Wood, Theoretical Physics.
‘These are just a few of the Fellowship,’ said the Master. ‘You’ll meet others over dinner. I thought I should invite a cross-section, so to speak.’
Von Igelfeld shook hands solemnly, and bowed slightly as each introduction was made. The Fellows smiled, and seemed welcoming, and while the Master went off to fetch a glass of sherry, von Igelfeld fell into easy conversation with the woman who had been introduced to him as Dr C. A. D. Wood.
‘So you are a physicist,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘You are always up to something, you physicists. Looking for something or other. But once you find it, you just go off looking for something more microscopic. Your world is always getting smaller, is it not?’
She laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it. In my case, I’m looking for Higgs’s boson, a very elusive little particle that Professor Higgs says exists but which nobody has actually seen yet.’
‘And will you find it?’
‘If the mathematics are correct, it should be there,’ she said.
‘But can you not tell whether the mathematics are correct?’ asked von Igelfeld. ‘Can they not be checked for errors?’
Dr C. A. D. Wood took a sip of her sherry. ‘It is not always that simple. There are disagreements in mathematics. There is not always one self-evident truth. Even here, in this College, there are mathematicians who . . . who . . . ’ She paused. The Master had now returned with a glass of sherry for von Igelfeld.
‘This is our own sherry, Professor von Igelfeld,’ he said, handing him the glass. ‘The Senior Tutor goes out to Jerez every couple of years and replenishes our stocks. He has a very fine palate.’ He turned to Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘You have become acquainted with our guest, I see, Wood. You will see what I mean when I say that he is a very fine choice for the Visiting Professorship. Very fine.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood.
‘You were saying something about disagreements amongst mathematicians,’ said von Igelfeld pleasantly. ‘Please explain.’
At this remark, the Master turned sharply to Dr C. A. D. Wood and glared at her. ‘I cannot imagine that Professor von Igelfeld is interested in such matters,’ he hissed at her. ‘For heaven’s sake! He only arrived today, poor man!’
‘I am most interested,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘You see, there are disagreements amongst philologists. Different views are taken. It seems that this is the case in all disciplines, even something as hard and fast as mathematics.’
‘Hard and fast!’ burst out Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘My dear Professor von Igelfeld, if you believe that matters are hard and fast in the world of mathematics, then you are sorely deluded.’
‘I think Byzantine politics were harder and faster than mathematics,’ sighed the Master. ‘Or so it seems to me.’
‘You know very little about it, Maestro,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood to the Master. ‘You stick to whatever it is you do, old bean. Moral philosophy?’
Von Igelfeld felt uncomfortable. What had started as an innocent conversation – small talk really – had suddenly become charged with passion. It was difficult to make out what was going on – that problem with English obscurity again – and it was not clear to him why Dr C. A. D. Wood had addressed the Master as old bean. No doubt he would find out more about that, when Dr C. A. D. Wood had the opportunity to talk to him in private. In the meantime, he would have to concentrate on talking to the Master, who appeared to be becoming increasingly distressed. Dr C. A. D. Wood, he noticed, had drifted off to talk to Mr Wilkinson, who was looking steadfastly at his shoes while she addressed him.
‘I am very comfortable in my rooms,’ he said to the Master. ‘I am very happy with that view of the Court. I shall be able to observe the comings and goings in the College, just by sitting at my window.’
‘Oh,’ said the Master. ‘You will see everything then. The whole thing laid bare. Anaesthetised like a patient on the table, as Eliot so pithily said of the morning, or was it the evening, fussy pedant that he was. How awful. How frankly awful.’
‘But why should it be awful?’ asked von Igelfeld. ‘What is awful about the life of the College?’
He realised immediately that he should not have asked the question, as the Master had seized his sleeve and was muttering, almost into his ear. ‘They’re the end, the utter end. All of them, or virtually all of them. That Dr C. A. D. Wood, for example, don’t trust her for a moment. That’s my only warning to you. Just don’t trust her. And be very careful when they try to involve you in their scheming. Just be very careful.’
‘I cannot imagine why they should wish to involve me in their scheming,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I am merely a visitor.’
The Master gave a short chuckle. ‘Visitors have a vote in this College,’ he said. ‘It’s been in the statutes since 1465. Visiting Professors have a vote in the College Council. They’ll want you to vote with them in whatever it is they’re planning. And they’re always planning something.’
‘Who are
‘You’ll find out,’ said the Master. ‘Just you wait.’
Von Igelfeld looked into his sherry glass. There were those who said that the world of German academia was one of constant bickering. This, of course, was plainly not true, but if they could get a glimpse, just a glimpse, of Cambridge they would have something to talk about. And this was even before anybody had sat down for dinner. What would it be like once dinner was served or, and this was an even more alarming thing, over Stilton and coffee afterwards? And all the time he would have to be careful to navigate his way through these shoals of allusion and concealed meaning. Of course he would be able to do it – there could be no doubt about that – but it was not exactly what he had been looking forward to after a long and trying day. Oh to be back in Germany, with Prinzel and Frau Prinzel, sitting in their back garden drinking coffee and talking about the safe and utterly predictable affairs of the Institute. What a comfortable existence that had been, and to think that it would be four months, a full four months, before he could return to Regensburg and the proper, German way of doing things.
