But the only response I actually heard was from Gay, who at the end, as we went into the ante-chapel, said resoundingly: ‘Ah. I congratulate you, Despard. A splendid service, splendid. I particularly liked that lesson “Let us now praise famous men”. Perhaps we hear slightly too much nowadays about praising the obscure. Often very fine people in their way, no doubt, but they shouldn’t get all the praise.’
In little groups we hurried through the rain to the combination room. Some of our guests were already waiting there, and they asked about the Master, for that news was all round Cambridge. In the gossipy closeness of the university, other high tables kept hearing on and off about the progress of the illness and the choice of his successor.
‘No change,’ said Chrystal sharply to the room. ‘They’ve not told him yet. They can’t avoid it soon.’
The combination room was becoming crowded, and men were pushing past us, sherry glass in hand, to get a sight of the order of seating. I had already seen it; it was unfamiliar, simply because Chrystal had insisted that Sir Horace must sit at the principal table. Winslow had already seen it also; but he came in late that evening, and studied it again with a sour face.
Chrystal plucked him by the gown.
‘Winslow, may I introduce Sir Horace Timberlake?’
‘If you please. If you please.’
Winslow greeted Sir Horace with his usual sarcastic courtesy. The conversation spurted and floundered. Sir Horace turned uneasily to the chapel service.
‘I was very much impressed by your service, Mr Winslow. There was nothing showy about it, you know what I mean?’
‘Indeed?’ said Winslow.
‘I thought the chapel was very fine,’ Sir Horace persisted. ‘It’s a very good bit of eighteenth-century panelling you’ve got — I suppose it must be eighteenth century, mustn’t it?’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Sir Horace,’ said Winslow. ‘But you’re bound to be a far better authority than I am. I’ve only been inside the chapel to elect masters.’
Immediately after, Winslow asked Sir Horace to excuse him, so that he could join his guest, who had just arrived, together with Pilbrow and his French writer. Sir Horace looked downcast.
Jago did not enter the combination room until just on eight o’clock. Although he had a guest with him, the Master of another college, Nightingale approached him at once. I heard him say: ‘I should like a word with you tonight, Jago.’
Jago replied, his tone over-friendly, upset, over-considerate: ‘I’m extremely sorry. I’m up to the ears with work. I’m completely booked for tonight.’ He paused, and I heard him go on unwillingly: ‘Perhaps we could fix something for tomorrow?’
15: Negotiations After a Feast
The wall lights in the hall were turned off for the feast, and the tables were lit by candles. The candlelight shone on silver salts, candlesticks, great ornamental tankards, and on gold cups and plates, all arranged down the middle of the tables. Silver and gold shone under the flickering light; as one looked above the candlesticks, the linen fold was half in darkness and the roof was lost.
In order to seat Sir Horace as Chrystal insisted, Winslow had been brought down from the high table, and so had Pilbrow and Pilbrow’s French writer. I sat opposite Winslow and started to talk across the table to the Frenchman. He was, as it turned out, very disappointing.
I recalled the excitement with which I heard Pilbrow was bringing him, and the cultural snobbery with which we had piqued Chrystal and dismissed Sir Horace. How wrong we were. An evening by Sir Horace’s side would have been far more rewarding.
The Frenchman sat stolidly while Pilbrow had a conversational fling. ‘Pornograms,’ Pilbrow burst out. ‘An absolutely essential word — Two meanings. Something written, as in telegram. Something drawn, as in diagram.’ The Frenchman was not amused, and went on talking like a passage from his own books.
But, if he did not enjoy himself others made up for it. All through the feast we heard a commentary from Gay, who sat at the end of the high table, not far away from us.
‘Oysters? Excellent. You never did relish oysters, did you, Despard? Waiter, bring me Mr Despard-Smith’s oysters. Capital. I remember having some particularly succulent oysters in Oxford one night when they happened to be giving me an honorary degree. Do you know, those oysters slipped down just as though they were taking part in the celebration.’
He did not follow our modern fashion in wines. Champagne was served at feasts, but it had become the habit to pass it by and drink the hocks and moselles instead. Not so Gay. ‘There’s nothing like a glass of champagne on a cold winter night. I’ve always felt better for a glass of champagne. Ah. Let me see, I’ve been coming to these feasts now for getting on for sixty years. I’m happy to say I’ve never missed a feast through illness, and I’ve always enjoyed my glass of champagne.’
He kept having his glass filled, and addressed not only the end of his own table, but also ours.
‘My saga-men never had a meal like this. Grand old Njal never had such a meal. My saga-men never had a glass of champagne. It was a very hard, dark, strenuous life those men lived, and they weren’t afraid to meet their fates. Grand chaps they were. I’m glad I’ve been responsible for making thousands of people realize what grand chaps they were. Why, when I came on the scene, they were almost unknown in this country. And now, if a cultivated man does not know as much about them as he knows about the heroes of the Iliad, he’s an ignoramus. You hear that, Despard? You hear that, Eustace? I repeat, he’s an ignoramus.’
We sat a long time over the port and claret, the fruit and coffee and cigars. There were no speeches at all. At last — it was nearly half-past ten — we moved into the combination room again. Roy Calvert was starting some concealed badinage at the expense of Crawford and Despard-Smith. Like everyone else, he was rosy, bright-eyed, and full of well-being. Like everyone except Nightingale, that is: Nightingale had brought no guest, was indifferent to food, and always hated drinking or seeing others drink. He stood in the crush of the combination room, looking strained in the midst of the elation. Winslow came up to Gay, who was making his way slowly — the press of men parted in front of him — to his special chair.
‘Ah, Winslow. What a magnificent feast this has been!’
‘Are you going to congratulate me on it?’ asked Winslow.
‘Certainly not,’ said Gay. ‘You gave up being Steward a great number of years ago. I shall congratulate the man responsible for this excellent feast. Getliffe is our present Steward. That’s the man. Where is Getliffe? I congratulate him. Splendid work these young scientists do, splendid.’
Chrystal and Brown did not mean to stay long in the combination room: it was time to get down to business. They caught Jago’s eye and mine. We said goodbye to our guests, and followed the others and Sir Horace up to Brown’s rooms.
‘I wonder,’ said Brown, after he had established Sir Horace in a chair by the fire, ‘if anyone would like a little brandy? I always find it rather settling after a feast.’
When each of us had accepted our drink, Sir Horace began to talk: but he was a long time, a deliberately long time, in getting to the point. First of all, he discussed his ‘nephew’, as he called young Timberlake, who was actually his second cousin.
‘I want to thank all you gentlemen, and particularly Mr Brown, for what you’ve done for the boy. I’m very grateful for all your care. I know he’s not first class academically, and there was a time when it worried me, but now I’ve realized that he’s got other qualities, you know what I mean?’