by C. P. Snow
During the summer no one changed his party. The bricks in Roy Calvert’s room did not require moving; the score was still 6–5 for Jago, but not a clear majority of the whole 13 electors. Brown kept on persuading us to wait before we tried an attempt on Gay, or any other move. Chrystal, however, did make the first signs of an approach about Jago, one night when the old man was dining; he found him aware of the position but stubborn, and so went no further. In fact Chrystal was frustrated for lack of action, and his temper became shorter; they had heard nothing fresh from Sir Horace, apart from a long, effusive letter thanking Brown for his nephew’s success. In that letter, for the first time, there appeared no encouraging hints about the college’s future at all, and Chrystal and Brown were at a loss.
At the end of August the Master sent for me. He had a special message he wanted to give me, and he told me, almost as soon as I arrived, that I was to remind him of it if he rambled. He wanted to give me the message before I went.
His face was now an old man’s. The flesh was dried and had a waxy sheen. His eyes were sunken. Yet his voice was a good imitation of its old self, and, with his heightened insight, he knew the tone which would distress me least. And he spoke, with his old sarcastic humour, of his reasons for changing the position of his bed. It stood by the window now.
‘I prefer to lie here,’ said the Master, ‘because I got tired of the remarkable decoration’ – he meant the painted college arms – ‘which we owe to the misguided enthusiasm of one of my predecessors who had somewhat grandiloquent tastes. And, between you and me, I also like to look out of the window and see our colleagues walking about in twos and threes.’ He smiled without sadness and with an extraordinary detachment. ‘It makes me wonder how they are grouping themselves about the coming vacancy.’
I looked into the emaciated, wasted, peaceful face. ‘It is surprisingly easy to face that kind of fact,’ he said. ‘It seems quite natural, I assure you. So you can tell me the truth. How much has been done about choosing my successor: I have only heard that Jago might be in the running – which, between ourselves, I could have guessed for myself. Will he get it?’
‘Either he or Crawford.’
‘Crawford. Scientists are too bumptious.’ It was strange to hear him, even when so many of the vanities of self had gone, clinging to the prejudice of a lifetime.
I described the present position of the parties. It kept his attention and amused him. As I spoke, I did not feel anything macabre about his interest; it was more as though an observer from another world was watching the human comedy.
‘I hope you get Jago in,’ he said. ‘He’ll never become wise, of course. He’ll always be a bit of an ass. Forget that, and get him in.’
Then he asked: ‘I expect there’s a good deal of feeling?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘It’s remarkable. People always believe that, if only they support the successful candidate, they’ve got his backing for ever. It’s an illusion, Eliot, it’s an illusion. I assure you, one feels a certain faint irritation at the faces of one’s loyal supporters. They catch one’s eye and smirk.’
A recollection of the Getliffe’s garden came to me, and I said: ‘Gratitude plays some queer tricks.’
‘Gratitude isn’t an emotion,’ he said, watching the human comedy. ‘But the expectation of gratitude is a very lively one.’
His mind was very active, but began to leap from point to point.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Did they think I was going to die before this?’
‘Yes.’
‘They expected to get the election over before next academic year?’
‘Yes.’
He smiled.
Soon after his mind began to wander, and I had to remind him about his message. Setting his will, his thoughts drifting, he forced himself to remember. At last it came back. He talked of Roy Calvert, his protégé and pupil, who had already outstripped him. He praised Roy’s work. He wanted me to promise to look after him.
26: Stalemate
At the beginning of October, the great red leaves of Virginia creeper flamed on the walls and blew opulently about the court. In the garden the leaves blazed on the trees. The mornings were misty, the days bright in a golden haze; in the evenings, the lights in the streets and the college were aureoled in the autumnal mists. In the evenings, a light still shone from the great bedroom of the Lodge.
The fellows came back from their September holidays: the freshmen waited in queues on Brown’s staircase and walked round the courts in search of Jago’s house. The college became noisy, the street trilled with cycle bells as young men rode off to games in the afternoon. High table filled up: Brown presented a bottle to greet the new academic year: the whole society had returned to residence, except for Pilbrow and Roy Calvert.
It was only a few days later that Roy Calvert came back. He ran up my staircase one afternoon, looking very well. He had been free of depression since June, often he had managed to forget it. I had never seen him so settled. He was anxious to amuse me, concerned to help Brown and his other friends, eager to intrigue for Jago.
Tension in the college soon mounted again. Winslow had recovered some of his bite, and Nightingale ground away at his attacks with the stamina of a passion. Whispers, rumours, scandals, came to us at second- or third-hand. Roy Calvert figured in them less than in the summer; his actual presence as he was that autumn, equable, full of high spirits, prepared to devote himself to the shyest diner at high table, seemed to take away their sting – though once or twice I saw Winslow regarding him with a caustic glance. But the slanders were fuller than ever of ‘that impossible woman’. Nightingale had the intuitive sense of propaganda that one sometimes finds in obsessed men; he knew how to reiterate that phrase, smiling it out when anyone else would have got tired; gradually all his outcries gathered round her. Even the sober members of his side, like Winslow and Francis Getliffe, were heard to say ‘it’s unthinkable to have that woman in the Lodge’, and Brown and Chrystal were perturbed in private and did not know how to reply.
Brown, Roy, and I considered how to stop every hole by which these slanders might get through to Jago. We were as thorough as we knew how to be; but there were nights when Jago sat silently in hall, his face white, ravaged. The long anxiety had worn him down, his outbursts of nervous emotion were more unpredictable. But it was the sight of him, his face engraved with his own thoughts, intolerably vulnerable, that distressed us most.
Did he know what was being said? Neither Roy nor I had any doubt.
The Master was spending more time asleep now; one still saw his room lit up when one came back to college on those hazy October nights under the serene and brilliant moon. An Indian summer had visited the town, and the buildings rested in the warmth. It made Jago’s pallor more visible, as he walked through an evening so tranquil that the lines of the palladian building seemed to quiver in the haze.
It was strange to leave the combination room, and walk into such an evening. But the strain was growing more acute. There had been only one action which took away from it in the slightest; Francis Getliffe had been as good as his word, and, by what means I did not know, had stopped the threats to Luke.
One night when Brown and I were both dining, Chrystal sharply asked if we could spare half an hour after hall. Brown and I each looked at him; we knew from his expression that he had something active to propose. I thought Brown even at that moment was a shade uneasy; but he took us to his rooms, and opened a bottle of hock, saying: ‘I’ve a feeling it will be rather refreshing in this weather.’
He went on to talk of Sir Horace. At the end of the long vacation, they had persevered with schemes to get in touch with him again; finally they settled that Brown should write a letter, telling Sir Horace that they had been discussing his nephew’s future and wondered whether it would not be wise for him to have a fourth year – ‘not necessarily reading for a Tripos’ – Brown said he could not endure that risk again. This letter had been sent and evoke
d several telephone calls from Sir Horace. For once they had got him undecided. He nearly sent the young man back, and then thought again; in the end he decided against, but there was a long telephone conversation, thanks of unprecedented cordiality, and a half-promise to visit the college during the winter.
Brown was willing to speculate on that visit, but for the first time Chrystal brushed all talk of Sir Horace aside.
‘We’ve shot our bolt there. It’s up to him now,’ he said. ‘I want to hear your views about this mess we’re in.’
‘You mean we haven’t succeeded in making things safe for Jago?’
‘It’s not our fault. I don’t accept any blame,’ said Chrystal. ‘But we’re in a mess.’
‘Well,’ said Brown. ‘We’ve still got a lead of one. It’s 6–5 providing Pilbrow troubles to come back. There’s always a chance we might win someone over at the last minute. I’ve always thought there might be a chance with Gay.’
‘I didn’t get any change from him. I regard him as fixed,’ said Chrystal.
‘Well, then, it’s 6–5.’
‘And 6–5 is stalemate. It’s lamentable.’
‘I’m certain our wisest course,’ said Brown firmly, determined to get in first, ‘is to sit tight and see how things pan out. Funny things may happen before we actually get into the chapel. I know it’s a confounded nuisance, but we’ve got to sit tight and have some patience. We’re not in such a bad position.’
‘I don’t agree,’ said Chrystal. ‘The place is more like a beargarden than ever. And it’s stalemate. I don’t see how you can hope to make any progress.’
‘It’s worth trying Gay again,’ I said.
‘You’ll be wasting your time. I rule him out,’ said Chrystal.
‘At the very last,’ I said, ‘we ought to try old Despard. We haven’t shown our hand completely.’
‘You can try,’ said Chrystal with scorn.
He went on: ‘I see it like this. The present position is the best we can hope for. We may lose a vote. We shan’t gain one. Do you take me up on that? We can’t expect anything better than the present voting.’
‘I don’t admit that it’s certain,’ said Brown, ‘but I should regard it as a probability.’
I agreed.
‘I’m glad you see it the same way,’ said Chrystal. ‘Where does it get us?’
‘If the voting does stay in the present position,’ Brown replied, ‘and I admit we haven’t any right to expect better, then the decision goes to the Visitor, of course.’
By statute, if the fellows could not find a clear majority of their number for one candidate, it was left for the Visitor to appoint. The Visitor had always been, right back to the foundation, the bishop of a northern diocese. I was sure, by the way, that Brown and Chrystal must have thought of this possibility as soon as Jago’s majority was broken. I had myself at moments, though it took time for any of us to believe that a stalemate was the likely end.
‘What happens then?’ said Chrystal, pressing his point.
‘I shouldn’t like to guess,’ said Brown. ‘I suppose the greatest danger is that he would prefer the one who is more distinguished outside the college.’
‘He couldn’t appoint Jago,’ said Chrystal. ‘He’s not a churchman, and he hasn’t got any reputation for his work.’
‘Surely Crawford’s politics would be against him,’ I remarked.
‘I wish I were absolutely certain of that,’ said Brown. ‘Isn’t the Bishop a bit of a crank himself? Isn’t he one of those confounded Churchill men who want to make trouble? I’ve heard that he’s not sound. We can’t rely on him to do the statesmanlike thing.’
‘He’ll never give it to Crawford,’ Chrystal announced. ‘Everyone knows that he’s an unbeliever too. He’s never kept it dark. I can’t credit that he’d give it to Crawford. You can rule that out.’
‘I very much hope you’re right. It’s extremely reassuring to hear,’ said Brown, smiling but with his watchful eyes on his friend. ‘I’m becoming quite reconciled to the idea of the Visitor.’
‘I don’t intend you to be. In my view, he’s certain to bring in an outsider.’
Chrystal spoke with assurance, almost as though he had inside knowledge. In fact, I suspected later that he had actually heard something from the other side.
It puzzled me, and it also puzzled me that he had asked me to join him and Brown that evening. Normally he would have discussed it in secret with Brown, and they would have decided their policy before any of the party, or anyone else in the college, had a chance to know their minds. It puzzled me: I could see that it disconcerted Brown. But soon I felt that Chrystal knew, right from the beginning, that he and Brown were bound to disagree. In his curiously soft-hearted way, Chrystal fought shy of a scene; he did not want to quarrel; he was afraid of the claims of friendship.
So he had asked me to be present. He had avoided an intimate scene. He could not have borne to be prevented. He had seen a chance to act, and all his instincts drove him on.
He said: ‘He’s certain to bring in an outsider. That would be the biggest disaster.’
‘I don’t agree with you there,’ said Brown. ‘I could tolerate most outsiders in front of Crawford.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Chrystal. ‘I like to know whom we’re getting. If it came to the worst, I should prefer the devil we know. With Crawford, we should be certain where we were from the start. No, I don’t want an outsider. I don’t want it to go to the Visitor.’
‘Nor do I,’ I said. I turned to Brown. ‘It would mean that we had lost it for Jago.’
‘I see that,’ said Brown reluctantly.
‘It’s just conceivable the Visitor might put Crawford in,’ I said. ‘But he’d never give us Jago over Crawford’s head. Jago’s junior and less distinguished. If it goes to the Visitor, it will either be Crawford or a third person.’
‘I don’t see any way out of that,’ said Brown.
‘There isn’t,’ said Chrystal. ‘But there’s one thing we’ve never tackled. There are the two candidates themselves. I come back to them. We’ve got to force them to vote for each other.’
‘Well,’ said Brown, ‘I don’t for the life of me see how you’re going to do that. You can’t expect Crawford to make a present of the Mastership to Jago. That’s all you’re asking him to do. I don’t see Crawford suddenly becoming a public benefactor.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Chrystal. ‘Suppose he’s convinced that a stalemate means that he’s out. He knows there’s only one vote in it. As you said, funny things happen in elections. Don’t you think he might gamble? It’s the only chance he’s got. It only means he has to win another vote. He may.’ Chrystal looked with his full commanding eyes at Brown, and repeated: ‘He may. Someone may cross over. Are you dead certain of Pilbrow?’
‘No. But I shall be disappointed if we can’t hold him.’
‘I repeat,’ said Chrystal, ‘Crawford knows it’s pretty even. He knows this way is his only chance. Why shouldn’t he chance it?’
‘What about Jago?’
‘If we brought it off, we should be presenting him with a decent chance of victory on a plate,’ said Chrystal fiercely. ‘I shouldn’t have much use for Jago if he raised difficulties.’
‘That’s all very well,’ Brown was frowning, ‘but they’re both strong men in their different fashions. And they’ve gone out of their way to tell us definitely that they refuse to vote for each other.’
‘We’ll threaten them with a third candidate.’
Chrystal’s plan was simple. The college was divided between two men, and did not wish for an outsider. It had a right to ask those two to save them from an outsider. Just one step was needed – for the ‘solid people’ on both sides to get together and threaten to switch to a third candidate if the other two refused. Chrystal had already heard something from Getliffe and Despard-Smith; they were no happier about the Visitor than he was; he was convinced that they would take part in his plan.
; ‘I don’t like it,’ said Brown.
‘What’s the matter?’ Chrystal challenged him.
‘I like being as friendly with the other side as I can. But I don’t like arrangements with them. You never know where they lead.’
They were speaking with all the difference of which they were capable. Brown, the genial, the peacemaker, became more uncompromising the more deeply he was probed. Both his rock-like stubbornness and his wary caution held him firm. While Chrystal, behind his domineering beak, was far more volatile, more led by his moods, more adventurous and willing to take a risk. The long stagnation had bored him; he was, unlike Brown, not fitted by nature for a conflict of attrition. Now all his interest was alive again. He was stimulated by the prospect of new talks, moves, combinations, and coalitions. He was eager to use his nerve and will.
‘It’s worth trying,’ said Chrystal. ‘If we want to win, we’ve no option.’
‘I’m convinced we ought to wait.’
‘It ought to be done tomorrow.’
‘I shall always feel that if we hadn’t rushed things about seeing Jago, we might have Nightingale in our pocket to this day,’ said Brown.
It was the first time I had heard him reproach his friend.
‘I don’t accept that. I don’t think it’s a fair criticism. Nothing would have kept Nightingale sweet. Don’t you think so, Eliot?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
Chrystal asked me another question: ‘Do you agree that we ought to have a discussion with some of the other side?’
‘Can you bring it off?’ I replied. ‘If not, I should have thought it was better not to try. We shall have exposed ourselves.’
‘I’ll bring it off,’ said Chrystal, and his voice rang with zest.
‘Then it might win the Mastership for Jago,’ I said.
‘It’s worth trying,’ said Chrystal. ‘It must be tried.’