I had no illusion that they were not calculating the chances. They thought, rightly or wrongly, that this was the best move for Crawford, although I could not imagine how they arrived at it.
I felt more than ever certain that they must have learned at least some piece of gossip about the Bishop’s intention. They must have become quite certain that, if the Bishop had the power, Crawford would stand no chance. For a second, I suspected also that they had some information, unknown to us, about one of Jago’s side. But later I doubted it. It did not seem that they had any well-backed hope. It seemed most likely that in secret they were sure of Gay, and had a vague hope of Pilbrow and even (so I gathered with incredulity from a chance remark) of Roy Calvert, some of whose comments Despard-Smith took literally and misunderstood. So far as I could detect, they knew nothing definite that we did not know.
Those seemed their motives on the plane of reason. But they were also moved by some of the inexplicable currents that sweep through any intricate politics. Despard-Smith and Francis, just like Chrystal and I myself, suddenly panicked at the idea of an outsider for Master. It was as though our privacy were threatened: magic was being taken from us: this intimate world would not be so much in our power. It was nonsense when we thought of it in cold blood, but we shied violently from the mere idea. And also we enjoyed — there was no escaping the satisfaction — the chance of asserting ourselves against our candidate. There are some hidden streaks in any politics, which only flash to the surface in an intense election such as this. Suddenly they leap out: one finds to one’s astonishment that there are moments when one loves one’s rival — despises one’s supporters — hates one’s candidate. Usually these streaks do not make any difference in action, but in a crisis it is prudent to watch them.
Despard-Smith let fall some solemn misgivings and qualifications; Francis Getliffe was guarded, though anxious to seem open to reason; but Chrystal knew he had won them over. He took it as a triumph of his own. And in fact it had been an impressive display. For the first time in this election, he had thrown his whole will into the struggle. He had something definite to achieve; and, even against men as tough as his opponents, his will told.
The talk went on. Winslow said: ‘Even the idyllic spectacle of the lion lying down with the lamb does not entirely reconcile me to the Dean’s ingenious idea.’
Later, Brown finished up for the night: ‘In any case, before I come to any conclusion, I shall certainly want to sleep on it.’
‘That goes without saying,’ said Despard-Smith. ‘It would be nothing less than s-scandalous for any of us to commit ourselves tonight.’
I was surprised to hear a couple of days later that Winslow had decided to join. He had talked to his party: what had been said, I did not know: I was uneasy, but I noticed that so was Francis Getliffe. I was surprised that Winslow had not pushed his dislike of Jago to the limit. Was there a shade of affection, underneath the contempt? Once Jago had supported him: was there some faint feeling of obligation? Or was it simply that, despite his exterior, despite all his attempts to seem it, Winslow was really not a ruthless man?
Winslow’s decision made it hard for Brown to stay outside. He felt his hand was forced, and he acquiesced with a good grace. But he was too cautious, too shrewd, too suspicious, and too stubborn a man to be pleased about it. ‘I still don’t like it,’ he confided to me in private. ‘I know it improves Jago’s chances, but I can’t come round to liking it. I’d rather it had come later after we’d had one stalemate vote in the chapel. I’d rather Chrystal was thinking more about getting Jago in and less about shutting the Visitor out. I wish he were a bit stronger against Crawford.
‘Nevertheless,’ Brown added, ‘I admit it gives Jago a great chance. It ought to establish him in as strong a position as we’ve reached so far. It gives him a wonderful chance.’
The six of us met again, and drafted a note to the two candidates. Despard-Smith did most of the writing, but Brown, for all his reluctance to join the ‘memorialists’ (as Despard-Smith kept calling us), could not resist turning a sentence or two. After a long period of writing, rewriting, editing, and patching up, we agreed on a final draft:
In the view of those signing this note, it is most undesirable that the forthcoming election to the Mastership should be decided by the Visitor. So far as the present intentions of fellows are known to us, it seems that neither of the candidates whose names we have heard mentioned is supported by a clear majority of the college. We accordingly feel that, in conformity with the spirit of college elections and the desire of the college that this forthcoming election shall be decided internally, it would assist our common purpose if each candidate voted for the other. If they can see their way to take this step, it is possible that a clear majority may be found to declare itself for one or other candidate. If, on the other hand they find themselves unable to cast their votes in this manner, the signatories are so convinced of the necessity of an internal decision that they will feel compelled to examine the possibility of whether a third candidate can be found who might command a clear majority of the college.
A T D-S
G H W
A B
C P C
E G
L S E
Oct. 29, 1937
‘In other words,’ said Chrystal, ‘there’ll be the hell of a row.’ He winked. There was often something of the gamin about him.
28: Clowning and Pride
The note was sent to all fellows. It caused great stir at once, and within a few hours we learned that Jago and Crawford wished to meet the six. Roy Calvert said: ‘I must say it’s a coup for Chrystal.’ Jago had said nothing to Brown or me, not a telephone message, not a note. Later that day, Roy brought news that Jago was brooding over the ultimatum. He was half-delighted, so Roy said, because of his chances — and also so much outraged that he intended to speak out.
The two candidates arranged to meet us after hall, at half-past eight. Both came in to dinner, and Jago’s face was so white with feeling that I expected an outburst straightaway. But in fact he began by clowning. It was disconcerting, but I had seen him do it before when he was strung up and about to take the centre of the stage. He pretended — I did not know whether it was a turn or a true story — that some undergraduate had that afternoon mistaken him for an assistant in a bookshop. ‘Do I look like a shop assistant? I’m rather glad that I’m not completely branded as a don.’
‘You’re not quite smart enough,’ said Roy, and in fact Jago was usually dressed in an old suit.
Jago went on with his turn. No one noticed the change in him when we were sitting in the combination room.
Word had gone round that the ‘memorialists’ were to confer with Crawford and Jago, and so by halfpast eight the room was left to us. The claret was finished, and Crawford lit a cigar.
‘I think we can now proceed to business, Mr Deputy,’ he said.
‘Certainly,’ said Despard-Smith.
‘Our answer is a tale that’s soon told.’ Crawford leaned back, and the end of his cigar glowed. ‘The Senior Tutor and I have had a word about your ultimatum. We haven’t any option but to accept it.’