Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

‘It wouldn’t work for you.’

‘Why not?’ Pendennis asked. ‘I know Latin and Greek.’

‘You don’t know them well enough,’ said Robin. ‘You’ve got to live and breathe a language, not just muddle through a text now and then. Do you dream in languages other than English?’

‘Do you?’ Pendennis shot back.

‘Well, of course,’ said Robin. ‘After all, I’m a Chinaman.’

The room lapsed once again into uncertain silence. Robin decided to put them out of their misery. ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ he said, standing up. ‘But I ought to head to the library.’

‘Of course,’ said Pendennis. ‘I’m sure they keep you very busy.’

No one said anything as Robin retrieved his coat. Pendennis watched him lazily through lidded eyes, slowly sipping his Madeira. Colin was blinking very rapidly; his mouth opened once or twice, but nothing came out. Milton made a desultory gesture at getting up to walk him to the door, but Robin waved him back down.

‘You can find your way out?’ Pendennis asked.

‘I’m sure I’m fine,’ Robin called over his shoulder as he left. ‘This place isn’t that large.’

The next morning, he recounted everything to his cohort to uproarious laughter.

‘Recite his poem again to me,’ Victoire begged. ‘Please.’

‘I don’t remember it all,’ said Robin. ‘But let me think – wait, yes, there was another line, the blood of a nation ran in his noble cheeks—’

‘No – oh, God—’

‘And the spirit of Waterloo in his widow’s peak—’

‘I don’t know what you’re all talking about,’ said Ramy. ‘The man’s a poetic genius.’

Only Letty did not laugh. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time,’ she said frostily.

‘You were right,’ Robin said, trying to be generous. ‘They’re fools, all right? I should never have abandoned your side, dear, sweet, sober Letty. You are always right about everything.’

Letty did not respond. She picked up her books, dusted off her trousers, and stormed out of the Buttery. Victoire stood halfway up as if about to chase after her, then sighed, shook her head, and sat down.

‘Let her go,’ Ramy said. ‘Let’s not spoil a good afternoon.’

‘Is she like this always?’ Robin asked. ‘I can’t see how you can stand living with her.’

‘You rile her up,’ Victoire said.

‘Don’t defend her—’

‘You do,’ said Victoire. ‘You both do, don’t pretend otherwise; you like making her snap.’

‘Only because she’s so up her own backside all the time,’ Ramy scoffed. ‘Is she an entirely different person with you, then, or have you merely adapted?’

Victoire glanced back and forth between them. She seemed to be trying to decide something. Then she asked, ‘Did you know she had a brother?’

‘What, some nabob in Calcutta?’ Ramy asked.

‘He’s dead,’ said Victoire. ‘He died a year ago.’

‘Oh.’ Ramy blinked. ‘Pity.’

‘His name was Lincoln. Lincoln and Letty Price. They were so close when they were children that all their family’s friends called them the twins. He came to Oxford some years before her, but he hadn’t half the mind for books as she does, and every holiday he and their father would fight viciously over how he was squandering his education. He was much more like Pendennis than like any of us, if you know what I mean. One night he went out drinking. The police came to Letty’s house the next morning, told them they’d found Lincoln’s body under a cart. He’d fallen asleep by the road, and the driver hadn’t noticed him under the wheels until hours later. He must have died sometime before dawn.’

Ramy and Robin were quiet; neither could think of anything to say. They felt rather like chastised schoolboys, as if Victoire were their stern governess.

‘She came up to Oxford a few months later,’ said Victoire. ‘Did you know Babel has a general entrance exam for applicants who don’t come specially recommended? She took it and passed. It was the only faculty at Oxford that would take women. She’d always wanted to come to Babel – she’d studied for it her whole life – but her father kept refusing to let her go to school. It wasn’t until Lincoln died that her father let her come and take his place. Bad to have a daughter at Oxford, but worse to have no children at Oxford at all. Isn’t that terrible?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Robin said, ashamed.

‘I don’t think you two quite understand how hard it is to be a woman here,’ said Victoire. ‘They’re liberal on paper, certainly. But they think so very little of us. Our landlady roots through our things when we’re out as if she’s searching for evidence that we’ve taken lovers. Every weakness we display is a testament to the worst theories about us, which is that we’re fragile, we’re hysterical, and we’re too naturally weak-minded to handle the kind of work we’re set to do.’

‘I suppose that means we’re to excuse her constantly walking around like she’s got a rod up her bum,’ Ramy muttered.