‘It’s rather a relief that you’ll be there,’ said Evvy, shaking his head. ‘I only hope things won’t get out of hand.’
The School was already trooping into the Gym. The dark curtains had been drawn, and the lights were on inside. Outside, the evening was warm and the air was penetrated with smells, conjured up by the recent rain, which lay in heavy layers, earth and leaves and flowers. A pleasant hazy twilight enveloped the school, softening the bleakness of the red brick and turning the neo-Gothic into Gothic. Opposite to the Gym the tower soared up magnificently into the curling rings of evening mist and darkness, and here and there a few lighted windows made by their gold the surrounding air more dusk. One by one the lights went out. It was customary for everyone at St Bride’s to attend Bledyard’s lecture.
A violent and increasing din of high-pitched voices and clattering chairs issued from the Gymnasium. Already the slightly hysterical note was to be heard. Then someone clapped his hands and some voice, probably Hensman’s, said, ‘Stop that noise, you’ll bring the roof down! If you all talk in your ordinary voices you’ll all hear each other perfectly well.’ An instant later the din was renewed, louder than before. Mor reflected that he probably ought to be inside supporting Hensman. It was on the latter that the task of working the epidiascope had now devolved. Usually this task was performed by Mr Baseford — but in his absence popular vote had given it to Hensman. Mor reflected that Hensman could hardly do it worse than Baseford, and was likely to do it better, since he was totally imperturbable and impervious to any kind of ragging. Mor was rather glad that he had not himself been detailed for this tiresome, and on this occasion rather nerve-rending, duty. Still leaving Hensman to control the increasingly rowdy scene within, he stood looking towards the far end of the playground. He hoped to see Rain arriving, and if possible to sit near her, even next to her.
It was growing darker. A stream of juniors went by, carrying additional chairs. They sped past in a mad race for the Gymnasium door. Three of them, reaching the door simultaneously, locked themselves together into a thick yelling tangle of small boys and upturned furniture in the doorway. A struggle developed, someone pretended to have been knocked out. Mor took a few steps towards the scene. The barricade of chairs and squirming bodies dissolved instantly and the children vanished into the Gym, to dispute with their friends for the best places. As Mor turned round again he saw Rain coming across the playground escorted by Mr and Mrs Prewett. It seemed to Mor as if she glowed in the twilight and came towards him carried by a gentle but infinitely powerful wind. Even the Prewett’s, who were walking on each side of her, had caught some of the radiance from her triumphal course. How exceedingly nice the Prewetts are! Mor thought. They were both smiling at him. Rain’s face he could hardly see. As he stepped forward, Evvy suddenly appeared out of the evening air and intercepted Rain. He had been lurking in the doorway of the Library building, shirking the scene in the Gym. He took charge of Rain and began to escort her towards the door. Mor followed with Mr and Mrs Prewett.
As he entered, Mor blinked at the bright light within, and at the noise which had now settled to a sort of continuous high-pitched rumbling scream, not unlike a jet engine. He saw Evvy’s back ahead of him, and then his profile. Evvy was visibly shaken by the scene. The small boys in the very front, once it had become clear that some people would have to sit on the floor, had taken it into their heads to lay several rows of chairs on their sides, and by this method to seat three boys on each chair, one sitting on the back, one on the seat, and one on the legs. Round each of the prostrated chairs a small squabble was going on as the occupants attempted to reach a suitable equilibrium. Beyond this riot area the older boys were massed, eager, chattering, wildly animated, right to the back of the hall, some standing up, some kneeling on their chairs, some sitting astride talking to people behind them. Already the rows were so crooked in some places that it was impossible to discern whether there was a row at all. The chairs were placed higgledy-piggledy in a great clattering undulating sea.
Evvy, who seemed to be, no doubt because of the presence of Rain, more than usually paralysed, picked his way without a word between the juniors down a ragged aisle which had been left clear in the middle, at the far end of which stood the epidiascope. Mor followed closely, nipping in in front of the Prewett’s, determined if possible to sit next to Rain. He felt at that moment as light-hearted as a Fifth-Former. As he passed through the shrieking barrage of juniors he said in a penetrating voice, ‘Put those chairs upright!’ He hoped this would not offend Evvy. But in fact when it came to it nothing ever offended Evvy, dear old Evvy. And to permit this sort of anarchy right from the start was really asking for trouble. The juniors scrambled to right the chairs, and further battles then developed between the different trios as to who should be the single occupant of each. Mor left them to it, passing on close behind Rain and the Head.
In front of the epidiascope, on either side of the aisle, there were a number of chairs which had been kept free by Hensman. Several masters had already settled themselves in this region of comparative safety. With a sigh of relief Evvy ushered Rain in and flopped down beside her. Mor was able quickly to instal himself on her other side, and the Prewetts sat next to him. He looked round to see who was behind him and to see if he could locate Donald in the throng, but his son was not to be seen.
Bledyard had already arrived. He was usually in fact the first man in the Gym on the evening of his lecture. He stood now in the open space in front of the junior boys, leaning upon the long rod which he was to use to draw attention to features of the various pictures and to tap the ground for the next slide. Behind him a great white sheet had been suspended on the wall of the Gym. He leaned there, looking into the pullulating crowd of boys, his face twisted into a sort of bland and pensive expression, as if he were rehearsing what he was about to say and finding it extremely interesting. Bledyard never needed to speak from notes. When once set off, on any subject on which he chose to hold forth, he could continue indefinitely in his stumbling but unhurried manner, with sustained coherence and even elegance. Bledyard was in his way a good speaker and could have impressed almost any audience but an audience of school-boys.
It was customary for lecturers, if they belonged to the school and were not outsiders, to begin their lectures without introduction once the Headmaster had arrived. Bledyard therefore watched to see Mr Everard seated, and then rapped sharply upon the ground with his rod. He looked completely unruffled and reminded Mor suddenly of a representation of a pilgrim, leaning on his staff, patient and full of hope. Bledyard must surely know what he was in for. But he seemed each year to be, on the occasion of his lecture, full simply of the subject in hand, and he accepted the storms that so often broke over him without surprise but also without interest. On one occasion when Demoyte had had to stop the lecture in the middle because the School had become totally hysterical, Bledyard would have been quite willing to continue, although not a single word would have been audible. He stood now, head slightly bowed, as the hubbub gradually died down and was reduced to a low mirthful murmur. He had pushed his long limp strands of dark hair back behind each ear, revealing a large area of very pale cheek, which now grew concave, sucked thoughtfully into his mouth. The lights went out.
The murmur from the School increased in the sudden darkness and then died down. Audaciously Mor thrust out his hand and found Rain’s hand near by. He squeezed it violently. She returned the pressure and then gently disengaged hers. Mor tried to catch it again. It eluded him, and alighted like a bird upon his wrist, to give an admonitory pat and then vanish, to be locked away, chaperoned by her other hand, on the far side of her knee.
The juniors were already giggling in anticipation. Bledyard said, ‘Quict please, boys.’ A sort of silence fell at last.
The epidiascope came into action, casting a white square of light on to the screen. By this illumination Mor turned to look at Rain’s profile. She was looking sternly forward. He realized that, if he w
as not careful, she would very shortly burst out laughing. He hurriedly transferred his attention elsewhere, concentrated on remaining reasonably solemn himself.
Bledyard had started talking. He began, The human face has been described as the most interesting surface in the world.‘ An explosion of laughter, quickly muffled, came from the younger boys. ’By a mathematician a mathematician,‘ said Bledyard. He did not find the word easy. A silent shudder of mirth went backward through the room. ’Now shall we ask ourselves ourselves the question,‘ Bledyard went on, ’why we are always interested in faces, and why when we meet our friends we look we look at their faces and not at their knees or elbows? The answer is simple. Thoughts and emotions are more often expressed by movements of the face than by movements of the knee or elbow.‘
A guffaw, which the School had been holding in with difficulty until the end of this period, broke out explosively. Mor glanced sideways again and saw that Rain was hiding her face in her handkerchief. Her chair trembled slightly. Beyond her Mor caught a glimpse of Evvy, wide-eyed and serious above his dog-collar. He began to feel that he could not hold out much longer. He started to search for his own handkerchief.
‘Let us now go on to ask go on to ask another question,’ said Bledyard. ‘Why do painters represent in pictures the faces of their fellow fellow men? To this it may be answered that painters represent things that are to be found in the world, and human faces are things that are to be found in the world.’ Another ripple of mirth, quiet but deep, shook the room. The School was still holding back, with the delighted expectation of someone waiting for the conclusion of a long but undoubtedly very funny story.
‘This answer is hardly sufficient sufficient,’ said Bledyard. He spoke throughout with total solemnity and with the slow deliberation of one announcing a declaration of war or the death of royalty. ‘There have been at different times in history different reasons why painters have painted people and why people have wanted to be painted by painters painters painters.’
When Bledyard repeated a word three times the glee of his audience knew no bounds. A joyful roar went up, which drowned the noise of Bledyard rapping for the first slide. A long silence followed. Hensman had not heard the rap, and Bledyard was waiting patiently for the first picture. Mor, who immediately guessed what had happened, leaned across Rain to whisper to Evvy to nudge Hensman. At that moment, however, Evvy turned away, looking back over his shoulder disapprovingly at some scuffling that was going on at the back. Mor swayed back into his seat. As he did so, his cheek lightly touched Rain’s. He cast another sideways glance and saw that she now had herself sufficiently under control to turn towards him, her bright eyes slightly tearful with mirth, looking out from above her handkerchief, which she still held pressed tightly to her mouth. The silence continued.
‘Sound track’s broken down,’ said a clear voice from the back of the hall. The School let itself go and rocked hysterically in a great surge of laughter. Rain threw her head forward with a wail, her shoulders shaking. Mor began to laugh silently. He felt an extreme crazy happiness.
‘Could we have the first slide, please, Mis-ter Hensman?’ said Bledyard.
The first slide appeared at last. It represented the Laughing Cavalier of Frans Hals. The School gurgled into silence.
‘Now this gentleman,’ said Bledyard, ‘is of course well known to all of you. And if we ask what is the bond here that holds the sitter the sitter and the painter together the answer is - charm. The sitter wishes to be depicted as charming, and the painter obliges him without difficulty.’ Bledyard rapped the floor.
The School had subsided for the moment, and were listening to Bledyard. A soft murmur arose from them, however, as from a hive of bees about to swarm.
The next slide represented the head of the Emperor Theodoric, taken from a mosaic at Ravenna. ‘Now, what have we here?’ said Bledyard. ‘Not a portrait of an individual by an individual, but an abstract abstract conception of power and magnificence created in the form of a man.’ He rapped the floor again. The School was restive, baulked of its prey.
‘Now this noble portrait — ’ A shout of laughter went up. The next slide represented the digestive tract of the frog. Bledyard could be seen moving hastily back from the screen in order to see what had happened and falling over some small boys.
Someone’s been tampering with the slides!‘ Mor said into Rain’s ear. This had happened once before. Now anything might be expected. He moved his chair a fraction closer to hers and looked at her. She turned her head slowly and gave him a look of joyful tenderness. Mor turned back towards the screen, bringing his foot cautiously into contact with hers. The frog was still there. Bledyard’s voice was saying, ’I think that one must be a mis-take.‘ Mor felt that he was in paradise.
Hensman blotted out the frog by putting his hand over the front of the projector, but then found that he was unable to insert the next slide. It was a minute before things were reorganized and the next picture appeared. It was one of the later self-portraits of Rembrandt.
‘Now here,’ said Bledyard, ‘if we ask what relates relates the painter to the sitter, if we ask what the painter is after, it is difficult to avoid answering - the truth.’ The audience was now totally silent. Bledyard paused, looking up at the picture. The enormous Socratic head of the aged Rembrandt, swathed in a rather dirty-looking cloth, emerged in light and shade from the screen. At the edge of the lighted area Bledyard could be seen regarding it. He seemed for a moment to have forgotten where he was.
‘Mmmm, yes,’ said Bledyard, and stepped back into the shadow. He rapped the floor with his rod.
The next slide was a coloured photograph of the Queen, dressed in a blue coat and skirt, standing on the steps at Balmoral. A well-organized group at the side of the room immediately began to intone the national anthem. The audience rose automatically to its feet. A bedlam of laughter followed immediately. A few people still tried to sing, but soon gave it up. Mor tumbled weakly back into his chair. Evvy was saying to Hensman, ‘I hardly think Mr Bledyard could have intended — ’ Hensman, with greater presence of mind, blotted the offending slide by superimposing another one. Rain said, ‘I don’t know how much longer I can bear it!’ Mor discovered that he was clasping her hand. They both leaned forward, moaning and holding their sides. ‘I love you madly!’ said Mor under of the undiminishing din. ‘Sssh! said Rain.
Hensman managed to remove the Queen and reveal the next slide, which was a Tintoretto portrait of Vincenzo Morosini. The School groaned and wailed itself into silence at last.
Bledyard seemed unperturbed. ‘Now this picture,’ he was saying, ‘which is also in London -’
Rain murmured to Mor, ‘Terribly good! I wish I — ’
A loud whispering was going on at the back of the Gym. There was a scraping of chairs and one or two people seemed to be going out of the door at the further end. The boys in front were turning round to see what was happening. Evvy looked over his shoulder and said, ‘Silence, please!’ Bledyard was saying - ‘to draw some moral moral from these preliminary examples.’
‘What’s the excitement back there?’ said Mrs Prewett to Mor. Mor didn’t know. He turned in his chair, bringing his knee into contact with Rain’s thigh. A number of boys were standing up and exchanging whispers. Then several of them began making for the door. ‘ — being as Shakespeare Shakespeare put it, the lords and owners of our faces,’ said Bledyard. Mr Prewett got up and began to make his way down the side of the Gym towards the centre of disaffection at the back.
‘Where is that picture?’ Mor whispered to Rain.
‘National Gallery,’ she whispered back. ‘We’ll go — ’
Bledyard was standing full in the light of the screen pointing upward with his rod. He looked like an alchemist dealing with an apparition. The noise at the back was becoming considerable. More boys were now looking to the back of the Gym than to the front. A whisper of excitement went through the audience. ‘What’s up?’ said someone audibly in the front r
ow.
Prewett had come back down the aisle and was leaning towards Evvy. He said in an agitated voice, ‘You’d better come out, sir. Two boys are climbing the tower.’
Mor’s blood turned to ice. The scene about him was annihilated. He sprang up from his seat and got out into the aisle, stumbling in front of Evvy, who was also rising. He made for the nearest door at the back of the Gym. But a stampede had already started. The boys in the back rows had got up and were pushing towards the door. Their excited voices grew louder and louder. Mor was caught in the midst. As he fought his way through he caught a last glimpse of the scene in the Gym. Bledyard was still standing in the light of the screen, his rod lifted, looking back now towards the audience - while throughout the Gym boys were standing up, pushing, climbing over the chairs, and the smaller boys in the front, who still did not know what it was all about, were asking to be told in tones which rose, with excitement and panic, higher and higher. Evvy was stuck somewhere in the middle of this. His face was visible for a moment in the light reflected from the screen, open-mouthed and stricken with alarm. As he struggled through and finally passed out of the Gym, Mor turned all the lights on.
He ran into the centre of the playground. It was now completely dark outside. A large crowd of boys had already collected, and others were joining them, streaming out of the two doors of the Gymnasium. Mor looked up. After the brightness of the screen he could see nothing at first, not even the tower itself. A dark haze fell in front of his eyes. He tried to look through it. He did not need to be told the identity of the two boys on the tower.