainly am. I should like the Court to know that. I agree with every word of Mr Dawson-Hill’s.”

“You’re continuing to vote against reinstatement?” said Crawford.

“Of course.”

Winslow leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, looking under his eyebrows with a subfusc pleasure: “For myself, Master, I can only acknowledge the Bursar’s most interesting observation. Like him, however, I find it remarkably difficult to change my mind. I think that answers your question, Master?”

Crawford sat back in his chair. His physical poise stayed with him, the poise of a man who had always been confident of his muscles. But his voice had lost its assurance altogether.

“Then we cannot avoid a disagreement. I think, as I thought yesterday, that it is time for me to speak.” He was looking straight in front of him, past the chair, now empty, where the witnesses had sat. “And speaking not as Master but as a man of science, I have to say that there are things in this hearing which have given me cause for much regret. Not only having to deal with this distasteful business of scientific cheating, which is, by its nature, a denial of all that a man of science lives for or ought to live for. But apart from that, there have been other things, straws in the wind, maybe, which give reason to think that contemporary standards among a new scientific generation are in a process of decline. We have had a report this morning, of this man Howard, whom we elected a Fellow in a scientific subject in all good faith, expressing lack of interest in his research, as though that were a permissible attitude. It would not have been a permissible attitude in the laboratories here fifty years ago. When I was beginning my own research, I used to run to my laboratory. And before that, I used to run to my lectures. That was how we felt about our work.”

I had never heard Crawford reminisce, or show the slightest trace of sentimentality. For an instant, he was maundering. He jerked himself together: “But we must give our minds to that decline in standards on another occasion. We now have to conclude the deplorable business for which we’ve been sitting here. I find it almost intolerable to have had to devote thought and attention to this deplorable business. There have been times, I confess, when it has seemed like asking bloodstock to draw a cart. But it has not been possible to escape. I cannot assess how much nearer we have been brought to wisdom. For myself, speaking as a member of the Court, all I know is that I can see my own course of action.”