Education: The Soul of All Souls

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Then ensues the viva voce, an oral third degree or "form of mental vivisection" before the assembled Fellows, consisting of tricky questions put by wily Fellows trying to push their own candidates. Nor are the social graces neglected. In the 18th century, when manners rivaled kinship as a qualification, legend has it that candidates were given a cherry tart to eat, their fate depending on how delicately they disposed of the pits at table. One Fellow was elected solely for his ability to swallow pits without interrupting his chatter, and even today candidates may be given a banana to see how decorously they skin it.

Keep Talking. All Souls, cracks one scholar, "is where the editor of the Times and his associates meet to decide just how little they will let their readers know." It is the sanctum sanctorum "where the best brains of Oxford are preserved—in alcohol." The food and chatter go on—and on. When some 40 men of distinction sat down to dinner last week, the talk ranged from ancient Rome to resurgent Germany, from one politician's contempt for W. H. Auden to a scientist's fondness for Dean Rusk, from spies, space and poetry to psychoanalysis and "charlatan" sociologists. Turtle soup and sherry yielded to turbot meuniere and a Graves; filet mignon and a Chambertin made way for cheese, fruit and serious wine drinking, followed by brandy, cigars and Scotch until 2 a.m.

At one point, peering down the table, a top Tory and a greying don saw the port stalled before two earnestly conversing young Fellows. In a flash, don and politician pelted the offenders with hard toffees until, smarting and shamefaced, they restored the port and the talk to their measured rounds. Thus has it ever been at All Souls, where, as one Fellow sums up. "It's everyone else who's out of step, not us."