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diff --git a/1845-h/1845-h.htm b/1845-h/1845-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..81bc9d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/1845-h/1845-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10599 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Zuleika Dobson, by Max Beerbohm + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Zuleika Dobson, by Max Beerbohm + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Zuleika Dobson + or, An Oxford Love Story + +Author: Max Beerbohm + +Release Date: August, 1999 [EBook #1845] +Last Updated: October 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZULEIKA DOBSON *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + ZULEIKA DOBSON + </h1> + <h2> + OR AN OXFORD LOVE STORY + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Max Beerbohm + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + NOTE to the 1922 edition + + I was in Italy when this book was first published. + A year later (1912) I visited London, and I found + that most of my friends and acquaintances spoke to + me of Zu-like-a—a name which I hardly recognised + and thoroughly disapproved. I had always thought + of the lady as Zu-leek-a. Surely it was thus that + Joseph thought of his Wife, and Selim of his Bride? + And I do hope that it is thus that any reader of + these pages will think of Miss Dobson. + + M.B. + Rapallo, 1922. + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>ZULEIKA DOBSON</b></big> </a><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXIV </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + ILLI ALMAE MATRI + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + ZULEIKA DOBSON + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + That old bell, presage of a train, had just sounded through Oxford + station; and the undergraduates who were waiting there, gay figures in + tweed or flannel, moved to the margin of the platform and gazed idly up + the line. Young and careless, in the glow of the afternoon sunshine, they + struck a sharp note of incongruity with the worn boards they stood on, + with the fading signals and grey eternal walls of that antique station, + which, familiar to them and insignificant, does yet whisper to the tourist + the last enchantments of the Middle Age. + </p> + <p> + At the door of the first-class waiting-room, aloof and venerable, stood + the Warden of Judas. An ebon pillar of tradition seemed he, in his garb of + old-fashioned cleric. Aloft, between the wide brim of his silk hat and the + white extent of his shirt-front, appeared those eyes which hawks, that + nose which eagles, had often envied. He supported his years on an ebon + stick. He alone was worthy of the background. + </p> + <p> + Came a whistle from the distance. The breast of an engine was descried, + and a long train curving after it, under a flight of smoke. It grew and + grew. Louder and louder, its noise foreran it. It became a furious, + enormous monster, and, with an instinct for safety, all men receded from + the platform’s margin. (Yet came there with it, unknown to them, a danger + far more terrible than itself.) Into the station it came blustering, with + cloud and clangour. Ere it had yet stopped, the door of one carriage flew + open, and from it, in a white travelling dress, in a toque a-twinkle with + fine diamonds, a lithe and radiant creature slipped nimbly down to the + platform. + </p> + <p> + A cynosure indeed! A hundred eyes were fixed on her, and half as many + hearts lost to her. The Warden of Judas himself had mounted on his nose a + pair of black-rimmed glasses. Him espying, the nymph darted in his + direction. The throng made way for her. She was at his side. + </p> + <p> + “Grandpapa!” she cried, and kissed the old man on either cheek. (Not a + youth there but would have bartered fifty years of his future for that + salute.) + </p> + <p> + “My dear Zuleika,” he said, “welcome to Oxford! Have you no luggage?” + </p> + <p> + “Heaps!” she answered. “And a maid who will find it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Warden, “let us drive straight to College.” He offered + her his arm, and they proceeded slowly to the entrance. She chatted gaily, + blushing not in the long avenue of eyes she passed through. All the + youths, under her spell, were now quite oblivious of the relatives they + had come to meet. Parents, sisters, cousins, ran unclaimed about the + platform. Undutiful, all the youths were forming a serried suite to their + enchantress. In silence they followed her. They saw her leap into the + Warden’s landau, they saw the Warden seat himself upon her left. Nor was + it until the landau was lost to sight that they turned—how slowly, + and with how bad a grace!—to look for their relatives. + </p> + <p> + Through those slums which connect Oxford with the world, the landau rolled + on towards Judas. Not many youths occurred, for nearly all—it was + the Monday of Eights Week—were down by the river, cheering the + crews. There did, however, come spurring by, on a polo-pony, a very + splendid youth. His straw hat was encircled with a riband of blue and + white, and he raised it to the Warden. + </p> + <p> + “That,” said the Warden, “is the Duke of Dorset, a member of my College. + He dines at my table to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika, turning to regard his Grace, saw that he had not reined in and + was not even glancing back at her over his shoulder. She gave a little + start of dismay, but scarcely had her lips pouted ere they curved to a + smile—a smile with no malice in its corners. + </p> + <p> + As the landau rolled into “the Corn,” another youth—a pedestrian, + and very different—saluted the Warden. He wore a black jacket, rusty + and amorphous. His trousers were too short, and he himself was too short: + almost a dwarf. His face was as plain as his gait was undistinguished. He + squinted behind spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “And who is that?” asked Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + A deep flush overspread the cheek of the Warden. “That,” he said, “is also + a member of Judas. His name, I believe, is Noaks.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he dining with us to-night?” asked Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said the Warden. “Most decidedly not.” + </p> + <p> + Noaks, unlike the Duke, had stopped for an ardent retrospect. He gazed + till the landau was out of his short sight; then, sighing, resumed his + solitary walk. + </p> + <p> + The landau was rolling into “the Broad,” over that ground which had once + blackened under the fagots lit for Latimer and Ridley. It rolled past the + portals of Balliol and of Trinity, past the Ashmolean. From those + pedestals which intersperse the railing of the Sheldonian, the high grim + busts of the Roman Emperors stared down at the fair stranger in the + equipage. Zuleika returned their stare with but a casual glance. The + inanimate had little charm for her. + </p> + <p> + A moment later, a certain old don emerged from Blackwell’s, where he had + been buying books. Looking across the road, he saw, to his amazement, + great beads of perspiration glistening on the brows of those Emperors. He + trembled, and hurried away. That evening, in Common Room, he told what he + had seen; and no amount of polite scepticism would convince him that it + was but the hallucination of one who had been reading too much Mommsen. He + persisted that he had seen what he described. It was not until two days + had elapsed that some credence was accorded him. + </p> + <p> + Yes, as the landau rolled by, sweat started from the brows of the + Emperors. They, at least, foresaw the peril that was overhanging Oxford, + and they gave such warning as they could. Let that be remembered to their + credit. Let that incline us to think more gently of them. In their lives + we know, they were infamous, some of them—“nihil non commiserunt + stupri, saevitiae, impietatis.” But are they too little punished, after + all? Here in Oxford, exposed eternally and inexorably to heat and frost, + to the four winds that lash them and the rains that wear them away, they + are expiating, in effigy, the abominations of their pride and cruelty and + lust. Who were lechers, they are without bodies; who were tyrants, they + are crowned never but with crowns of snow; who made themselves even with + the gods, they are by American visitors frequently mistaken for the Twelve + Apostles. It is but a little way down the road that the two Bishops + perished for their faith, and even now we do never pass the spot without a + tear for them. Yet how quickly they died in the flames! To these Emperors, + for whom none weeps, time will give no surcease. Surely, it is sign of + some grace in them that they rejoiced not, this bright afternoon, in the + evil that was to befall the city of their penance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + The sun streamed through the bay-window of a “best” bedroom in the + Warden’s house, and glorified the pale crayon-portraits on the wall, the + dimity curtains, the old fresh chintz. He invaded the many trunks which—all + painted Z. D.—gaped, in various stages of excavation, around the + room. The doors of the huge wardrobe stood, like the doors of Janus’ + temple in time of war, majestically open; and the sun seized this + opportunity of exploring the mahogany recesses. But the carpet, which had + faded under his immemorial visitations, was now almost ENTIRELY hidden + from him, hidden under layers of fair fine linen, layers of silk, brocade, + satin, chiffon, muslin. All the colours of the rainbow, materialised by + modistes, were there. Stacked on chairs were I know not what of sachets, + glove-cases, fan-cases. There were innumerable packages in silver-paper + and pink ribands. There was a pyramid of bandboxes. There was a virgin + forest of boot-trees. And rustling quickly hither and thither, in and out + of this profusion, with armfuls of finery, was an obviously French maid. + Alert, unerring, like a swallow she dipped and darted. Nothing escaped + her, and she never rested. She had the air of the born unpacker—swift + and firm, yet withal tender. Scarce had her arms been laden but their + loads were lying lightly between shelves or tightly in drawers. To + calculate, catch, distribute, seemed in her but a single process. She was + one of those who are born to make chaos cosmic. + </p> + <p> + Insomuch that ere the loud chapel-clock tolled another hour all the trunks + had been sent empty away. The carpet was unflecked by any scrap of + silver-paper. From the mantelpiece, photographs of Zuleika surveyed the + room with a possessive air. Zuleika’s pincushion, a-bristle with new pins, + lay on the dimity-flounced toilet-table, and round it stood a multitude of + multiform glass vessels, domed, all of them, with dull gold, on which Z. + D., in zianites and diamonds, was encrusted. On a small table stood a + great casket of malachite, initialled in like fashion. On another small + table stood Zuleika’s library. Both books were in covers of dull gold. On + the back of one cover BRADSHAW, in beryls, was encrusted; on the back of + the other, A.B.C. GUIDE, in amethysts, beryls, chrysoprases, and garnets. + And Zuleika’s great cheval-glass stood ready to reflect her. Always it + travelled with her, in a great case specially made for it. It was framed + in ivory, and of fluted ivory were the slim columns it swung between. Of + gold were its twin sconces, and four tall tapers stood in each of them. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and the Warden, with hospitable words, left his + grand-daughter at the threshold. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika wandered to her mirror. “Undress me, Melisande,” she said. Like + all who are wont to appear by night before the public, she had the habit + of resting towards sunset. + </p> + <p> + Presently Melisande withdrew. Her mistress, in a white peignoir tied with + a blue sash, lay in a great chintz chair, gazing out of the bay-window. + The quadrangle below was very beautiful, with its walls of rugged grey, + its cloisters, its grass carpet. But to her it was of no more interest + than if it had been the rattling court-yard to one of those hotels in + which she spent her life. She saw it, but heeded it not. She seemed to be + thinking of herself, or of something she desired, or of some one she had + never met. There was ennui, and there was wistfulness, in her gaze. Yet + one would have guessed these things to be transient—to be no more + than the little shadows that sometimes pass between a bright mirror and + the brightness it reflects. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika was not strictly beautiful. Her eyes were a trifle large, and + their lashes longer than they need have been. An anarchy of small curls + was her chevelure, a dark upland of misrule, every hair asserting its + rights over a not discreditable brow. For the rest, her features were not + at all original. They seemed to have been derived rather from a + gallimaufry of familiar models. From Madame la Marquise de Saint-Ouen came + the shapely tilt of the nose. The mouth was a mere replica of Cupid’s bow, + lacquered scarlet and strung with the littlest pearls. No apple-tree, no + wall of peaches, had not been robbed, nor any Tyrian rose-garden, for the + glory of Miss Dobson’s cheeks. Her neck was imitation-marble. Her hands + and feet were of very mean proportions. She had no waist to speak of. + </p> + <p> + Yet, though a Greek would have railed at her asymmetry, and an Elizabethan + have called her “gipsy,” Miss Dobson now, in the midst of the Edwardian + Era, was the toast of two hemispheres. Late in her ‘teens she had become + an orphan and a governess. Her grandfather had refused her appeal for a + home or an allowance, on the ground that he would not be burdened with the + upshot of a marriage which he had once forbidden and not yet forgiven. + Lately, however, prompted by curiosity or by remorse, he had asked her to + spend a week or so of his declining years with him. And she, “resting” + between two engagements—one at Hammerstein’s Victoria, N.Y.C., the + other at the Folies Bergeres, Paris—and having never been in Oxford, + had so far let bygones be bygones as to come and gratify the old man’s + whim. + </p> + <p> + It may be that she still resented his indifference to those early + struggles which, even now, she shuddered to recall. For a governess’ life + she had been, indeed, notably unfit. Hard she had thought it, that penury + should force her back into the school-room she was scarce out of, there to + champion the sums and maps and conjugations she had never tried to master. + Hating her work, she had failed signally to pick up any learning from her + little pupils, and had been driven from house to house, a sullen and most + ineffectual maiden. The sequence of her situations was the swifter by + reason of her pretty face. Was there a grown-up son, always he fell in + love with her, and she would let his eyes trifle boldly with hers across + the dinner-table. When he offered her his hand, she would refuse it—not + because she “knew her place,” but because she did not love him. Even had + she been a good teacher, her presence could not have been tolerated + thereafter. Her corded trunk, heavier by another packet of billets-doux + and a month’s salary in advance, was soon carried up the stairs of some + other house. + </p> + <p> + It chanced that she came, at length, to be governess in a large family + that had Gibbs for its name and Notting Hill for its background. Edward, + the eldest son, was a clerk in the city, who spent his evenings in the + practice of amateur conjuring. He was a freckled youth, with hair that + bristled in places where it should have lain smooth, and he fell in love + with Zuleika duly, at first sight, during high-tea. In the course of the + evening, he sought to win her admiration by a display of all his tricks. + These were familiar to this household, and the children had been sent to + bed, the mother was dozing, long before the seance was at an end. But Miss + Dobson, unaccustomed to any gaieties, sat fascinated by the young man’s + sleight of hand, marvelling that a top-hat could hold so many goldfish, + and a handkerchief turn so swiftly into a silver florin. All that night, + she lay wide awake, haunted by the miracles he had wrought. Next evening, + when she asked him to repeat them, “Nay,” he whispered, “I cannot bear to + deceive the girl I love. Permit me to explain the tricks.” So he explained + them. His eyes sought hers across the bowl of gold-fish, his fingers + trembled as he taught her to manipulate the magic canister. One by one, + she mastered the paltry secrets. Her respect for him waned with every + revelation. He complimented her on her skill. “I could not do it more + neatly myself!” he said. “Oh, dear Miss Dobson, will you but accept my + hand, all these things shall be yours—the cards, the canister, the + goldfish, the demon egg-cup—all yours!” Zuleika, with ravishing + coyness, answered that if he would give her them now, she would “think it + over.” The swain consented, and at bed-time she retired with the gift + under her arm. In the light of her bedroom candle Marguerite hung not in + greater ecstasy over the jewel-casket than hung Zuleika over the box of + tricks. She clasped her hands over the tremendous possibilities it held + for her—manumission from her bondage, wealth, fame, power. + Stealthily, so soon as the house slumbered, she packed her small outfit, + embedding therein the precious gift. Noiselessly, she shut the lid of her + trunk, corded it, shouldered it, stole down the stairs with it. Outside—how + that chain had grated! and her shoulder, how it was aching!—she soon + found a cab. She took a night’s sanctuary in some railway-hotel. Next day, + she moved into a small room in a lodging-house off the Edgware Road, and + there for a whole week she was sedulous in the practice of her tricks. + Then she inscribed her name on the books of a “Juvenile Party + Entertainments Agency.” + </p> + <p> + The Christmas holidays were at hand, and before long she got an + engagement. It was a great evening for her. Her repertory was, it must be + confessed, old and obvious; but the children, in deference to their + hostess, pretended not to know how the tricks were done, and assumed their + prettiest airs of wonder and delight. One of them even pretended to be + frightened, and was led howling from the room. In fact, the whole thing + went off splendidly. The hostess was charmed, and told Zuleika that a + glass of lemonade would be served to her in the hall. Other engagements + soon followed. Zuleika was very, very happy. I cannot claim for her that + she had a genuine passion for her art. The true conjurer finds his guerdon + in the consciousness of work done perfectly and for its own sake. Lucre + and applause are not necessary to him. If he were set down, with the + materials of his art, on a desert island, he would yet be quite happy. He + would not cease to produce the barber’s-pole from his mouth. To the + indifferent winds he would still speak his patter, and even in the last + throes of starvation would not eat his live rabbit or his gold-fish. + Zuleika, on a desert island, would have spent most of her time in looking + for a man’s foot-print. She was, indeed, far too human a creature to care + much for art. I do not say that she took her work lightly. She thought she + had genius, and she liked to be told that this was so. But mainly she + loved her work as a means of mere self-display. The frank admiration + which, into whatsoever house she entered, the grown-up sons flashed on + her; their eagerness to see her to the door; their impressive way of + putting her into her omnibus—these were the things she revelled in. + She was a nymph to whom men’s admiration was the greater part of life. By + day, whenever she went into the streets, she was conscious that no man + passed her without a stare; and this consciousness gave a sharp zest to + her outings. Sometimes she was followed to her door—crude flattery + which she was too innocent to fear. Even when she went into the + haberdasher’s to make some little purchase of tape or riband, or into the + grocer’s—for she was an epicure in her humble way—to buy a tin + of potted meat for her supper, the homage of the young men behind the + counter did flatter and exhilarate her. As the homage of men became for + her, more and more, a matter of course, the more subtly necessary was it + to her happiness. The more she won of it, the more she treasured it. She + was alone in the world, and it saved her from any moment of regret that + she had neither home nor friends. For her the streets that lay around her + had no squalor, since she paced them always in the gold nimbus of her + fascinations. Her bedroom seemed not mean nor lonely to her, since the + little square of glass, nailed above the wash-stand, was ever there to + reflect her face. Thereinto, indeed, she was ever peering. She would droop + her head from side to side, she would bend it forward and see herself from + beneath her eyelashes, then tilt it back and watch herself over her + supercilious chin. And she would smile, frown, pout, languish—let + all the emotions hover upon her face; and always she seemed to herself + lovelier than she had ever been. + </p> + <p> + Yet was there nothing Narcissine in her spirit. Her love for her own image + was not cold aestheticism. She valued that image not for its own sake, but + for sake of the glory it always won for her. In the little remote + music-hall, where she was soon appearing nightly as an “early turn,” she + reaped glory in a nightly harvest. She could feel that all the + gallery-boys, because of her, were scornful of the sweethearts wedged + between them, and she knew that she had but to say “Will any gentleman in + the audience be so good as to lend me his hat?” for the stalls to rise as + one man and rush towards the platform. But greater things were in store + for her. She was engaged at two halls in the West End. Her horizon was + fast receding and expanding. Homage became nightly tangible in bouquets, + rings, brooches—things acceptable and (luckier than their donors) + accepted. Even Sunday was not barren for Zuleika: modish hostesses gave + her postprandially to their guests. Came that Sunday night, notanda + candidissimo calculo! when she received certain guttural compliments which + made absolute her vogue and enabled her to command, thenceforth, whatever + terms she asked for. + </p> + <p> + Already, indeed, she was rich. She was living at the most exorbitant hotel + in all Mayfair. She had innumerable gowns and no necessity to buy jewels; + and she also had, which pleased her most, the fine cheval-glass I have + described. At the close of the Season, Paris claimed her for a month’s + engagement. Paris saw her and was prostrate. Boldini did a portrait of + her. Jules Bloch wrote a song about her; and this, for a whole month, was + howled up and down the cobbled alleys of Montmartre. And all the little + dandies were mad for “la Zuleika.” The jewellers of the Rue de la Paix + soon had nothing left to put in their windows—everything had been + bought for “la Zuleika.” For a whole month, baccarat was not played at the + Jockey Club—every member had succumbed to a nobler passion. For a + whole month, the whole demi-monde was forgotten for one English virgin. + Never, even in Paris, had a woman triumphed so. When the day came for her + departure, the city wore such an air of sullen mourning as it had not worn + since the Prussians marched to its Elysee. Zuleika, quite untouched, would + not linger in the conquered city. Agents had come to her from every + capital in Europe, and, for a year, she ranged, in triumphal nomady, from + one capital to another. In Berlin, every night, the students escorted her + home with torches. Prince Vierfuenfsechs-Siebenachtneun offered her his + hand, and was condemned by the Kaiser to six months’ confinement in his + little castle. In Yildiz Kiosk, the tyrant who still throve there + conferred on her the Order of Chastity, and offered her the central couch + in his seraglio. She gave her performance in the Quirinal, and, from the + Vatican, the Pope launched against her a Bull which fell utterly flat. In + Petersburg, the Grand Duke Salamander Salamandrovitch fell enamoured of + her. Of every article in the apparatus of her conjuring-tricks he caused a + replica to be made in finest gold. These treasures he presented to her in + that great malachite casket which now stood on the little table in her + room; and thenceforth it was with these that she performed her wonders. + They did not mark the limit of the Grand Duke’s generosity. He was for + bestowing on Zuleika the half of his immensurable estates. The Grand + Duchess appealed to the Tzar. Zuleika was conducted across the frontier, + by an escort of love-sick Cossacks. On the Sunday before she left Madrid, + a great bull-fight was held in her honour. Fifteen bulls received the + coup-de-grace, and Alvarez, the matador of matadors, died in the arena + with her name on his lips. He had tried to kill the last bull without + taking his eyes off la divina senorita. A prettier compliment had never + been paid her, and she was immensely pleased with it. For that matter, she + was immensely pleased with everything. She moved proudly to the incessant + music of a paean, aye! of a paean that was always crescendo. + </p> + <p> + Its echoes followed her when she crossed the Atlantic, till they were lost + in the louder, deeper, more blatant paean that rose for her from the + shores beyond. All the stops of that “mighty organ, many-piped,” the New + York press, were pulled out simultaneously, as far as they could be + pulled, in Zuleika’s honour. She delighted in the din. She read every line + that was printed about her, tasting her triumph as she had never tasted it + before. And how she revelled in the Brobdingnagian drawings of her, which, + printed in nineteen colours, towered between the columns or sprawled + across them! There she was, measuring herself back to back with the Statue + of Liberty; scudding through the firmament on a comet, whilst a crowd of + tiny men in evening-dress stared up at her from the terrestrial globe; + peering through a microscope held by Cupid over a diminutive Uncle Sam; + teaching the American Eagle to stand on its head; and doing a + hundred-and-one other things—whatever suggested itself to the fancy + of native art. And through all this iridescent maze of symbolism were + scattered many little slabs of realism. At home, on the street, Zuleika + was the smiling target of all snap-shooters, and all the snap-shots were + snapped up by the press and reproduced with annotations: Zuleika Dobson + walking on Broadway in the sables gifted her by Grand Duke Salamander—she + says “You can bounce blizzards in them”; Zuleika Dobson yawning over a + love-letter from millionaire Edelweiss; relishing a cup of clam-broth—she + says “They don’t use clams out there”; ordering her maid to fix her a warm + bath; finding a split in the gloves she has just drawn on before starting + for the musicale given in her honour by Mrs. Suetonius X. Meistersinger, + the most exclusive woman in New York; chatting at the telephone to Miss + Camille Van Spook, the best-born girl in New York; laughing over the + recollection of a compliment made her by George Abimelech Post, the + best-groomed man in New York; meditating a new trick; admonishing a waiter + who has upset a cocktail over her skirt; having herself manicured; + drinking tea in bed. Thus was Zuleika enabled daily to be, as one might + say, a spectator of her own wonderful life. On her departure from New + York, the papers spoke no more than the truth when they said she had had + “a lovely time.” The further she went West—millionaire Edelweiss had + loaned her his private car—the lovelier her time was. Chicago + drowned the echoes of New York; final Frisco dwarfed the headlines of + Chicago. Like one of its own prairie-fires, she swept the country from end + to end. Then she swept back, and sailed for England. She was to return for + a second season in the coming Fall. At present, she was, as I have said, + “resting.” + </p> + <p> + As she sat here in the bay-window of her room, she was not reviewing the + splendid pageant of her past. She was a young person whose reveries never + were in retrospect. For her the past was no treasury of distinct memories, + all hoarded and classified, some brighter than others and more highly + valued. All memories were for her but as the motes in one fused radiance + that followed her and made more luminous the pathway of her future. She + was always looking forward. She was looking forward now—that shade + of ennui had passed from her face—to the week she was to spend in + Oxford. A new city was a new toy to her, and—for it was youth’s + homage that she loved best—this city of youths was a toy after her + own heart. + </p> + <p> + Aye, and it was youths who gave homage to her most freely. She was of that + high-stepping and flamboyant type that captivates youth most surely. Old + men and men of middle age admired her, but she had not that flower-like + quality of shyness and helplessness, that look of innocence, so dear to + men who carry life’s secrets in their heads. Yet Zuleika WAS very + innocent, really. She was as pure as that young shepherdess Marcella, who, + all unguarded, roved the mountains and was by all the shepherds adored. + Like Marcella, she had given her heart to no man, had preferred none. + Youths were reputed to have died for love of her, as Chrysostom died for + love of the shepherdess; and she, like the shepherdess, had shed no tear. + When Chrysostom was lying on his bier in the valley, and Marcella looked + down from the high rock, Ambrosio, the dead man’s comrade, cried out on + her, upbraiding her with bitter words—“Oh basilisk of our + mountains!” Nor do I think Ambrosio spoke too strongly. Marcella cared + nothing for men’s admiration, and yet, instead of retiring to one of those + nunneries which are founded for her kind, she chose to rove the mountains, + causing despair to all the shepherds. Zuleika, with her peculiar + temperament, would have gone mad in a nunnery. “But,” you may argue, + “ought not she to have taken the veil, even at the cost of her reason, + rather than cause so much despair in the world? If Marcella was a + basilisk, as you seem to think, how about Miss Dobson?” Ah, but Marcella + knew quite well, boasted even, that she never would or could love any man. + Zuleika, on the other hand, was a woman of really passionate fibre. She + may not have had that conscious, separate, and quite explicit desire to be + a mother with which modern playwrights credit every unmated member of her + sex. But she did know that she could love. And, surely, no woman who knows + that of herself can be rightly censured for not recluding herself from the + world: it is only women without the power to love who have no right to + provoke men’s love. + </p> + <p> + Though Zuleika had never given her heart, strong in her were the desire + and the need that it should be given. Whithersoever she had fared, she had + seen nothing but youths fatuously prostrate to her—not one upright + figure which she could respect. There were the middle-aged men, the old + men, who did not bow down to her; but from middle-age, as from eld, she + had a sanguine aversion. She could love none but a youth. Nor—though + she herself, womanly, would utterly abase herself before her ideal—could + she love one who fell prone before her. And before her all youths always + did fall prone. She was an empress, and all youths were her slaves. Their + bondage delighted her, as I have said. But no empress who has any pride + can adore one of her slaves. Whom, then, could proud Zuleika adore? It was + a question which sometimes troubled her. There were even moments when, + looking into her cheval-glass, she cried out against that arrangement in + comely lines and tints which got for her the dulia she delighted in. To be + able to love once—would not that be better than all the homage in + the world? But would she ever meet whom, looking up to him, she could love—she, + the omnisubjugant? Would she ever, ever meet him? + </p> + <p> + It was when she wondered thus, that the wistfulness came into her eyes. + Even now, as she sat by the window, that shadow returned to them. She was + wondering, shyly, had she met him at length? That young equestrian who had + not turned to look at her; whom she was to meet at dinner to-night... was + it he? The ends of her blue sash lay across her lap, and she was lazily + unravelling their fringes. “Blue and white!” she remembered. “They were + the colours he wore round his hat.” And she gave a little laugh of + coquetry. She laughed, and, long after, her lips were still parted in a + smile. + </p> + <p> + So did she sit, smiling, wondering, with the fringes of her sash between + her fingers, while the sun sank behind the opposite wall of the + quadrangle, and the shadows crept out across the grass, thirsty for the + dew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + The clock in the Warden’s drawing-room had just struck eight, and already + the ducal feet were beautiful on the white bearskin hearthrug. So slim and + long were they, of instep so nobly arched, that only with a pair of glazed + ox-tongues on a breakfast-table were they comparable. Incomparable quite, + the figure and face and vesture of him who ended in them. + </p> + <p> + The Warden was talking to him, with all the deference of elderly commoner + to patrician boy. The other guests—an Oriel don and his wife—were + listening with earnest smile and submissive droop, at a slight distance. + Now and again, to put themselves at their ease, they exchanged in + undertone a word or two about the weather. + </p> + <p> + “The young lady whom you may have noticed with me,” the Warden was saying, + “is my orphaned grand-daughter.” (The wife of the Oriel don discarded her + smile, and sighed, with a glance at the Duke, who was himself an orphan.) + “She has come to stay with me.” (The Duke glanced quickly round the room.) + “I cannot think why she is not down yet.” (The Oriel don fixed his eyes on + the clock, as though he suspected it of being fast.) “I must ask you to + forgive her. She appears to be a bright, pleasant young woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Married?” asked the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Warden; and a cloud of annoyance crossed the boy’s face. + “No; she devotes her life entirely to good works.” + </p> + <p> + “A hospital nurse?” the Duke murmured. + </p> + <p> + “No, Zuleika’s appointed task is to induce delightful wonder rather than + to alleviate pain. She performs conjuring-tricks.” + </p> + <p> + “Not—not Miss Zuleika Dobson?” cried the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes. I forgot that she had achieved some fame in the outer world. + Perhaps she has already met you?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said the young man coldly. “But of course I have heard of Miss + Dobson. I did not know she was related to you.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke had an intense horror of unmarried girls. All his vacations were + spent in eluding them and their chaperons. That he should be confronted + with one of them—with such an one of them!—in Oxford, seemed + to him sheer violation of sanctuary. The tone, therefore, in which he said + “I shall be charmed,” in answer to the Warden’s request that he would take + Zuleika into dinner, was very glacial. So was his gaze when, a moment + later, the young lady made her entry. + </p> + <p> + “She did not look like an orphan,” said the wife of the Oriel don, + subsequently, on the way home. The criticism was a just one. Zuleika would + have looked singular in one of those lowly double-files of straw-bonnets + and drab cloaks which are so steadying a feature of our social system. + Tall and lissom, she was sheathed from the bosom downwards in flamingo + silk, and she was liberally festooned with emeralds. Her dark hair was not + even strained back from her forehead and behind her ears, as an orphan’s + should be. Parted somewhere at the side, it fell in an avalanche of curls + upon one eyebrow. From her right ear drooped heavily a black pearl, from + her left a pink; and their difference gave an odd, bewildering witchery to + the little face between. + </p> + <p> + Was the young Duke bewitched? Instantly, utterly. But none could have + guessed as much from his cold stare, his easy and impassive bow. + Throughout dinner, none guessed that his shirt-front was but the screen of + a fierce warfare waged between pride and passion. Zuleika, at the foot of + the table, fondly supposed him indifferent to her. Though he sat on her + right, not one word or glance would he give her. All his conversation was + addressed to the unassuming lady who sat on his other side, next to the + Warden. Her he edified and flustered beyond measure by his insistent + courtesy. Her husband, alone on the other side of the table, was mortified + by his utter failure to engage Zuleika in small-talk. Zuleika was sitting + with her profile turned to him—the profile with the pink pearl—and + was gazing full at the young Duke. She was hardly more affable than a + cameo. “Yes,” “No,” “I don’t know,” were the only answers she would + vouchsafe to his questions. A vague “Oh really?” was all he got for his + timid little offerings of information. In vain he started the topic of + modern conjuring-tricks as compared with the conjuring-tricks performed by + the ancient Egyptians. Zuleika did not even say “Oh really?” when he told + her about the metamorphosis of the bulls in the Temple of Osiris. He + primed himself with a glass of sherry, cleared his throat. “And what,” he + asked, with a note of firmness, “did you think of our cousins across the + water?” Zuleika said “Yes;” and then he gave in. Nor was she conscious + that he ceased talking to her. At intervals throughout the rest of dinner, + she murmured “Yes,” and “No,” and “Oh really?” though the poor little don + was now listening silently to the Duke and the Warden. + </p> + <p> + She was in a trance of sheer happiness. At last, she thought, her hope was + fulfilled—that hope which, although she had seldom remembered it in + the joy of her constant triumphs, had been always lurking in her, lying + near to her heart and chafing her, like the shift of sackcloth which that + young brilliant girl, loved and lost of Giacopone di Todi, wore always in + secret submission to her own soul, under the fair soft robes and the + rubies men saw on her. At last, here was the youth who would not bow down + to her; whom, looking up to him, she could adore. She ate and drank + automatically, never taking her gaze from him. She felt not one touch of + pique at his behaviour. She was tremulous with a joy that was new to her, + greater than any joy she had known. Her soul was as a flower in its + opetide. She was in love. Rapt, she studied every lineament of the pale + and perfect face—the brow from which bronze-coloured hair rose in + tiers of burnished ripples; the large steel-coloured eyes, with their + carven lids; the carven nose, and the plastic lips. She noted how long and + slim were his fingers, and how slender his wrists. She noted the glint + cast by the candles upon his shirt-front. The two large white pearls there + seemed to her symbols of his nature. They were like two moons: cold, + remote, radiant. Even when she gazed at the Duke’s face, she was aware of + them in her vision. + </p> + <p> + Nor was the Duke unconscious, as he seemed to be, of her scrutiny. Though + he kept his head averse, he knew that always her eyes were watching him. + Obliquely, he saw them; saw, too, the contour of the face, and the black + pearl and the pink; could not blind himself, try as he would. And he knew + that he was in love. + </p> + <p> + Like Zuleika herself, this young Duke was in love for the first time. + Wooed though he had been by almost as many maidens as she by youths, his + heart, like hers, had remained cold. But he had never felt, as she had, + the desire to love. He was not now rejoicing, as she was, in the sensation + of first love; nay, he was furiously mortified by it, and struggled with + all his might against it. He had always fancied himself secure against any + so vulgar peril; always fancied that by him at least, the proud old motto + of his family—“Pas si bete”—would not be belied. And I + daresay, indeed, that had he never met Zuleika, the irresistible, he would + have lived, and at a very ripe old age died, a dandy without reproach. For + in him the dandiacal temper had been absolute hitherto, quite untainted + and unruffled. He was too much concerned with his own perfection ever to + think of admiring any one else. Different from Zuleika, he cared for his + wardrobe and his toilet-table not as a means to making others admire him + the more, but merely as a means through which he could intensify, a ritual + in which to express and realise, his own idolatry. At Eton he had been + called “Peacock,” and this nick-name had followed him up to Oxford. It was + not wholly apposite, however. For, whereas the peacock is a fool even + among birds, the Duke had already taken (besides a particularly brilliant + First in Mods) the Stanhope, the Newdigate, the Lothian, and the Gaisford + Prize for Greek Verse. And these things he had achieved currente calamo, + “wielding his pen,” as Scott said of Byron, “with the easy negligence of a + nobleman.” He was now in his third year of residence, and was reading, a + little, for Literae Humaniores. There is no doubt that but for his + untimely death he would have taken a particularly brilliant First in that + school also. + </p> + <p> + For the rest, he had many accomplishments. He was adroit in the killing of + all birds and fishes, stags and foxes. He played polo, cricket, racquets, + chess, and billiards as well as such things can be played. He was fluent + in all modern languages, had a very real talent in water-colour, and was + accounted, by those who had had the privilege of hearing him, the best + amateur pianist on this side of the Tweed. Little wonder, then, that he + was idolised by the undergraduates of his day. He did not, however, honour + many of them with his friendship. He had a theoretic liking for them as a + class, as the “young barbarians all at play” in that little antique city; + but individually they jarred on him, and he saw little of them. Yet he + sympathised with them always, and, on occasion, would actively take their + part against the dons. In the middle of his second year, he had gone so + far that a College Meeting had to be held, and he was sent down for the + rest of term. The Warden placed his own landau at the disposal of the + illustrious young exile, who therein was driven to the station, followed + by a long, vociferous procession of undergraduates in cabs. Now, it + happened that this was a time of political excitement in London. The + Liberals, who were in power, had passed through the House of Commons a + measure more than usually socialistic; and this measure was down for its + second reading in the Lords on the very day that the Duke left Oxford, an + exile. It was but a few weeks since he had taken his seat in the Lords; + and this afternoon, for the want of anything better to do, he strayed in. + The Leader of the House was already droning his speech for the bill, and + the Duke found himself on one of the opposite benches. There sat his + compeers, sullenly waiting to vote for a bill which every one of them + detested. As the speaker subsided, the Duke, for the fun of the thing, + rose. He made a long speech against the bill. His gibes at the Government + were so scathing, so utterly destructive his criticism of the bill itself, + so lofty and so irresistible the flights of his eloquence, that, when he + resumed his seat, there was only one course left to the Leader of the + House. He rose and, in a few husky phrases, moved that the bill “be read + this day six months.” All England rang with the name of the young Duke. He + himself seemed to be the one person unmoved by his exploit. He did not + re-appear in the Upper Chamber, and was heard to speak in slighting terms + of its architecture, as well as of its upholstery. Nevertheless, the Prime + Minister became so nervous that he procured for him, a month later, the + Sovereign’s offer of a Garter which had just fallen vacant. The Duke + accepted it. He was, I understand, the only undergraduate on whom this + Order had ever been conferred. He was very much pleased with the insignia, + and when, on great occasions, he wore them, no one dared say that the + Prime Minister’s choice was not fully justified. But you must not imagine + that he cared for them as symbols of achievement and power. The dark blue + riband, and the star scintillating to eight points, the heavy mantle of + blue velvet, with its lining of taffeta and shoulder-knots of white satin, + the crimson surcoat, the great embullioned tassels, and the chain of + linked gold, and the plumes of ostrich and heron uprising from the black + velvet hat—these things had for him little significance save as a + fine setting, a finer setting than the most elaborate smoking-suit, for + that perfection of aspect which the gods had given him. This was indeed + the gift he valued beyond all others. He knew well, however, that women + care little for a man’s appearance, and that what they seek in a man is + strength of character, and rank, and wealth. These three gifts the Duke + had in a high degree, and he was by women much courted because of them. + Conscious that every maiden he met was eager to be his Duchess, he had + assumed always a manner of high austerity among maidens, and even if he + had wished to flirt with Zuleika he would hardly have known how to do it. + But he did not wish to flirt with her. That she had bewitched him did but + make it the more needful that he should shun all converse with her. It was + imperative that he should banish her from his mind, quickly. He must not + dilute his own soul’s essence. He must not surrender to any passion his + dandihood. The dandy must be celibate, cloistral; is, indeed, but a monk + with a mirror for beads and breviary—an anchorite, mortifying his + soul that his body may be perfect. Till he met Zuleika, the Duke had not + known the meaning of temptation. He fought now, a St. Anthony, against the + apparition. He would not look at her, and he hated her. He loved her, and + he could not help seeing her. The black pearl and the pink seemed to + dangle ever nearer and clearer to him, mocking him and beguiling. + Inexpellible was her image. + </p> + <p> + So fierce was the conflict in him that his outward nonchalance gradually + gave way. As dinner drew to its close, his conversation with the wife of + the Oriel don flagged and halted. He sank, at length, into a deep silence. + He sat with downcast eyes, utterly distracted. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, something fell, plump! into the dark whirlpool of his thoughts. + He started. The Warden was leaning forward, had just said something to + him. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” asked the Duke. Dessert, he noticed, was on the + table, and he was paring an apple. The Oriel don was looking at him with + sympathy, as at one who had swooned and was just “coming to.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true, my dear Duke,” the Warden repeated, “that you have been + persuaded to play to-morrow evening at the Judas concert?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes, I am going to play something.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika bent suddenly forward, addressed him. “Oh,” she cried, clasping + her hands beneath her chin, “will you let me come and turn over the leaves + for you?” + </p> + <p> + He looked her full in the face. It was like seeing suddenly at close + quarters some great bright monument that one has long known only as a + sun-caught speck in the distance. He saw the large violet eyes open to + him, and their lashes curling to him; the vivid parted lips; and the black + pearl, and the pink. + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind,” he murmured, in a voice which sounded to him quite + far away. “But I always play without notes.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika blushed. Not with shame, but with delirious pleasure. For that + snub she would just then have bartered all the homage she had hoarded. + This, she felt, was the climax. She would not outstay it. She rose, + smiling to the wife of the Oriel don. Every one rose. The Oriel don held + open the door, and the two ladies passed out of the room. + </p> + <p> + The Duke drew out his cigarette case. As he looked down at the cigarettes, + he was vaguely conscious of some strange phenomenon somewhere between them + and his eyes. Foredone by the agitation of the past hour, he did not at + once realise what it was that he saw. His impression was of something in + bad taste, some discord in his costume ... a black pearl and a pink pearl + in his shirt-front! + </p> + <p> + Just for a moment, absurdly over-estimating poor Zuleika’s skill, he + supposed himself a victim of legerdemain. Another moment, and the import + of the studs revealed itself. He staggered up from his chair, covering his + breast with one arm, and murmured that he was faint. As he hurried from + the room, the Oriel don was pouring out a tumbler of water and suggesting + burnt feathers. The Warden, solicitous, followed him into the hall. He + snatched up his hat, gasping that he had spent a delightful evening—was + very sorry—was subject to these attacks. Once outside, he took + frankly to his heels. + </p> + <p> + At the corner of the Broad, he looked back over his shoulder. He had half + expected a scarlet figure skimming in pursuit. There was nothing. He + halted. Before him, the Broad lay empty beneath the moon. He went slowly, + mechanically, to his rooms. + </p> + <p> + The high grim busts of the Emperors stared down at him, their faces more + than ever tragically cavernous and distorted. They saw and read in that + moonlight the symbols on his breast. As he stood on his doorstep, waiting + for the door to be opened, he must have seemed to them a thing for + infinite compassion. For were they not privy to the doom that the morrow, + or the morrow’s morrow, held for him—held not indeed for him alone, + yet for him especially, as it were, and for him most lamentably? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + The breakfast-things were not yet cleared away. A plate streaked with fine + strains of marmalade, an empty toast-rack, a broken roll—these and + other things bore witness to a day inaugurated in the right spirit. + </p> + <p> + Away from them, reclining along his window-seat, was the Duke. Blue + spirals rose from his cigarette, nothing in the still air to trouble them. + From their railing, across the road, the Emperors gazed at him. + </p> + <p> + For a young man, sleep is a sure solvent of distress. There whirls not for + him in the night any so hideous a phantasmagoria as will not become, in + the clarity of next morning, a spruce procession for him to lead. Brief + the vague horror of his awakening; memory sweeps back to him, and he sees + nothing dreadful after all. “Why not?” is the sun’s bright message to him, + and “Why not indeed?” his answer. After hours of agony and doubt prolonged + to cock-crow, sleep had stolen to the Duke’s bed-side. He awoke late, with + a heavy sense of disaster; but lo! when he remembered, everything took on + a new aspect. He was in love. “Why not?” He mocked himself for the morbid + vigil he had spent in probing and vainly binding the wounds of his false + pride. The old life was done with. He laughed as he stepped into his bath. + Why should the disseizin of his soul have seemed shameful to him? He had + had no soul till it passed out of his keeping. His body thrilled to the + cold water, his soul as to a new sacrament. He was in love, and that was + all he wished for... There, on the dressing-table, lay the two studs, + visible symbols of his love. Dear to him, now, the colours of them! He + took them in his hand, one by one, fondling them. He wished he could wear + them in the day-time; but this, of course, was impossible. His toilet + finished, he dropped them into the left pocket of his waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + Therein, near to his heart, they were lying now, as he looked out at the + changed world—the world that had become Zuleika. “Zuleika!” his + recurrent murmur, was really an apostrophe to the whole world. + </p> + <p> + Piled against the wall were certain boxes of black japanned tin, which had + just been sent to him from London. At any other time he would certainly + not have left them unopened. For they contained his robes of the Garter. + Thursday, the day after to-morrow, was the date fixed for the investiture + of a foreign king who was now visiting England: and the full chapter of + Knights had been commanded to Windsor for the ceremony. Yesterday the Duke + had looked keenly forward to his excursion. It was only in those too + rarely required robes that he had the sense of being fully dressed. But + to-day not a thought had he of them. + </p> + <p> + Some clock clove with silver the stillness of the morning. Ere came the + second stroke, another and nearer clock was striking. And now there were + others chiming in. The air was confused with the sweet babel of its many + spires, some of them booming deep, measured sequences, some tinkling + impatiently and outwitting others which had begun before them. And when + this anthem of jealous antiphonies and uneven rhythms had dwindled quite + away and fainted in one last solitary note of silver, there started + somewhere another sequence; and this, almost at its last stroke, was + interrupted by yet another, which went on to tell the hour of noon in its + own way, quite slowly and significantly, as though none knew it. + </p> + <p> + And now Oxford was astir with footsteps and laughter—the laughter + and quick footsteps of youths released from lecture-rooms. The Duke + shifted from the window. Somehow, he did not care to be observed, though + it was usually at this hour that he showed himself for the setting of some + new fashion in costume. Many an undergraduate, looking up, missed the + picture in the window-frame. + </p> + <p> + The Duke paced to and fro, smiling ecstatically. He took the two studs + from his pocket and gazed at them. He looked in the glass, as one seeking + the sympathy of a familiar. For the first time in his life, he turned + impatiently aside. It was a new kind of sympathy he needed to-day. + </p> + <p> + The front door slammed, and the staircase creaked to the ascent of two + heavy boots. The Duke listened, waited irresolute. The boots passed his + door, were already clumping up the next flight. “Noaks!” he cried. The + boots paused, then clumped down again. The door opened and disclosed that + homely figure which Zuleika had seen on her way to Judas. + </p> + <p> + Sensitive reader, start not at the apparition! Oxford is a plexus of + anomalies. These two youths were (odd as it may seem to you) subject to + the same Statutes, affiliated to the same College, reading for the same + School; aye! and though the one had inherited half a score of noble and + castellated roofs, whose mere repairs cost him annually thousands and + thousands of pounds, and the other’s people had but one little mean square + of lead, from which the fireworks of the Crystal Palace were clearly + visible every Thursday evening, in Oxford one roof sheltered both of them. + Furthermore, there was even some measure of intimacy between them. It was + the Duke’s whim to condescend further in the direction of Noaks than in + any other. He saw in Noaks his own foil and antithesis, and made a point + of walking up the High with him at least once in every term. Noaks, for + his part, regarded the Duke with feelings mingled of idolatry and + disapproval. The Duke’s First in Mods oppressed him (who, by dint of + dogged industry, had scraped a Second) more than all the other differences + between them. But the dullard’s envy of brilliant men is always assuaged + by the suspicion that they will come to a bad end. Noaks may have regarded + the Duke as a rather pathetic figure, on the whole. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Noaks,” said the Duke. “You have been to a lecture?” + </p> + <p> + “Aristotle’s Politics,” nodded Noaks. + </p> + <p> + “And what were they?” asked the Duke. He was eager for sympathy in his + love. But so little used was he to seeking sympathy that he could not + unburden himself. He temporised. Noaks muttered something about getting + back to work, and fumbled with the door-handle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear fellow, don’t go,” said the Duke. “Sit down. Our Schools + don’t come on for another year. A few minutes can’t make a difference in + your Class. I want to—to tell you something, Noaks. Do sit down.” + </p> + <p> + Noaks sat down on the edge of a chair. The Duke leaned against the + mantel-piece, facing him. “I suppose, Noaks,” he said, “you have never + been in love.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I have been in love?” asked the little man, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t imagine you in love,” said the Duke, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “And I can’t imagine YOU. You’re too pleased with yourself,” growled + Noaks. + </p> + <p> + “Spur your imagination, Noaks,” said his friend. “I AM in love.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” was an unexpected answer, and the Duke (whose need of sympathy + was too new to have taught him sympathy with others) laughed aloud. “Whom + do you love?” he asked, throwing himself into an arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know who she is,” was another unexpected answer. + </p> + <p> + “When did you meet her?” asked the Duke. “Where? What did you say to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday. In the Corn. I didn’t SAY anything to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. What’s that to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Dark or fair?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s dark. She looks like a foreigner. She looks like—like one of + those photographs in the shop-windows.” + </p> + <p> + “A rhapsody, Noaks! What became of her? Was she alone?” + </p> + <p> + “She was with the old Warden, in his carriage.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika—Noaks! The Duke started, as at an affront, and glared. Next + moment, he saw the absurdity of the situation. He relapsed into his chair, + smiling. “She’s the Warden’s niece,” he said. “I dined at the Warden’s + last night.” + </p> + <p> + Noaks sat still, peering across at the Duke. For the first time in his + life, he was resentful of the Duke’s great elegance and average stature, + his high lineage and incomputable wealth. Hitherto, these things had been + too remote for envy. But now, suddenly, they seemed near to him—nearer + and more overpowering than the First in Mods had ever been. “And of course + she’s in love with you?” he snarled. + </p> + <p> + Really, this was for the Duke a new issue. So salient was his own passion + that he had not had time to wonder whether it were returned. Zuleika’s + behaviour during dinner... But that was how so many young women had + behaved. It was no sign of disinterested love. It might mean merely... Yet + no! Surely, looking into her eyes, he had seen there a radiance finer than + could have been lit by common ambition. Love, none other, must have lit in + those purple depths the torches whose clear flames had leapt out to him. + She loved him. She, the beautiful, the wonderful, had not tried to conceal + her love for him. She had shown him all—had shown all, poor darling! + only to be snubbed by a prig, driven away by a boor, fled from by a fool. + To the nethermost corner of his soul, he cursed himself for what he had + done, and for all he had left undone. He would go to her on his knees. He + would implore her to impose on him insufferable penances. There was no + penance, how bittersweet soever, could make him a little worthy of her. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” he cried mechanically. Entered the landlady’s daughter. + </p> + <p> + “A lady downstairs,” she said, “asking to see your Grace. Says she’ll step + round again later if your Grace is busy.” + </p> + <p> + “What is her name?” asked the Duke, vacantly. He was gazing at the girl + with pain-shot eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Zuleika Dobson,” pronounced the girl. + </p> + <p> + He rose. + </p> + <p> + “Show Miss Dobson up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Noaks had darted to the looking-glass and was smoothing his hair with a + tremulous, enormous hand. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” said the Duke, pointing to the door. Noaks went, quickly. Echoes of + his boots fell from the upper stairs and met the ascending susurrus of a + silk skirt. + </p> + <p> + The lovers met. There was an interchange of ordinary greetings: from the + Duke, a comment on the weather; from Zuleika, a hope that he was well + again—they had been so sorry to lose him last night. Then came a + pause. The landlady’s daughter was clearing away the breakfast-things. + Zuleika glanced comprehensively at the room, and the Duke gazed at the + hearthrug. The landlady’s daughter clattered out with her freight. They + were alone. + </p> + <p> + “How pretty!” said Zuleika. She was looking at his star of the Garter, + which sparkled from a litter of books and papers on a small side-table. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered. “It is pretty, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Awfully pretty!” she rejoined. + </p> + <p> + This dialogue led them to another hollow pause. The Duke’s heart beat + violently within him. Why had he not asked her to take the star and keep + it as a gift? Too late now! Why could he not throw himself at her feet? + Here were two beings, lovers of each other, with none by. And yet... + </p> + <p> + She was examining a water-colour on the wall, seemed to be absorbed by it. + He watched her. She was even lovelier than he had remembered; or rather + her loveliness had been, in some subtle way, transmuted. Something had + given to her a graver, nobler beauty. Last night’s nymph had become the + Madonna of this morning. Despite her dress, which was of a tremendous + tartan, she diffused the pale authentic radiance of a spirituality most + high, most simple. The Duke wondered where lay the change in her. He could + not understand. Suddenly she turned to him, and he understood. No longer + the black pearl and the pink, but two white pearls!... He thrilled to his + heart’s core. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said Zuleika, “you aren’t awfully vexed with me for coming like + this?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said the Duke. “I am delighted to see you.” How inadequate + the words sounded, how formal and stupid! + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” she continued, “I don’t know a soul in Oxford. And I + thought perhaps you’d give me luncheon, and take me to see the boat-races. + Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be charmed,” he said, pulling the bell-rope. Poor fool! he + attributed the shade of disappointment on Zuleika’s face to the coldness + of his tone. He would dispel that shade. He would avow himself. He would + leave her no longer in this false position. So soon as he had told them + about the meal, he would proclaim his passion. + </p> + <p> + The bell was answered by the landlady’s daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Dobson will stay to luncheon,” said the Duke. The girl withdrew. He + wished he could have asked her not to. + </p> + <p> + He steeled himself. “Miss Dobson,” he said, “I wish to apologise to you.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika looked at him eagerly. “You can’t give me luncheon? You’ve got + something better to do?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I wish to ask you to forgive me for my behaviour last night.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “There is. My manners were vile. I know well what happened. Though you, + too, cannot have forgotten, I won’t spare myself the recital. You were my + hostess, and I ignored you. Magnanimous, you paid me the prettiest + compliment woman ever paid to man, and I insulted you. I left the house in + order that I might not see you again. To the doorsteps down which he + should have kicked me, your grandfather followed me with words of + kindliest courtesy. If he had sped me with a kick so skilful that my skull + had been shattered on the kerb, neither would he have outstepped those + bounds set to the conduct of English gentlemen, nor would you have + garnered more than a trifle on account of your proper reckoning. I do not + say that you are the first person whom I have wantonly injured. But it is + a fact that I, in whom pride has ever been the topmost quality, have never + expressed sorrow to any one for anything. Thus, I might urge that my + present abjectness must be intolerably painful to me, and should incline + you to forgive. But such an argument were specious merely. I will be quite + frank with you. I will confess to you that, in this humbling of myself + before you, I take a pleasure as passionate as it is strange. A confusion + of feelings? Yet you, with a woman’s instinct, will have already caught + the clue to it. It needs no mirror to assure me that the clue is here for + you, in my eyes. It needs no dictionary of quotations to remind me that + the eyes are the windows of the soul. And I know that from two open + windows my soul has been leaning and signalling to you, in a code far more + definitive and swifter than words of mine, that I love you.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika, listening to him, had grown gradually paler and paler. She had + raised her hands and cowered as though he were about to strike her. And + then, as he pronounced the last three words, she had clasped her hands to + her face and with a wild sob darted away from him. She was leaning now + against the window, her head bowed and her shoulders quivering. + </p> + <p> + The Duke came softly behind her. “Why should you cry? Why should you turn + away from me? Did I frighten you with the suddenness of my words? I am not + versed in the tricks of wooing. I should have been more patient. But I + love you so much that I could hardly have waited. A secret hope that you + loved me too emboldened me, compelled me. You DO love me. I know it. And, + knowing it, I do but ask you to give yourself to me, to be my wife. Why + should you cry? Why should you shrink from me? Dear, if there were + anything... any secret... if you had ever loved and been deceived, do you + think I should honour you the less deeply, should not cherish you the more + tenderly? Enough for me, that you are mine. Do you think I should ever + reproach you for anything that may have—” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika turned on him. “How dare you?” she gasped. “How dare you speak to + me like that?” + </p> + <p> + The Duke reeled back. Horror had come into his eyes. “You do not love me!” + he cried. + </p> + <p> + “LOVE you?” she retorted. “YOU?” + </p> + <p> + “You no longer love me. Why? Why?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You loved me. Don’t trifle with me. You came to me loving me with all + your heart.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Look in the glass.” She went at his bidding. He followed her. “You see + them?” he said, after a long pause. Zuleika nodded. The two pearls + quivered to her nod. + </p> + <p> + “They were white when you came to me,” he sighed. “They were white because + you loved me. From them it was that I knew you loved me even as I loved + you. But their old colours have come back to them. That is how I know that + your love for me is dead.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika stood gazing pensively, twitching the two pearls between her + fingers. Tears gathered in her eyes. She met the reflection of her lover’s + eyes, and her tears brimmed over. She buried her face in her hands, and + sobbed like a child. + </p> + <p> + Like a child’s, her sobbing ceased quite suddenly. She groped for her + handkerchief, angrily dried her eyes, and straightened and smoothed + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Now I’m going,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You came here of your own accord, because you loved me,” said the Duke. + “And you shall not go till you have told me why you have left off loving + me.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I loved you?” she asked after a pause. “How did you know + I hadn’t simply put on another pair of ear-rings?” + </p> + <p> + The Duke, with a melancholy laugh, drew the two studs from his + waistcoat-pocket. “These are the studs I wore last night,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika gazed at them. “I see,” she said; then, looking up, “When did they + become like that?” + </p> + <p> + “It was when you left the dining-room that I saw the change in them.” + </p> + <p> + “How strange! It was when I went into the drawing-room that I noticed + mine. I was looking in the glass, and”—She started. “Then you were + in love with me last night?” + </p> + <p> + “I began to be in love with you from the moment I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how could you have behaved as you did?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was a pedant. I tried to ignore you, as pedants always do try + to ignore any fact they cannot fit into their pet system. The basis of my + pet system was celibacy. I don’t mean the mere state of being a bachelor. + I mean celibacy of the soul—egoism, in fact. You have converted me + from that. I am now a confirmed tuist.” + </p> + <p> + “How dared you insult me?” she cried, with a stamp of her foot. “How dared + you make a fool of me before those people? Oh, it is too infamous!” + </p> + <p> + “I have already asked you to forgive me for that. You said there was + nothing to forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t dream that you were in love with me.” + </p> + <p> + “What difference can that make?” + </p> + <p> + “All the difference! All the difference in life!” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down! You bewilder me,” said the Duke. “Explain yourself!” he + commanded. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that rather much for a man to ask of a woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I have no experience of women. In the abstract, it seems to + me that every man has a right to some explanation from the woman who has + ruined his life.” + </p> + <p> + “You are frightfully sorry for yourself,” said Zuleika, with a bitter + laugh. “Of course it doesn’t occur to you that <i>I</i> am at all to be + pitied. No! you are blind with selfishness. You love me—I don’t love + you: that is all you can realise. Probably you think you are the first man + who has ever fallen on such a plight.” + </p> + <p> + Said the Duke, bowing over a deprecatory hand, “If there were to pass my + window one tithe of them whose hearts have been lost to Miss Dobson, I + should win no solace from that interminable parade.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika blushed. “Yet,” she said more gently, “be sure they would all be + not a little envious of YOU! Not one of them ever touched the surface of + my heart. You stirred my heart to its very depths. Yes, you made me love + you madly. The pearls told you no lie. You were my idol—the one + thing in the wide world to me. You were so different from any man I had + ever seen except in dreams. You did not make a fool of yourself. I admired + you. I respected you. I was all afire with adoration of you. And now,” she + passed her hand across her eyes, “now it is all over. The idol has come + sliding down its pedestal to fawn and grovel with all the other infatuates + in the dust about my feet.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke looked thoughtfully at her. “I thought,” he said, “that you + revelled in your power over men’s hearts. I had always heard that you + lived for admiration.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Zuleika, “of course I like being admired. Oh yes, I like all + that very much indeed. In a way, I suppose, I’m even pleased that YOU + admire me. But oh, what a little miserable pleasure that is in comparison + with the rapture I have forfeited! I had never known the rapture of being + in love. I had longed for it, but I had never guessed how wonderfully + wonderful it was. It came to me. I shuddered and wavered like a fountain + in the wind. I was more helpless and flew lightlier than a shred of + thistledown among the stars. All night long, I could not sleep for love of + you; nor had I any desire of sleep, save that it might take me to you in a + dream. I remember nothing that happened to me this morning before I found + myself at your door.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you ring the bell? Why didn’t you walk away?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? I had come to see you, to be near you, to be WITH you.” + </p> + <p> + “To force yourself on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You know the meaning of the term ‘effective occupation’? Having marched + in, how could you have held your position, unless”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a man doesn’t necessarily drive a woman away because he isn’t in love + with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet that was what you thought I had done to you last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I didn’t suppose you would take the trouble to do it again. And + if you had, I should have only loved you the more. I thought you would + most likely be rather amused, rather touched, by my importunity. I thought + you would take a listless advantage, make a plaything of me—the + diversion of a few idle hours in summer, and then, when you had tired of + me, would cast me aside, forget me, break my heart. I desired nothing + better than that. That is what I must have been vaguely hoping for. But I + had no definite scheme. I wanted to be with you and I came to you. It + seems years ago, now! How my heart beat as I waited on the doorstep! ‘Is + his Grace at home?’ ‘I don’t know. I’ll inquire. What name shall I say?’ I + saw in the girl’s eyes that she, too, loved you. Have YOU seen that?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never looked at her,” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder, then, that she loves you,” sighed Zuleika. “She read my secret + at a glance. Women who love the same man have a kind of bitter + freemasonry. We resented each other. She envied me my beauty, my dress. I + envied the little fool her privilege of being always near to you. Loving + you, I could conceive no life sweeter than hers—to be always near + you; to black your boots, carry up your coals, scrub your doorstep; always + to be working for you, hard and humbly and without thanks. If you had + refused to see me, I would have bribed that girl with all my jewels to + cede me her position.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke made a step towards her. “You would do it still,” he said in a + low voice. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika raised her eyebrows. “I would not offer her one garnet,” she said, + “now.” + </p> + <p> + “You SHALL love me again,” he cried. “I will force you to. You said just + now that you had ceased to love me because I was just like other men. I am + not. My heart is no tablet of mere wax, from which an instant’s heat can + dissolve whatever impress it may bear, leaving it blank and soft for + another impress, and another, and another. My heart is a bright hard gem, + proof against any die. Came Cupid, with one of his arrow-points for + graver, and what he cut on the gem’s surface never can be effaced. There, + deeply and forever, your image is intagliated. No years, nor fires, nor + cataclysm of total Nature, can efface from that great gem your image.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Duke,” said Zuleika, “don’t be so silly. Look at the matter + sensibly. I know that lovers don’t try to regulate their emotions + according to logic; but they do, nevertheless, unconsciously conform with + some sort of logical system. I left off loving you when I found that you + loved me. There is the premiss. Very well! Is it likely that I shall begin + to love you again because you can’t leave off loving me?” + </p> + <p> + The Duke groaned. There was a clatter of plates outside, and she whom + Zuleika had envied came to lay the table for luncheon. + </p> + <p> + A smile flickered across Zuleika’s lips; and “Not one garnet!” she + murmured. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + Luncheon passed in almost unbroken silence. Both Zuleika and the Duke were + ravenously hungry, as people always are after the stress of any great + emotional crisis. Between them, they made very short work of a cold + chicken, a salad, a gooseberry-tart and a Camembert. The Duke filled his + glass again and again. The cold classicism of his face had been routed by + the new romantic movement which had swept over his soul. He looked two or + three months older than when first I showed him to my reader. + </p> + <p> + He drank his coffee at one draught, pushed back his chair, threw away the + cigarette he had just lit. “Listen!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika folded her hands on her lap. + </p> + <p> + “You do not love me. I accept as final your hint that you never will love + me. I need not say—could not, indeed, ever say—how deeply, + deeply you have pained me. As lover, I am rejected. But that rejection,” + he continued, striking the table, “is no stopper to my suit. It does but + drive me to the use of arguments. My pride shrinks from them. Love, + however, is greater than pride; and I, John, Albert, Edward, Claude, Orde, + Angus, Tankerton,* Tanville-Tankerton,** fourteenth Duke of Dorset, + Marquis of Dorset, Earl of Grove, Earl of Chastermaine, Viscount Brewsby, + Baron Grove, Baron Petstrap, and Baron Wolock, in the Peerage of England, + offer you my hand. Do not interrupt me. Do not toss your head. Consider + well what I am saying. Weigh the advantages you would gain by acceptance + of my hand. Indeed, they are manifold and tremendous. They are also + obvious: do not shut your eyes to them. You, Miss Dobson, what are you? A + conjurer, and a vagrant; without means, save such as you can earn by the + sleight of your hand; without position; without a home; all unguarded but + by your own self-respect. That you follow an honourable calling, I do not + for one moment deny. I do, however, ask you to consider how great are its + perils and hardships, its fatigues and inconveniences. From all these + evils I offer you instant refuge. I offer you, Miss Dobson, a refuge more + glorious and more augustly gilded than you, in your airiest flights of + fancy, can ever have hoped for or imagined. I own about 340,000 acres. My + town-residence is in St. James’s Square. Tankerton, of which you may have + seen photographs, is the chief of my country-seats. It is a Tudor house, + set on the ridge of a valley. The valley, its park, is halved by a stream + so narrow that the deer leap across. The gardens are estraded upon the + slope. Round the house runs a wide paven terrace. There are always two or + three peacocks trailing their sheathed feathers along the balustrade, and + stepping how stiffly! as though they had just been unharnessed from Juno’s + chariot. Two flights of shallow steps lead down to the flowers and + fountains. Oh, the gardens are wonderful. There is a Jacobean garden of + white roses. Between the ends of two pleached alleys, under a dome of + branches, is a little lake, with a Triton of black marble, and with + water-lilies. Hither and thither under the archipelago of water-lilies, + dart gold-fish—tongues of flame in the dark water. There is also a + long strait alley of clipped yew. It ends in an alcove for a pagoda of + painted porcelain which the Prince Regent—peace be to his ashes!—presented + to my great-grandfather. There are many twisting paths, and sudden + aspects, and devious, fantastic arbours. Are you fond of horses? In my + stables of pine-wood and plated-silver seventy are installed. Not all of + them together could vie in power with one of the meanest of my + motor-cars.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *Pronounced as Tacton. + + **Pronounced as Tavvle-Tacton. +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, I never go in motors,” said Zuleika. “They make one look like nothing + on earth, and like everybody else.” + </p> + <p> + “I myself,” said the Duke, “use them little for that very reason. Are you + interested in farming? At Tankerton there is a model farm which would at + any rate amuse you, with its heifers and hens and pigs that are like so + many big new toys. There is a tiny dairy, which is called ‘Her Grace’s.’ + You could make, therein, real butter with your own hands, and round it + into little pats, and press every pat with a different device. The boudoir + that would be yours is a blue room. Four Watteaus hang in it. In the + dining-hall hang portraits of my forefathers—in petto, your + forefathers-in-law—by many masters. Are you fond of peasants? My + tenantry are delightful creatures, and there is not one of them who + remembers the bringing of the news of the Battle of Waterloo. When a new + Duchess is brought to Tankerton, the oldest elm in the park must be + felled. That is one of many strange old customs. As she is driven through + the village, the children of the tenantry must strew the road with + daisies. The bridal chamber must be lighted with as many candles as years + have elapsed since the creation of the Dukedom. If you came into it, there + would be”—and the youth, closing his eyes, made a rapid calculation—“exactly + three hundred and eighty-eight candles. On the eve of the death of a Duke + of Dorset, two black owls come and perch on the battlements. They remain + there through the night, hooting. At dawn they fly away, none knows + whither. On the eve of the death of any other Tanville-Tankerton, comes + (no matter what be the time of year) a cuckoo. It stays for an hour, + cooing, then flies away, none knows whither. Whenever this portent occurs, + my steward telegraphs to me, that I, as head of the family, be not + unsteeled against the shock of a bereavement, and that my authority be + sooner given for the unsealing and garnishing of the family-vault. Not + every forefather of mine rests quiet beneath his escutcheoned marble. + There are they who revisit, in their wrath or their remorse, the places + wherein erst they suffered or wrought evil. There is one who, every + Halloween, flits into the dining-hall, and hovers before the portrait + which Hans Holbein made of him, and flings his diaphanous grey form + against the canvas, hoping, maybe, to catch from it the fiery flesh-tints + and the solid limbs that were his, and so to be re-incarnate. He flies + against the painting, only to find himself t’other side of the wall it + hangs on. There are five ghosts permanently residing in the right wing of + the house, two in the left, and eleven in the park. But all are quite + noiseless and quite harmless. My servants, when they meet them in the + corridors or on the stairs, stand aside to let them pass, thus paying them + the respect due to guests of mine; but not even the rawest housemaid ever + screams or flees at sight of them. I, their host, often waylay them and + try to commune with them; but always they glide past me. And how + gracefully they glide, these ghosts! It is a pleasure to watch them. It is + a lesson in deportment. May they never be laid! Of all my household-pets, + they are the dearest to me. I am Duke of Strathsporran and Cairngorm, + Marquis of Sorby, and Earl Cairngorm, in the Peerage of Scotland. In the + glens of the hills about Strathsporran are many noble and nimble stags. + But I have never set foot in my house there, for it is carpeted throughout + with the tartan of my clan. You seem to like tartan. What tartan is it you + are wearing?” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika looked down at her skirt. “I don’t know,” she said. “I got it in + Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Duke, “it is very ugly. The Dalbraith tartan is + harmonious in comparison, and has, at least, the excuse of history. If you + married me, you would have the right to wear it. You would have many + strange and fascinating rights. You would go to Court. I admit that the + Hanoverian Court is not much. Still, it is better than nothing. At your + presentation, moreover, you would be given the entree. Is that nothing to + you? You would be driven to Court in my statecoach. It is swung so high + that the streetsters can hardly see its occupant. It is lined with + rose-silk; and on its panels, and on its hammer-cloth, my arms are + emblazoned—no one has ever been able to count the quarterings. You + would be wearing the family-jewels, reluctantly surrendered to you by my + aunt. They are many and marvellous, in their antique settings. I don’t + want to brag. It humiliates me to speak to you as I am speaking. But I am + heart-set on you, and to win you there is not a precious stone I would + leave unturned. Conceive a parure all of white stones—diamonds, + white sapphires, white topazes, tourmalines. Another, of rubies and + amethysts, set in gold filigree. Rings that once were poison-combs on + Florentine fingers. Red roses for your hair—every petal a hollowed + ruby. Amulets and ape-buckles, zones and fillets. Aye! know that you would + be weeping for wonder before you had seen a tithe of these gauds. Know, + too, Miss Dobson, that in the Peerage of France I am Duc d’Etretat et de + la Roche Guillaume. Louis Napoleon gave the title to my father for not + cutting him in the Bois. I have a house in the Champs Elysees. There is a + Swiss in its courtyard. He stands six-foot-seven in his stockings, and the + chasseurs are hardly less tall than he. Wherever I go, there are two chefs + in my retinue. Both are masters in their art, and furiously jealous of + each other. When I compliment either of them on some dish, the other + challenges him. They fight with rapiers, next morning, in the garden of + whatever house I am occupying. I do not know whether you are greedy? If + so, it may interest you to learn that I have a third chef, who makes only + souffles, and an Italian pastry-cook; to say nothing of a Spaniard for + salads, an Englishwoman for roasts, and an Abyssinian for coffee. You + found no trace of their handiwork in the meal you have just had with me? + No; for in Oxford it is a whim of mine—I may say a point of honour—to + lead the ordinary life of an undergraduate. What I eat in this room is + cooked by the heavy and unaided hand of Mrs. Batch, my landlady. It is set + before me by the unaided and—or are you in error?—loving hand + of her daughter. Other ministers have I none here. I dispense with my + private secretaries. I am unattended by a single valet. So simple a way of + life repels you? You would never be called upon to share it. If you + married me, I should take my name off the books of my College. I propose + that we should spend our honeymoon at Baiae. I have a villa at Baiae. It + is there that I keep my grandfather’s collection of majolica. The sun + shines there always. A long olive-grove secretes the garden from the sea. + When you walk in the garden, you know the sea only in blue glimpses + through the vacillating leaves. White-gleaming from the bosky shade of + this grove are several goddesses. Do you care for Canova? I don’t myself. + If you do, these figures will appeal to you: they are in his best manner. + Do you love the sea? This is not the only house of mine that looks out on + it. On the coast of County Clare—am I not Earl of Enniskerry and + Baron Shandrin in the Peerage of Ireland?—I have an ancient castle. + Sheer from a rock stands it, and the sea has always raged up against its + walls. Many ships lie wrecked under that loud implacable sea. But mine is + a brave strong castle. No storm affrights it; and not the centuries, + clustering houris, with their caresses can seduce it from its hard + austerity. I have several titles which for the moment escape me. Baron + Llffthwchl am I, and... and... but you can find them for yourself in + Debrett. In me you behold a Prince of the Holy Roman Empire, and a Knight + of the Most Noble Order of the Garter. Look well at me! I am Hereditary + Comber of the Queen’s Lap-Dogs. I am young. I am handsome. My temper is + sweet, and my character without blemish. In fine, Miss Dobson, I am a most + desirable parti.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Zuleika, “I don’t love you.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke stamped his foot. “I beg your pardon,” he said hastily. “I ought + not to have done that. But—you seem to have entirely missed the + point of what I was saying.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t,” said Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “Then what,” cried the Duke, standing over her, “what is your reply?” + </p> + <p> + Said Zuleika, looking up at him, “My reply is that I think you are an + awful snob.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke turned on his heel, and strode to the other end of the room. + There he stood for some moments, his back to Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she resumed in a slow, meditative voice, “that you are, with + the possible exception of a Mr. Edelweiss, THE most awful snob I have ever + met.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke looked back over his shoulder. He gave Zuleika the stinging + reprimand of silence. She was sorry, and showed it in her eyes. She felt + she had gone too far. True, he was nothing to her now. But she had loved + him once. She could not forget that. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” she said. “Let us be good friends. Give me your hand!” He came to + her, slowly. “There!” + </p> + <p> + The Duke withdrew his fingers before she unclasped them. That twice-flung + taunt rankled still. It was monstrous to have been called a snob. A snob!—he, + whose readiness to form what would certainly be regarded as a shocking + misalliance ought to have stifled the charge, not merely vindicated him + from it! He had forgotten, in the blindness of his love, how shocking the + misalliance would be. Perhaps she, unloving, had not been so forgetful? + Perhaps her refusal had been made, generously, for his own sake. Nay, + rather for her own. Evidently, she had felt that the high sphere from + which he beckoned was no place for the likes of her. Evidently, she feared + she would pine away among those strange splendours, never be acclimatised, + always be unworthy. He had thought to overwhelm her, and he had done his + work too thoroughly. Now he must try to lighten the load he had imposed. + </p> + <p> + Seating himself opposite to her, “You remember,” he said, “that there is a + dairy at Tankerton?” + </p> + <p> + “A dairy? Oh yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what it is called?” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika knit her brows. + </p> + <p> + He helped her out. “It is called ‘Her Grace’s’.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course!” said Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know WHY it is called so?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s see... I know you told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I? I think not. I will tell you now... That cool out-house dates from + the middle of the eighteenth century. My great-great-grandfather, when he + was a very old man, married en troisiemes noces a dairy-maid on the + Tankerton estate. Meg Speedwell was her name. He had seen her walking + across a field, not many months after the interment of his second Duchess, + Maria, that great and gifted lady. I know not whether it was that her + bonny mien fanned in him some embers of his youth, or that he was loth to + be outdone in gracious eccentricity by his crony the Duke of Dewlap, who + himself had just taken a bride from a dairy. (You have read Meredith’s + account of that affair? No? You should.) Whether it was veritable love or + mere modishness that formed my ancestor’s resolve, presently the bells + were ringing out, and the oldest elm in the park was being felled, in Meg + Speedwell’s honour, and the children were strewing daisies on which Meg + Speedwell trod, a proud young hoyden of a bride, with her head in the air + and her heart in the seventh heaven. The Duke had given her already a + horde of fine gifts; but these, he had said, were nothing—trash in + comparison with the gift that was to ensure for her a perdurable felicity. + After the wedding-breakfast, when all the squires had ridden away on their + cobs, and all the squires’ ladies in their coaches, the Duke led his bride + forth from the hall, leaning on her arm, till they came to a little + edifice of new white stone, very spick and span, with two lattice-windows + and a bright green door between. This he bade her enter. A-flutter with + excitement, she turned the handle. In a moment she flounced back, red with + shame and anger—flounced forth from the fairest, whitest, dapperest + dairy, wherein was all of the best that the keenest dairy-maid might need. + The Duke bade her dry her eyes, for that it ill befitted a great lady to + be weeping on her wedding-day. ‘As for gratitude,’ he chuckled, ‘zounds! + that is a wine all the better for the keeping.’ Duchess Meg soon forgot + this unworthy wedding-gift, such was her rapture in the other, the so + august, appurtenances of her new life. What with her fine silk gowns and + farthingales, and her powder-closet, and the canopied bed she slept in—a + bed bigger far than the room she had slept in with her sisters, and + standing in a room far bigger than her father’s cottage; and what with + Betty, her maid, who had pinched and teased her at the village-school, but + now waited on her so meekly and trembled so fearfully at a scolding; and + what with the fine hot dishes that were set before her every day, and the + gallant speeches and glances of the fine young gentlemen whom the Duke + invited from London, Duchess Meg was quite the happiest Duchess in all + England. For a while, she was like a child in a hay-rick. But anon, as the + sheer delight of novelty wore away, she began to take a more serious view + of her position. She began to realise her responsibilities. She was + determined to do all that a great lady ought to do. Twice every day she + assumed the vapours. She schooled herself in the mysteries of Ombre, of + Macao. She spent hours over the tambour-frame. She rode out on horse-back, + with a riding-master. She had a music-master to teach her the spinet; a + dancing-master, too, to teach her the Minuet and the Triumph and the + Gaudy. All these accomplishments she found mighty hard. She was afraid of + her horse. All the morning, she dreaded the hour when it would be brought + round from the stables. She dreaded her dancing-lesson. Try as she would, + she could but stamp her feet flat on the parquet, as though it had been + the village-green. She dreaded her music-lesson. Her fingers, disobedient + to her ambition, clumsily thumped the keys of the spinet, and by the notes + of the score propped up before her she was as cruelly perplexed as by the + black and red pips of the cards she conned at the gaming-table, or by the + red and gold threads that were always straying and snapping on her + tambour-frame. Still she persevered. Day in, day out, sullenly, she worked + hard to be a great lady. But skill came not to her, and hope dwindled; + only the dull effort remained. One accomplishment she did master—to + wit, the vapours: they became for her a dreadful reality. She lost her + appetite for the fine hot dishes. All night long she lay awake, restless, + tearful, under the fine silk canopy, till dawn stared her into slumber. + She seldom scolded Betty. She who had been so lusty and so blooming saw in + her mirror that she was pale and thin now; and the fine young gentlemen, + seeing it too, paid more heed now to their wine and their dice than to + her. And always, when she met him, the Duke smiled the same mocking smile. + Duchess Meg was pining slowly and surely away... One morning, in + Spring-time, she altogether vanished. Betty, bringing the cup of chocolate + to the bedside, found the bed empty. She raised the alarm among her + fellows. They searched high and low. Nowhere was their mistress. The news + was broken to their master, who, without comment, rose, bade his man dress + him, and presently walked out to the place where he knew he would find + her. And there, to be sure, she was, churning, churning for dear life. Her + sleeves were rolled above her elbows, and her skirt was kilted high; and, + as she looked back over her shoulder and saw the Duke, there was the flush + of roses in her cheeks, and the light of a thousand thanks in her eyes. + ‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘what a curtsey I would drop you, but that to let go the + handle were to spoil all!’ And every morning, ever after, she woke when + the birds woke, rose when they rose, and went singing through the dawn to + the dairy, there to practise for her pleasure that sweet and lowly + handicraft which she had once practised for her need. And every evening, + with her milking-stool under her arm, and her milk-pail in her hand, she + went into the field and called the cows to her, as she had been wont to + do. To those other, those so august, accomplishments she no more + pretended. She gave them the go-by. And all the old zest and joyousness of + her life came back to her. Soundlier than ever slept she, and sweetlier + dreamed, under the fine silk canopy, till the birds called her to her + work. Greater than ever was her love of the fine furbelows that were hers + to flaunt in, and sharper her appetite for the fine hot dishes, and more + tempestuous her scolding of Betty, poor maid. She was more than ever now + the cynosure, the adored, of the fine young gentlemen. And as for her + husband, she looked up to him as the wisest, kindest man in all the + world.” + </p> + <p> + “And the fine young gentlemen,” said Zuleika, “did she fall in love with + any of them?” + </p> + <p> + “You forget,” said the Duke coldly, “she was married to a member of my + family.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon. But tell me: did they ALL adore her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Every one of them, wildly, madly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” murmured Zuleika, with a smile of understanding. A shadow crossed + her face, “Even so,” she said, with some pique, “I don’t suppose she had + so very many adorers. She never went out into the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Tankerton,” said the Duke drily, “is a large house, and my + great-great-grandfather was the most hospitable of men. However,” he + added, marvelling that she had again missed the point so utterly, “my + purpose was not to confront you with a past rival in conquest, but to set + at rest a fear which I had, I think, roused in you by my somewhat full + description of the high majestic life to which you, as my bride, would be + translated.” + </p> + <p> + “A fear? What sort of a fear?” + </p> + <p> + “That you would not breathe freely—that you would starve (if I may + use a somewhat fantastic figure) among those strawberry-leaves. And so I + told you the story of Meg Speedwell, and how she lived happily ever after. + Nay, hear me out! The blood of Meg Speedwell’s lord flows in my veins. I + think I may boast that I have inherited something of his sagacity. In any + case, I can profit by his example. Do not fear that I, if you were to wed + me, should demand a metamorphosis of your present self. I should take you + as you are, gladly. I should encourage you to be always exactly as you are—a + radiant, irresistible member of the upper middle-class, with a certain + freedom of manner acquired through a life of peculiar liberty. Can you + guess what would be my principal wedding-gift to you? Meg Speedwell had + her dairy. For you, would be built another outhouse—a neat hall + wherein you would perform your conjuring-tricks, every evening except + Sunday, before me and my tenants and my servants, and before such of my + neighbours as might care to come. None would respect you the less, seeing + that I approved. Thus in you would the pleasant history of Meg Speedwell + repeat itself. You, practising for your pleasure—nay, hear me out!—that + sweet and lowly handicraft which—” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t listen to another word!” cried Zuleika. “You are the most + insolent person I have ever met. I happen to come of a particularly good + family. I move in the best society. My manners are absolutely perfect. If + I found myself in the shoes of twenty Duchesses simultaneously, I should + know quite well how to behave. As for the one pair you can offer me, I + kick them away—so. I kick them back at you. I tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” said the Duke, “hush! You are over-excited. There will be a crowd + under my window. There, there! I am sorry. I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what you thought,” said Zuleika, in a quieter tone. “I am sure + you meant well. I am sorry I lost my temper. Only, you might have given me + credit for meaning what I said: that I would not marry you, because I did + not love you. I daresay there would be great advantages in being your + Duchess. But the fact is, I have no worldly wisdom. To me, marriage is a + sacrament. I could no more marry a man about whom I could not make a fool + of myself than I could marry one who made a fool of himself about me. Else + had I long ceased to be a spinster. Oh my friend, do not imagine that I + have not rejected, in my day, a score of suitors quite as eligible as + you.” + </p> + <p> + “As eligible? Who were they?” frowned the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Archduke this, and Grand Duke that, and His Serene Highness the + other. I have a wretched memory for names.” + </p> + <p> + “And my name, too, will soon escape you, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Oh, no. I shall always remember yours. You see, I was in love with + you. You deceived me into loving you...” She sighed. “Oh, had you but been + as strong as I thought you... Still, a swain the more. That is something.” + She leaned forward, smiling archly. “Those studs—show me them + again.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke displayed them in the hollow of his hand. She touched them + lightly, reverently, as a tourist touches a sacred relic in a church. + </p> + <p> + At length, “Do give me them,” she said. “I will keep them in a little + secret partition of my jewel-case.” The Duke had closed his fist. “Do!” + she pleaded. “My other jewels—they have no separate meanings for me. + I never remember who gave me this one or that. These would be quite + different. I should always remember their history... Do!” + </p> + <p> + “Ask me for anything else,” said the Duke. “These are the one thing I + could not part with—even to you, for whose sake they are hallowed.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika pouted. On the verge of persisting, she changed her mind, and was + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” she said abruptly, “how about these races? Are you going to take + me to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Races? What races?” murmured the Duke. “Oh yes. I had forgotten. Do you + really mean that you want to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course! They are great fun, aren’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “And you are in a mood for great fun? Well, there is plenty of time. The + Second Division is not rowed till half-past four.” + </p> + <p> + “The Second Division? Why not take me to the First?” + </p> + <p> + “That is not rowed till six.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this rather an odd arrangement?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. But Oxford never pretended to be strong in mathematics.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s not yet three!” cried Zuleika, with a woebegone stare at the + clock. “What is to be done in the meantime?” + </p> + <p> + “Am not I sufficiently diverting?” asked the Duke bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Quite candidly, no. Have you any friend lodging with you here?” + </p> + <p> + “One, overhead. A man named Noaks.” + </p> + <p> + “A small man, with spectacles?” + </p> + <p> + “Very small, with very large spectacles.” + </p> + <p> + “He was pointed out to me yesterday, as I was driving from the Station ... + No, I don’t think I want to meet him. What can you have in common with + him?” + </p> + <p> + “One frailty, at least: he, too, Miss Dobson, loves you.” + </p> + <p> + “But of course he does. He saw me drive past. Very few of the others,” she + said, rising and shaking herself, “have set eyes on me. Do let us go out + and look at the Colleges. I do need change of scene. If you were a doctor, + you would have prescribed that long ago. It is very bad for me to be here, + a kind of Cinderella, moping over the ashes of my love for you. Where is + your hat?” + </p> + <p> + Looking round, she caught sight of herself in the glass. “Oh,” she cried, + “what a fright I do look! I must never be seen like this!” + </p> + <p> + “You look very beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t. That is a lover’s illusion. You yourself told me that this + tartan was perfectly hideous. There was no need to tell me that. I came + thus because I was coming to see you. I chose this frock in the deliberate + fear that you, if I made myself presentable, might succumb at second sight + of me. I would have sent out for a sack and dressed myself in that, I + would have blacked my face all over with burnt cork, only I was afraid of + being mobbed on the way to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so, you would but have been mobbed for your incorrigible beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “My beauty! How I hate it!” sighed Zuleika. “Still, here it is, and I must + needs make the best of it. Come! Take me to Judas. I will change my + things. Then I shall be fit for the races.” + </p> + <p> + As these two emerged, side by side, into the street, the Emperors + exchanged stony sidelong glances. For they saw the more than normal pallor + of the Duke’s face, and something very like desperation in his eyes. They + saw the tragedy progressing to its foreseen close. Unable to stay its + course, they were grimly fascinated now. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with + their bones.” At any rate, the sinner has a better chance than the saint + of being hereafter remembered. We, in whom original sin preponderates, + find him easier to understand. He is near to us, clear to us. The saint is + remote, dim. A very great saint may, of course, be remembered through some + sheer force of originality in him; and then the very mystery that involves + him for us makes him the harder to forget: he haunts us the more surely + because we shall never understand him. But the ordinary saints grow faint + to posterity; whilst quite ordinary sinners pass vividly down the ages. + </p> + <p> + Of the disciples of Jesus, which is he that is most often remembered and + cited by us? Not the disciple whom Jesus loved; neither of the Boanerges, + nor any other of them who so steadfastly followed Him and served Him; but + the disciple who betrayed Him for thirty pieces of silver. Judas Iscariot + it is who outstands, overshadowing those other fishermen. And perhaps it + was by reason of this precedence that Christopher Whitrid, Knight, in the + reign of Henry VI., gave the name of Judas to the College which he had + founded. Or perhaps it was because he felt that in a Christian community + not even the meanest and basest of men should be accounted beneath + contempt, beyond redemption. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, thus he named his foundation. And, though for Oxford men the + savour of the name itself has long evaporated through its local connexion, + many things show that for the Founder himself it was no empty vocable. In + a niche above the gate stands a rudely carved statue of Judas, holding a + money-bag in his right hand. Among the original statutes of the College is + one by which the Bursar is enjoined to distribute in Passion Week thirty + pieces of silver among the needier scholars “for saike of atonynge.” The + meadow adjoining the back of the College has been called from time + immemorial “the Potter’s Field.” And the name of Salt Cellar is not less + ancient and significant. + </p> + <p> + Salt Cellar, that grey and green quadrangle visible from the room assigned + to Zuleika, is very beautiful, as I have said. So tranquil is it as to + seem remote not merely from the world, but even from Oxford, so deeply is + it hidden away in the core of Oxford’s heart. So tranquil is it, one would + guess that nothing had ever happened in it. For five centuries these walls + have stood, and during that time have beheld, one would say, no sight less + seemly than the good work of weeding, mowing, rolling, that has made, at + length, so exemplary the lawn. These cloisters that grace the south and + east sides—five centuries have passed through them, leaving in them + no echo, leaving on them no sign, of all that the outer world, for good or + evil, has been doing so fiercely, so raucously. + </p> + <p> + And yet, if you are versed in the antiquities of Oxford, you know that + this small, still quadrangle has played its part in the rough-and-tumble + of history, and has been the background of high passions and strange + fates. The sun-dial in its midst has told the hours to more than one + bygone King. Charles I. lay for twelve nights in Judas; and it was here, + in this very quadrangle, that he heard from the lips of a breathless and + blood-stained messenger the news of Chalgrove Field. Sixty years later, + James, his son, came hither, black with threats, and from one of the + hind-windows of the Warden’s house—maybe, from the very room where + now Zuleika was changing her frock—addressed the Fellows, and + presented to them the Papist by him chosen to be their Warden, instead of + the Protestant whom they had elected. They were not of so stern a stuff as + the Fellows of Magdalen, who, despite His Majesty’s menaces, had just + rejected Bishop Farmer. The Papist was elected, there and then, al fresco, + without dissent. Cannot one see them, these Fellows of Judas, huddled + together round the sun-dial, like so many sheep in a storm? The King’s + wrath, according to a contemporary record, was so appeased by their + pliancy that he deigned to lie for two nights in Judas, and at a grand + refection in Hall “was gracious and merrie.” Perhaps it was in lingering + gratitude for such patronage that Judas remained so pious to his memory + even after smug Herrenhausen had been dumped down on us for ever. + Certainly, of all the Colleges none was more ardent than Judas for James + Stuart. Thither it was that young Sir Harry Esson led, under cover of + night, three-score recruits whom he had enlisted in the surrounding + villages. The cloisters of Salt Cellar were piled with arms and stores; + and on its grass—its sacred grass!—the squad was incessantly + drilled, against the good day when Ormond should land his men in Devon. + For a whole month Salt Cellar was a secret camp. But somehow, at length—woe + to “lost causes and impossible loyalties”—Herrenhausen had wind of + it; and one night, when the soldiers of the white cockade lay snoring + beneath the stars, stealthily the white-faced Warden unbarred his postern—that + very postern through which now Zuleika had passed on the way to her + bedroom—and stealthily through it, one by one on tip-toe, came the + King’s foot-guards. Not many shots rang out, nor many swords clashed, in + the night air, before the trick was won for law and order. Most of the + rebels were overpowered in their sleep; and those who had time to snatch + arms were too dazed to make good resistance. Sir Harry Esson himself was + the only one who did not live to be hanged. He had sprung up alert, sword + in hand, at the first alarm, setting his back to the cloisters. There he + fought calmly, ferociously, till a bullet went through his chest. “By God, + this College is well-named!” were the words he uttered as he fell forward + and died. + </p> + <p> + Comparatively tame was the scene now being enacted in this place. The + Duke, with bowed head, was pacing the path between the lawn and the + cloisters. Two other undergraduates stood watching him, whispering to each + other, under the archway that leads to the Front Quadrangle. Presently, in + a sheepish way, they approached him. He halted and looked up. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” stammered the spokesman. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked the Duke. Both youths were slightly acquainted with him; but + he was not used to being spoken to by those whom he had not first + addressed. Moreover, he was loth to be thus disturbed in his sombre + reverie. His manner was not encouraging. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it a lovely day for the Eights?” faltered the spokesman. + </p> + <p> + “I conceive,” the Duke said, “that you hold back some other question.” + </p> + <p> + The spokesman smiled weakly. Nudged by the other, he muttered “Ask him + yourself!” + </p> + <p> + The Duke diverted his gaze to the other, who, with an angry look at the + one, cleared his throat, and said “I was going to ask if you thought Miss + Dobson would come and have luncheon with me to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “A sister of mine will be there,” explained the one, knowing the Duke to + be a precisian. + </p> + <p> + “If you are acquainted with Miss Dobson, a direct invitation should be + sent to her,” said the Duke. “If you are not—” The aposiopesis was + icy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” said the other of the two, “that is just the difficulty. + I AM acquainted with her. But is she acquainted with ME? I met her at + breakfast this morning, at the Warden’s.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I,” added the one. + </p> + <p> + “But she—well,” continued the other, “she didn’t take much notice of + us. She seemed to be in a sort of dream.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” murmured the Duke, with melancholy interest. + </p> + <p> + “The only time she opened her lips,” said the other, “was when she asked + us whether we took tea or coffee.” + </p> + <p> + “She put hot milk in my tea,” volunteered the one, “and upset the cup over + my hand, and smiled vaguely.” + </p> + <p> + “And smiled vaguely,” sighed the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “She left us long before the marmalade stage,” said the one. + </p> + <p> + “Without a word,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Without a glance?” asked the Duke. It was testified by the one and the + other that there had been not so much as a glance. + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless,” the disingenuous Duke said, “she had a headache... Was she + pale?” + </p> + <p> + “Very pale,” answered the one. + </p> + <p> + “A healthy pallor,” qualified the other, who was a constant reader of + novels. + </p> + <p> + “Did she look,” the Duke inquired, “as if she had spent a sleepless + night?” + </p> + <p> + That was the impression made on both. + </p> + <p> + “Yet she did not seem listless or unhappy?” + </p> + <p> + No, they would not go so far as to say that. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, were her eyes of an almost unnatural brilliance?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite unnatural,” confessed the one. + </p> + <p> + “Twin stars,” interpolated the other. + </p> + <p> + “Did she, in fact, seem to be consumed by some inward rapture?” + </p> + <p> + Yes, now they came to think of it, this was exactly how she HAD seemed. + </p> + <p> + It was sweet, it was bitter, for the Duke. “I remember,” Zuleika had said + to him, “nothing that happened to me this morning till I found myself at + your door.” It was bitter-sweet to have that outline filled in by these + artless pencils. No, it was only bitter, to be, at his time of life, + living in the past. + </p> + <p> + “The purpose of your tattle?” he asked coldly. + </p> + <p> + The two youths hurried to the point from which he had diverted them. “When + she went by with you just now,” said the one, “she evidently didn’t know + us from Adam.” + </p> + <p> + “And I had so hoped to ask her to luncheon,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we wondered if you would re-introduce us. And then perhaps...” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. The Duke was touched to kindness for these + fellow-lovers. He would fain preserve them from the anguish that beset + himself. So humanising is sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “You are in love with Miss Dobson?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Both nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said he, “you will in time be thankful to me for not affording you + further traffic with that lady. To love and be scorned—does Fate + hold for us a greater inconvenience? You think I beg the question? Let me + tell you that I, too, love Miss Dobson, and that she scorns me.” + </p> + <p> + To the implied question “What chance would there be for you?” the reply + was obvious. + </p> + <p> + Amazed, abashed, the two youths turned on their heels. + </p> + <p> + “Stay!” said the Duke. “Let me, in justice to myself, correct an inference + you may have drawn. It is not by reason of any defect in myself, perceived + or imagined, that Miss Dobson scorns me. She scorns me simply because I + love her. All who love her she scorns. To see her is to love her. + Therefore shut your eyes to her. Strictly exclude her from your horizon. + Ignore her. Will you do this?” + </p> + <p> + “We will try,” said the one, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” added the other. + </p> + <p> + The Duke watched them out of sight. He wished he could take the good + advice he had given them... Suppose he did take it! Suppose he went to the + Bursar, obtained an exeat, fled straight to London! What just humiliation + for Zuleika to come down and find her captive gone! He pictured her + staring around the quadrangle, ranging the cloisters, calling to him. He + pictured her rustling to the gate of the College, inquiring at the + porter’s lodge. “His Grace, Miss, he passed through a minute ago. He’s + going down this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, even while his fancy luxuriated in this scheme, he well knew that he + would not accomplish anything of the kind—knew well that he would + wait here humbly, eagerly, even though Zuleika lingered over her toilet + till crack o’ doom. He had no desire that was not centred in her. Take + away his love for her, and what remained? Nothing—though only in the + past twenty-four hours had this love been added to him. Ah, why had he + ever seen her? He thought of his past, its cold splendour and insouciance. + But he knew that for him there was no returning. His boats were burnt. The + Cytherean babes had set their torches to that flotilla, and it had blazed + like match-wood. On the isle of the enchantress he was stranded for ever. + For ever stranded on the isle of an enchantress who would have nothing to + do with him! What, he wondered, should be done in so piteous a quandary? + There seemed to be two courses. One was to pine slowly and painfully away. + The other... + </p> + <p> + Academically, the Duke had often reasoned that a man for whom life holds + no chance of happiness cannot too quickly shake life off. Now, of a + sudden, there was for that theory a vivid application. + </p> + <p> + “Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer” was not a point by which he, + “more an antique Roman than a Dane,” was at all troubled. Never had he + given ear to that cackle which is called Public Opinion. The judgment of + his peers—this, he had often told himself, was the sole arbitrage he + could submit to; but then, who was to be on the bench? Peerless, he was + irresponsible—the captain of his soul, the despot of his future. No + injunction but from himself would he bow to; and his own injunctions—so + little Danish was he—had always been peremptory and lucid. Lucid and + peremptory, now, the command he issued to himself. + </p> + <p> + “So sorry to have been so long,” carolled a voice from above. The Duke + looked up. “I’m all but ready,” said Zuleika at her window. + </p> + <p> + That brief apparition changed the colour of his resolve. He realised that + to die for love of this lady would be no mere measure of precaution, or + counsel of despair. It would be in itself a passionate indulgence—a + fiery rapture, not to be foregone. What better could he ask than to die + for his love? Poor indeed seemed to him now the sacrament of marriage + beside the sacrament of death. Death was incomparably the greater, the + finer soul. Death was the one true bridal. + </p> + <p> + He flung back his head, spread wide his arms, quickened his pace almost to + running speed. Ah, he would win his bride before the setting of the sun. + He knew not by what means he would win her. Enough that even now, + full-hearted, fleet-footed, he was on his way to her, and that she heard + him coming. + </p> + <p> + When Zuleika, a vision in vaporous white, came out through the postern, + she wondered why he was walking at so remarkable a pace. To him, wildly + expressing in his movement the thought within him, she appeared as his + awful bride. With a cry of joy, he bounded towards her, and would have + caught her in his arms, had she not stepped nimbly aside. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me!” he said, after a pause. “It was a mistake—an idiotic + mistake of identity. I thought you were...” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika, rigid, asked “Have I many doubles?” + </p> + <p> + “You know well that in all the world is none so blest as to be like you. I + can only say that I was over-wrought. I can only say that it shall not + occur again.” + </p> + <p> + She was very angry indeed. Of his penitence there could be no doubt. But + there are outrages for which no penitence can atone. This seemed to be one + of them. Her first impulse was to dismiss the Duke forthwith and for ever. + But she wanted to show herself at the races. And she could not go alone. + And except the Duke there was no one to take her. True, there was the + concert to-night; and she could show herself there to advantage; but she + wanted ALL Oxford to see her—see her NOW. + </p> + <p> + “I am forgiven?” he asked. In her, I am afraid, self-respect outweighed + charity. “I will try,” she said merely, “to forget what you have done.” + Motioning him to her side, she opened her parasol, and signified her + readiness to start. + </p> + <p> + They passed together across the vast gravelled expanse of the Front + Quadrangle. In the porch of the College there were, as usual, some + chained-up dogs, patiently awaiting their masters. Zuleika, of course, did + not care for dogs. One has never known a good man to whom dogs were not + dear; but many of the best women have no such fondness. You will find that + the woman who is really kind to dogs is always one who has failed to + inspire sympathy in men. For the attractive woman, dogs are mere dumb and + restless brutes—possibly dangerous, certainly soulless. Yet will + coquetry teach her to caress any dog in the presence of a man enslaved by + her. Even Zuleika, it seems, was not above this rather obvious device for + awaking envy. Be sure she did not at all like the look of the very big + bulldog who was squatting outside the porter’s lodge. Perhaps, but for her + present anger, she would not have stooped endearingly down to him, as she + did, cooing over him and trying to pat his head. Alas, her pretty act was + a failure. The bulldog cowered away from her, horrifically grimacing. This + was strange. Like the majority of his breed, Corker (for such was his + name) had ever been wistful to be noticed by any one—effusively + grateful for every word or pat, an ever-ready wagger and nuzzler, to none + ineffable. No beggar, no burglar, had ever been rebuffed by this catholic + beast. But he drew the line at Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + Seldom is even a fierce bulldog heard to growl. Yet Corker growled at + Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + The Duke did not try to break the stony silence in which Zuleika walked. + Her displeasure was a luxury to him, for it was so soon to be dispelled. A + little while, and she would be hating herself for her pettiness. Here was + he, going to die for her; and here was she, blaming him for a breach of + manners. Decidedly, the slave had the whip-hand. He stole a sidelong look + at her, and could not repress a smile. His features quickly composed + themselves. The Triumph of Death must not be handled as a cheap score. He + wanted to die because he would thereby so poignantly consummate his love, + express it so completely, once and for all... And she—who could say + that she, knowing what he had done, might not, illogically, come to love + him? Perhaps she would devote her life to mourning him. He saw her bending + over his tomb, in beautiful humble curves, under a starless sky, watering + the violets with her tears. + </p> + <p> + Shades of Novalis and Friedrich Schlegel and other despicable maunderers! + He brushed them aside. He would be practical. The point was, when and how + to die? Time: the sooner the better. Manner:.. less easy to determine. He + must not die horribly, nor without dignity. The manner of the Roman + philosophers? But the only kind of bath which an undergraduate can command + is a hip-bath. Stay! there was the river. Drowning (he had often heard) + was a rather pleasant sensation. And to the river he was even now on his + way. + </p> + <p> + It troubled him that he could swim. Twice, indeed, from his yacht, he had + swum the Hellespont. And how about the animal instinct of + self-preservation, strong even in despair? No matter! His soul’s set + purpose would subdue that. The law of gravitation that brings one to the + surface? There his very skill in swimming would help him. He would swim + under water, along the river-bed, swim till he found weeds to cling to, + weird strong weeds that he would coil round him, exulting faintly... + </p> + <p> + As they turned into Radcliffe Square, the Duke’s ear caught the sound of a + far-distant gun. He started, and looked up at the clock of St. Mary’s. + Half-past four! The boats had started. + </p> + <p> + He had heard that whenever a woman was to blame for a disappointment, the + best way to avoid a scene was to inculpate oneself. He did not wish + Zuleika to store up yet more material for penitence. And so “I am sorry,” + he said. “That gun—did you hear it? It was the signal for the race. + I shall never forgive myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we shan’t see the race at all?” cried Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “It will be over, alas, before we are near the river. All the people will + be coming back through the meadows.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us meet them.” + </p> + <p> + “Meet a torrent? Let us have tea in my rooms and go down quietly for the + other Division.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go straight on.” + </p> + <p> + Through the square, across the High, down Grove Street, they passed. The + Duke looked up at the tower of Merton, “os oupot authis alla nyn + paunstaton.” Strange that to-night it would still be standing here, in all + its sober and solid beauty—still be gazing, over the roofs and + chimneys, at the tower of Magdalen, its rightful bride. Through untold + centuries of the future it would stand thus, gaze thus. He winced. Oxford + walls have a way of belittling us; and the Duke was loth to regard his + doom as trivial. + </p> + <p> + Aye, by all minerals we are mocked. Vegetables, yearly deciduous, are far + more sympathetic. The lilac and laburnum, making lovely now the railed + pathway to Christ Church meadow, were all a-swaying and a-nodding to the + Duke as he passed by. “Adieu, adieu, your Grace,” they were whispering. + “We are very sorry for you—very sorry indeed. We never dared suppose + you would predecease us. We think your death a very great tragedy. Adieu! + Perhaps we shall meet in another world—that is, if the members of + the animal kingdom have immortal souls, as we have.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke was little versed in their language; yet, as he passed between + these gently garrulous blooms, he caught at least the drift of their + salutation, and smiled a vague but courteous acknowledgment, to the right + and the left alternately, creating a very favourable impression. + </p> + <p> + No doubt, the young elms lining the straight way to the barges had seen + him coming; but any whispers of their leaves were lost in the murmur of + the crowd returning from the race. Here, at length, came the torrent of + which the Duke had spoken; and Zuleika’s heart rose at it. Here was + Oxford! From side to side the avenue was filled with a dense procession of + youths—youths interspersed with maidens whose parasols were as + flotsam and jetsam on a seething current of straw hats. Zuleika neither + quickened nor slackened her advance. But brightlier and brightlier shone + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The vanguard of the procession was pausing now, swaying, breaking at sight + of her. She passed, imperial, through the way cloven for her. All a-down + the avenue, the throng parted as though some great invisible comb were + being drawn through it. The few youths who had already seen Zuleika, and + by whom her beauty had been bruited throughout the University, were lost + in a new wonder, so incomparably fairer was she than the remembered + vision. And the rest hardly recognised her from the descriptions, so + incomparably fairer was the reality than the hope. + </p> + <p> + She passed among them. None questioned the worthiness of her escort. Could + I give you better proof the awe in which our Duke was held? Any man is + glad to be seen escorting a very pretty woman. He thinks it adds to his + prestige. Whereas, in point of fact, his fellow-men are saying merely + “Who’s that appalling fellow with her?” or “Why does she go about with + that ass So-and-So?” Such cavil may in part be envy. But it is a fact that + no man, howsoever graced, can shine in juxtaposition to a very pretty + woman. The Duke himself cut a poor figure beside Zuleika. Yet not one of + all the undergraduates felt she could have made a wiser choice. + </p> + <p> + She swept among them. Her own intrinsic radiance was not all that flashed + from her. She was a moving reflector and refractor of all the rays of all + the eyes that mankind had turned on her. Her mien told the story of her + days. Bright eyes, light feet—she trod erect from a vista whose + glare was dazzling to all beholders. She swept among them, a miracle, + overwhelming, breath-bereaving. Nothing at all like her had ever been seen + in Oxford. + </p> + <p> + Mainly architectural, the beauties of Oxford. True, the place is no longer + one-sexed. There are the virguncules of Somerville and Lady Margaret’s + Hall; but beauty and the lust for learning have yet to be allied. There + are the innumerable wives and daughters around the Parks, running in and + out of their little red-brick villas; but the indignant shade of celibacy + seems to have called down on the dons a Nemesis which precludes them from + either marrying beauty or begetting it. (From the Warden’s son, that + unhappy curate, Zuleika inherited no tittle of her charm. Some of it, + there is no doubt, she did inherit from the circus-rider who was her + mother.) + </p> + <p> + But the casual feminine visitors? Well, the sisters and cousins of an + undergraduate seldom seem more passable to his comrades than to himself. + Altogether, the instinct of sex is not pandered to in Oxford. It is not, + however, as it may once have been, dormant. The modern importation of + samples of femininity serves to keep it alert, though not to gratify it. A + like result is achieved by another modern development—photography. + The undergraduate may, and usually does, surround himself with photographs + of pretty ladies known to the public. A phantom harem! Yet the houris have + an effect on their sultan. Surrounded both by plain women of flesh and + blood and by beauteous women on pasteboard, the undergraduate is the + easiest victim of living loveliness—is as a fire ever well and truly + laid, amenable to a spark. And if the spark be such a flaring torch as + Zuleika?—marvel not, reader, at the conflagration. + </p> + <p> + Not only was the whole throng of youths drawing asunder before her: much + of it, as she passed, was forming up in her wake. Thus, with the + confluence of two masses—one coming away from the river, the other + returning to it—chaos seethed around her and the Duke before they + were half-way along the avenue. Behind them, and on either side of them, + the people were crushed inextricably together, swaying and surging this + way and that. “Help!” cried many a shrill feminine voice. “Don’t push!” + “Let me out!” “You brute!” “Save me, save me!” Many ladies fainted, whilst + their escorts, supporting them and protecting them as best they could, + peered over the heads of their fellows for one glimpse of the divine Miss + Dobson. Yet for her and the Duke, in the midst of the terrific compress, + there was space enough. In front of them, as by a miracle of deference, a + way still cleared itself. They reached the end of the avenue without a + pause in their measured progress. Nor even when they turned to the left, + along the rather narrow path beside the barges, was there any obstacle to + their advance. Passing evenly forward, they alone were cool, unhustled, + undishevelled. + </p> + <p> + The Duke was so rapt in his private thoughts that he was hardly conscious + of the strange scene. And as for Zuleika, she, as well she might be, was + in the very best of good humours. + </p> + <p> + “What a lot of house-boats!” she exclaimed. “Are you going to take me on + to one of them?” + </p> + <p> + The Duke started. Already they were alongside the Judas barge. “Here,” he + said, “is our goal.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped through the gate of the railings, out upon the plank, and + offered her his hand. + </p> + <p> + She looked back. The young men in the vanguard were crushing their + shoulders against the row behind them, to stay the oncoming host. She had + half a mind to go back through the midst of them; but she really did want + her tea, and she followed the Duke on to the barge, and under his auspices + climbed the steps to the roof. + </p> + <p> + It looked very cool and gay, this roof, under its awning of red and white + stripes. Nests of red and white flowers depended along either side of it. + Zuleika moved to the side which commanded a view of the bank. She leaned + her arms on the balustrade, and gazed down. + </p> + <p> + The crowd stretched as far as she could see—a vista of faces + upturned to her. Suddenly it hove forward. Its vanguard was swept + irresistibly past the barge—swept by the desire of the rest to see + her at closer quarters. Such was the impetus that the vision for each man + was but a lightning-flash: he was whirled past, struggling, almost before + his brain took the message of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Those who were Judas men made frantic efforts to board the barge, trying + to hurl themselves through the gate in the railings; but they were swept + vainly on. + </p> + <p> + Presently the torrent began to slacken, became a mere river, a mere + procession of youths staring up rather shyly. + </p> + <p> + Before the last stragglers had marched by, Zuleika moved away to the other + side of the roof, and, after a glance at the sunlit river, sank into one + of the wicker chairs, and asked the Duke to look less disagreeable and to + give her some tea. + </p> + <p> + Among others hovering near the little buffet were the two youths whose + parley with the Duke I have recorded. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika was aware of the special persistence of their gaze. When the Duke + came back with her cup, she asked him who they were. He replied, + truthfully enough, that their names were unknown to him. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she said, “ask them their names, and introduce them to me.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Duke, sinking into the chair beside her. “That I shall not + do. I am your victim: not your pander. Those two men stand on the + threshold of a possibly useful and agreeable career. I am not going to + trip them up for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure,” said Zuleika, “that you are very polite. Certainly you + are foolish. It is natural for boys to fall in love. If these two are in + love with me, why not let them talk to me? It were an experience on which + they would always look back with romantic pleasure. They may never see me + again. Why grudge them this little thing?” She sipped her tea. “As for + tripping them up on a threshold—that is all nonsense. What harm has + unrequited love ever done to anybody?” She laughed. “Look at ME! When I + came to your rooms this morning, thinking I loved in vain, did I seem one + jot the worse for it? Did I look different?” + </p> + <p> + “You looked, I am bound to say, nobler, more spiritual.” + </p> + <p> + “More spiritual?” she exclaimed. “Do you mean I looked tired or ill?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you seemed quite fresh. But then, you are singular. You are no + criterion.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you can’t judge those two young men by me? Well, I am only a + woman, of course. I have heard of women, no longer young, wasting away + because no man loved them. I have often heard of a young woman fretting + because some particular young man didn’t love her. But I never heard of + her wasting away. Certainly a young man doesn’t waste away for love of + some particular young woman. He very soon makes love to some other one. If + his be an ardent nature, the quicker his transition. All the most ardent + of my past adorers have married. Will you put my cup down, please?” + </p> + <p> + “Past?” echoed the Duke, as he placed her cup on the floor. “Have any of + your lovers ceased to love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah no, no; not in retrospect. I remain their ideal, and all that, of + course. They cherish the thought of me. They see the world in terms of me. + But I am an inspiration, not an obsession; a glow, not a blight.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t believe in the love that corrodes, the love that ruins?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” laughed Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “You have never dipped into the Greek pastoral poets, nor sampled the + Elizabethan sonneteers?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never. You will think me lamentably crude: my experience of life has + been drawn from life itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet often you talk as though you had read rather much. Your way of speech + has what is called ‘the literary flavour’.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is an unfortunate trick which I caught from a writer, a Mr. + Beerbohm, who once sat next to me at dinner somewhere. I can’t break + myself of it. I assure you I hardly ever open a book. Of life, though, my + experience has been very wide. Brief? But I suppose the soul of man during + the past two or three years has been much as it was in the reign of Queen + Elizabeth and of—whoever it was that reigned over the Greek + pastures. And I daresay the modern poets are making the same old silly + distortions. But forgive me,” she added gently, “perhaps you yourself are + a poet?” + </p> + <p> + “Only since yesterday,” answered the Duke (not less unfairly to himself + than to Roger Newdigate and Thomas Gaisford). And he felt he was + especially a dramatic poet. All the while that she had been sitting by him + here, talking so glibly, looking so straight into his eyes, flashing at + him so many pretty gestures, it was the sense of tragic irony that + prevailed in him—that sense which had stirred in him, and been + repressed, on the way from Judas. He knew that she was making her effect + consciously for the other young men by whom the roof of the barge was now + thronged. Him alone she seemed to observe. By her manner, she might have + seemed to be making love to him. He envied the men she was so deliberately + making envious—the men whom, in her undertone to him, she was really + addressing. But he did take comfort in the irony. Though she used him as a + stalking-horse, he, after all, was playing with her as a cat plays with a + mouse. While she chattered on, without an inkling that he was no ordinary + lover, and coaxing him to present two quite ordinary young men to her, he + held over her the revelation that he for love of her was about to die. + </p> + <p> + And, while he drank in the radiance of her beauty, he heard her chattering + on. “So you see,” she was saying, “it couldn’t do those young men any + harm. Suppose unrequited love IS anguish: isn’t the discipline wholesome? + Suppose I AM a sort of furnace: shan’t I purge, refine, temper? Those two + boys are but scorched from here. That is horrid; and what good will it do + them?” She laid a hand on his arm. “Cast them into the furnace for their + own sake, dear Duke! Or cast one of them, or,” she added, glancing round + at the throng, “any one of these others!” + </p> + <p> + “For their own sake?” he echoed, withdrawing his arm. “If you were not, as + the whole world knows you to be, perfectly respectable, there might be + something in what you say. But as it is, you can but be an engine for + mischief; and your sophistries leave me unmoved. I shall certainly keep + you to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate you,” said Zuleika, with an ugly petulance that crowned the irony. + </p> + <p> + “So long as I live,” uttered the Duke, in a level voice, “you will address + no man but me.” + </p> + <p> + “If your prophecy is to be fulfilled,” laughed Zuleika, rising from her + chair, “your last moment is at hand.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he answered, rising too. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she asked, awed by something in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “I mean what I say: that my last moment is at hand.” He withdrew his eyes + from hers, and, leaning his elbows on the balustrade, gazed thoughtfully + at the river. “When I am dead,” he added, over his shoulder, “you will + find these fellows rather coy of your advances.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time since his avowal of his love for her, Zuleika found + herself genuinely interested in him. A suspicion of his meaning had + flashed through her soul.—But no! surely he could not mean THAT! It + must have been a metaphor merely. And yet, something in his eyes... She + leaned beside him. Her shoulder touched his. She gazed questioningly at + him. He did not turn his face to her. He gazed at the sunlit river. + </p> + <p> + The Judas Eight had just embarked for their voyage to the starting-point. + Standing on the edge of the raft that makes a floating platform for the + barge, William, the hoary bargee, was pushing them off with his boat-hook, + wishing them luck with deferential familiarity. The raft was thronged with + Old Judasians—mostly clergymen—who were shouting hearty + hortations, and evidently trying not to appear so old as they felt—or + rather, not to appear so startlingly old as their contemporaries looked to + them. It occurred to the Duke as a strange thing, and a thing to be glad + of, that he, in this world, would never be an Old Judasian. Zuleika’s + shoulder pressed his. He thrilled not at all. To all intents, he was dead + already. + </p> + <p> + The enormous eight young men in the thread-like skiff—the skiff that + would scarce have seemed an adequate vehicle for the tiny “cox” who sat + facing them—were staring up at Zuleika with that uniformity of + impulse which, in another direction, had enabled them to bump a boat on + two of the previous “nights.” If to-night they bumped the next boat, + Univ., then would Judas be three places “up” on the river; and to-morrow + Judas would have a Bump Supper. Furthermore, if Univ. were bumped + to-night, Magdalen might be bumped to-morrow. Then would Judas, for the + first time in history, be head of the river. Oh tremulous hope! Yet, for + the moment, these eight young men seemed to have forgotten the awful + responsibility that rested on their over-developed shoulders. Their + hearts, already strained by rowing, had been transfixed this afternoon by + Eros’ darts. All of them had seen Zuleika as she came down to the river; + and now they sat gaping up at her, fumbling with their oars. The tiny cox + gaped too; but he it was who first recalled duty. With piping adjurations + he brought the giants back to their senses. The boat moved away down + stream, with a fairly steady stroke. + </p> + <p> + Not in a day can the traditions of Oxford be sent spinning. From all the + barges the usual punt-loads of young men were being ferried across to the + towing-path—young men naked of knee, armed with rattles, post-horns, + motor-hooters, gongs, and other instruments of clangour. Though Zuleika + filled their thoughts, they hurried along the towing-path, as by custom, + to the starting-point. + </p> + <p> + She, meanwhile, had not taken her eyes off the Duke’s profile. Nor had she + dared, for fear of disappointment, to ask him just what he had meant. + </p> + <p> + “All these men,” he repeated dreamily, “will be coy of your advances.” It + seemed to him a good thing that his death, his awful example, would + disinfatuate his fellow alumni. He had never been conscious of public + spirit. He had lived for himself alone. Love had come to him yesternight, + and to-day had waked in him a sympathy with mankind. It was a fine thing + to be a saviour. It was splendid to be human. He looked quickly round to + her who had wrought this change in him. + </p> + <p> + But the loveliest face in all the world will not please you if you see it + suddenly, eye to eye, at a distance of half an inch from your own. It was + thus that the Duke saw Zuleika’s: a monstrous deliquium a-glare. Only for + the fraction of an instant, though. Recoiling, he beheld the loveliness + that he knew—more adorably vivid now in its look of eager + questioning. And in his every fibre he thrilled to her. Even so had she + gazed at him last night, this morning. Aye, now as then, her soul was full + of him. He had recaptured, not her love, but his power to please her. It + was enough. He bowed his head; and “Moriturus te saluto” were the words + formed silently by his lips. He was glad that his death would be a public + service to the University. But the salutary lesson of what the newspapers + would call his “rash act” was, after all, only a side-issue. The great + thing, the prospect that flushed his cheek, was the consummation of his + own love, for its own sake, by his own death. And, as he met her gaze, the + question that had already flitted through his brain found a faltering + utterance; and “Shall you mourn me?” he asked her. + </p> + <p> + But she would have no ellipses. “What are you going to do?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Once and for all: you cannot love me?” + </p> + <p> + Slowly she shook her head. The black pearl and the pink, quivering, gave + stress to her ultimatum. But the violet of her eyes was all but hidden by + the dilation of her pupils. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” whispered the Duke, “when I shall have died, deeming life a vain + thing without you, will the gods give you tears for me? Miss Dobson, will + your soul awaken? When I shall have sunk for ever beneath these waters + whose supposed purpose here this afternoon is but that they be ploughed by + the blades of these young oarsmen, will there be struck from that flint, + your heart, some late and momentary spark of pity for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why of course, of COURSE!” babbled Zuleika, with clasped hands and + dazzling eyes. “But,” she curbed herself, “it is—it would—oh, + you mustn’t THINK of it! I couldn’t allow it! I—I should never + forgive myself!” + </p> + <p> + “In fact, you would mourn me always?” + </p> + <p> + “Why yes!.. Y-es-always.” What else could she say? But would his answer be + that he dared not condemn her to lifelong torment? + </p> + <p> + “Then,” his answer was, “my joy in dying for you is made perfect.” + </p> + <p> + Her muscles relaxed. Her breath escaped between her teeth. “You are + utterly resolved?” she asked. “Are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Utterly.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing I might say could change your purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No entreaty, howsoever piteous, could move you?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + Forthwith she urged, entreated, cajoled, commanded, with infinite + prettiness of ingenuity and of eloquence. Never was such a cascade of + dissuasion as hers. She only didn’t say she could love him. She never + hinted that. Indeed, throughout her pleading rang this recurrent motif: + that he must live to take to himself as mate some good, serious, clever + woman who would be a not unworthy mother of his children. + </p> + <p> + She laid stress on his youth, his great position, his brilliant + attainments, the much he had already achieved, the splendid possibilities + of his future. Though of course she spoke in undertones, not to be + overheard by the throng on the barge, it was almost as though his health + were being floridly proposed at some public banquet—say, at a + Tenants’ Dinner. Insomuch that, when she ceased, the Duke half expected + Jellings, his steward, to bob up uttering, with lifted hands, a stentorian + “For-or,” and all the company to take up the chant: “he’s—a jolly + good fellow.” His brief reply, on those occasions, seemed always to + indicate that, whatever else he might be, a jolly good fellow he was not. + But by Zuleika’s eulogy he really was touched. “Thank you—thank + you,” he gasped; and there were tears in his eyes. Dear the thought that + she so revered him, so wished him not to die. But this was no more than a + rush-light in the austere radiance of his joy in dying for her. + </p> + <p> + And the time was come. Now for the sacrament of his immersion in infinity. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he said simply, and was about to swing himself on to the ledge + of the balustrade. Zuleika, divining his intention, made way for him. Her + bosom heaved quickly, quickly. All colour had left her face; but her eyes + shone as never before. + </p> + <p> + Already his foot was on the ledge, when hark! the sound of a distant gun. + To Zuleika, with all the chords of her soul strung to the utmost tensity, + the effect was as if she herself had been shot; and she clutched at the + Duke’s arm, like a frightened child. He laughed. “It was the signal for + the race,” he said, and laughed again, rather bitterly, at the crude and + trivial interruption of high matters. + </p> + <p> + “The race?” She laughed hysterically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. ‘They’re off’.” He mingled his laughter with hers, gently seeking to + disengage his arm. “And perhaps,” he said, “I, clinging to the weeds of + the river’s bed, shall see dimly the boats and the oars pass over me, and + shall be able to gurgle a cheer for Judas.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t!” she shuddered, with a woman’s notion that a jest means levity. A + tumult of thoughts surged in her, all confused. She only knew that he must + not die—not yet! A moment ago, his death would have been beautiful. + Not now! Her grip of his arm tightened. Only by breaking her wrist could + he have freed himself. A moment ago, she had been in the seventh-heaven... + Men were supposed to have died for love of her. It had never been proved. + There had always been something—card-debts, ill-health, what not—to + account for the tragedy. No man, to the best of her recollection, had ever + hinted that he was going to die for her. Never, assuredly, had she seen + the deed done. And then came he, the first man she had loved, going to die + here, before her eyes, because she no longer loved him. But she knew now + that he must not die—not yet! + </p> + <p> + All around her was the hush that falls on Oxford when the signal for the + race has sounded. In the distance could be heard faintly the noise of + cheering—a little sing-song sound, drawing nearer. + </p> + <p> + Ah, how could she have thought of letting him die so soon? She gazed into + his face—the face she might never have seen again. Even now, but for + that gun-shot, the waters would have closed over him, and his soul, maybe, + have passed away. She had saved him, thank heaven! She had him still with + her. + </p> + <p> + Gently, vainly, he still sought to unclasp her fingers from his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Not now!” she whispered. “Not yet!” + </p> + <p> + And the noise of the cheering, and of the trumpeting and rattling, as it + drew near, was an accompaniment to her joy in having saved her lover. She + would keep him with her—for a while! Let all be done in order. She + would savour the full sweetness of his sacrifice. Tomorrow—to-morrow, + yes, let him have his heart’s desire of death. Not now! Not yet! + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” she whispered, “to-morrow, if you will. Not yet!” + </p> + <p> + The first boat came jerking past in mid-stream; and the towing-path, with + its serried throng of runners, was like a live thing, keeping pace. As in + a dream, Zuleika saw it. And the din was in her ears. No heroine of Wagner + had ever a louder accompaniment than had ours to the surging soul within + her bosom. + </p> + <p> + And the Duke, tightly held by her, vibrated as to a powerful electric + current. He let her cling to him, and her magnetism range through him. Ah, + it was good not to have died! Fool, he had meant to drain off-hand, at one + coarse draught, the delicate wine of death. He would let his lips caress + the brim of the august goblet. He would dally with the aroma that was + there. + </p> + <p> + “So be it!” he cried into Zuleika’s ear—cried loudly, for it seemed + as though all the Wagnerian orchestras of Europe, with the Straussian ones + thrown in, were here to clash in unison the full volume of right music for + the glory of the reprieve. + </p> + <p> + The fact was that the Judas boat had just bumped Univ., exactly opposite + the Judas barge. The oarsmen in either boat sat humped, panting, some of + them rocking and writhing, after their wholesome exercise. But there was + not one of them whose eyes were not upcast at Zuleika. And the + vocalisation and instrumentation of the dancers and stampers on the + towing-path had by this time ceased to mean aught of joy in the victors or + of comfort for the vanquished, and had resolved itself into a wild + wordless hymn to the glory of Miss Dobson. Behind her and all around her + on the roof of the barge, young Judasians were venting in like manner + their hearts through their lungs. She paid no heed. It was as if she stood + alone with her lover on some silent pinnacle of the world. It was as if + she were a little girl with a brand-new and very expensive doll which had + banished all the little other old toys from her mind. + </p> + <p> + She simply could not, in her naive rapture, take her eyes off her + companion. To the dancers and stampers of the towing-path, many of whom + were now being ferried back across the river, and to the other youths on + the roof of the barge, Zuleika’s air of absorption must have seemed a + little strange. For already the news that the Duke loved Zuleika, and that + she loved him not, and would stoop to no man who loved her, had spread + like wild-fire among the undergraduates. The two youths in whom the Duke + had deigned to confide had not held their peace. And the effect that + Zuleika had made as she came down to the river was intensified by the + knowledge that not the great paragon himself did she deem worthy of her. + The mere sight of her had captured young Oxford. The news of her supernal + haughtiness had riveted the chains. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” said the Duke at length, staring around him with the eyes of one + awakened from a dream. “Come! I must take you back to Judas.” + </p> + <p> + “But you won’t leave me there?” pleaded Zuleika. “You will stay to dinner? + I am sure my grandfather would be delighted.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure he would,” said the Duke, as he piloted her down the steps of + the barge. “But alas, I have to dine at the Junta to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “The Junta? What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “A little dining-club. It meets every Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + “But—you don’t mean you are going to refuse me for that?” + </p> + <p> + “To do so is misery. But I have no choice. I have asked a guest.” + </p> + <p> + “Then ask another: ask me!” Zuleika’s notions of Oxford life were rather + hazy. It was with difficulty that the Duke made her realise that he could + not—not even if, as she suggested, she dressed herself up as a man—invite + her to the Junta. She then fell back on the impossibility that he would + not dine with her to-night, his last night in this world. She could not + understand that admirable fidelity to social engagements which is one of + the virtues implanted in the members of our aristocracy. Bohemian by + training and by career, she construed the Duke’s refusal as either a cruel + slight to herself or an act of imbecility. The thought of being parted + from her for one moment was torture to him; but “noblesse oblige,” and it + was quite impossible for him to break an engagement merely because a more + charming one offered itself: he would as soon have cheated at cards. + </p> + <p> + And so, as they went side by side up the avenue, in the mellow light of + the westering sun, preceded in their course, and pursued, and surrounded, + by the mob of hoarse infatuate youths, Zuleika’s face was as that of a + little girl sulking. Vainly the Duke reasoned with her. She could NOT see + the point of view. + </p> + <p> + With that sudden softening that comes to the face of an angry woman who + has hit on a good argument, she turned to him and asked “How if I hadn’t + saved your life just now? Much you thought about your guest when you were + going to dive and die!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not forget him,” answered the Duke, smiling at her casuistry. “Nor + had I any scruple in disappointing him. Death cancels all engagements.” + </p> + <p> + And Zuleika, worsted, resumed her sulking. But presently, as they neared + Judas, she relented. It was paltry to be cross with him who had resolved + to die for her and was going to die so on the morrow. And after all, she + would see him at the concert to-night. They would sit together. And all + to-morrow they would be together, till the time came for parting. Hers was + a naturally sunny disposition. And the evening was such a lovely one, all + bathed in gold. She was ashamed of her ill-humour. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” she said, touching his arm. “Forgive me for being horrid.” + And forgiven she promptly was. “And promise you will spend all to-morrow + with me.” And of course he promised. + </p> + <p> + As they stood together on the steps of the Warden’s front-door, exalted + above the level of the flushed and swaying crowd that filled the whole + length and breadth of Judas Street, she implored him not to be late for + the concert. + </p> + <p> + “I am never late,” he smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you’re so beautifully brought up!” + </p> + <p> + The door was opened. + </p> + <p> + “And—oh, you’re beautiful besides!” she whispered; and waved her + hand to him as she vanished into the hall. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + A few minutes before half-past seven, the Duke, arrayed for dinner, passed + leisurely up the High. The arresting feature of his costume was a + mulberry-coloured coat, with brass buttons. This, to any one versed in + Oxford lore, betokened him a member of the Junta. It is awful to think + that a casual stranger might have mistaken him for a footman. It does not + do to think of such things. + </p> + <p> + The tradesmen, at the doors of their shops, bowed low as he passed, + rubbing their hands and smiling, hoping inwardly that they took no liberty + in sharing the cool rosy air of the evening with his Grace. They noted + that he wore in his shirt-front a black pearl and a pink. “Daring, but + becoming,” they opined. + </p> + <p> + The rooms of the Junta were over a stationer’s shop, next door but one to + the Mitre. They were small rooms; but as the Junta had now, besides the + Duke, only two members, and as no member might introduce more than one + guest, there was ample space. + </p> + <p> + The Duke had been elected in his second term. At that time there were four + members; but these were all leaving Oxford at the end of the summer term, + and there seemed to be in the ranks of the Bullingdon and the Loder no one + quite eligible for the Junta, that holy of holies. Thus it was that the + Duke inaugurated in solitude his second year of membership. From time to + time, he proposed and seconded a few candidates, after “sounding” them as + to whether they were willing to join. But always, when election evening—the + last Tuesday of term—drew near, he began to have his doubts about + these fellows. This one was “rowdy”; that one was over-dressed; another + did not ride quite straight to hounds; in the pedigree of another a + bar-sinister was more than suspected. Election evening was always a rather + melancholy time. After dinner, when the two club servants had placed on + the mahogany the time-worn Candidates’ Book and the ballot-box, and had + noiselessly withdrawn, the Duke, clearing his throat, read aloud to + himself “Mr. So-and-So, of Such-and-Such College, proposed by the Duke of + Dorset, seconded by the Duke of Dorset,” and, in every case, when he drew + out the drawer of the ballot-box, found it was a black-ball that he had + dropped into the urn. Thus it was that at the end of the summer term the + annual photographic “group” taken by Messrs. Hills and Saunders was a + presentment of the Duke alone. + </p> + <p> + In the course of his third year he had become less exclusive. Not because + there seemed to be any one really worthy of the Junta; but because the + Junta, having thriven since the eighteenth century, must not die. Suppose—one + never knew—he were struck by lightning, the Junta would be no more. + So, not without reluctance, but unanimously, he had elected The MacQuern, + of Balliol, and Sir John Marraby, of Brasenose. + </p> + <p> + To-night, as he, a doomed man, went up into the familiar rooms, he was + wholly glad that he had thus relented. As yet, he was spared the tragic + knowledge that it would make no difference.* + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * The Junta has been reconstituted. But the apostolic line was + broken, the thread was snapped; the old magic is fled. +</pre> + <p> + The MacQuern and two other young men were already there. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. President,” said The MacQuern, “I present Mr. Trent-Garby, of Christ + Church.” + </p> + <p> + “The Junta is honoured,” said the Duke, bowing. + </p> + <p> + Such was the ritual of the club. + </p> + <p> + The other young man, because his host, Sir John Marraby, was not yet on + the scene, had no locus standi, and, though a friend of The MacQuern, and + well known to the Duke, had to be ignored. + </p> + <p> + A moment later, Sir John arrived. “Mr. President,” he said, “I present + Lord Sayes, of Magdalen.” + </p> + <p> + “The Junta is honoured,” said the Duke, bowing. + </p> + <p> + Both hosts and both guests, having been prominent in the throng that + vociferated around Zuleika an hour earlier, were slightly abashed in the + Duke’s presence. He, however, had not noticed any one in particular, and, + even if he had, that fine tradition of the club—“A member of the + Junta can do no wrong; a guest of the Junta cannot err”—would have + prevented him from showing his displeasure. + </p> + <p> + A Herculean figure filled the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “The Junta is honoured,” said the Duke, bowing to his guest. + </p> + <p> + “Duke,” said the newcomer quietly, “the honour is as much mine as that of + the interesting and ancient institution which I am this night privileged + to inspect.” + </p> + <p> + Turning to Sir John and The MacQuern, the Duke said “I present Mr. + Abimelech V. Oover, of Trinity.” + </p> + <p> + “The Junta,” they replied, “is honoured.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” said the Rhodes Scholar, “your good courtesy is just such as + I would have anticipated from members of the ancient Junta. Like most of + my countrymen, I am a man of few words. We are habituated out there to act + rather than talk. Judged from the view-point of your beautiful old + civilisation, I am aware my curtness must seem crude. But, gentlemen, + believe me, right here—” + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is served, your Grace.” + </p> + <p> + Thus interrupted, Mr. Oover, with the resourcefulness of a practised + orator, brought his thanks to a quick but not abrupt conclusion. The + little company passed into the front room. + </p> + <p> + Through the window, from the High, fading daylight mingled with the + candle-light. The mulberry coats of the hosts, interspersed by the black + ones of the guests, made a fine pattern around the oval table a-gleam with + the many curious pieces of gold and silver plate that had accrued to the + Junta in course of years. + </p> + <p> + The President showed much deference to his guest. He seemed to listen with + close attention to the humorous anecdote with which, in the American + fashion, Mr. Oover inaugurated dinner. + </p> + <p> + To all Rhodes Scholars, indeed, his courtesy was invariable. He went out + of his way to cultivate them. And this he did more as a favour to Lord + Milner than of his own caprice. He found these Scholars, good fellows + though they were, rather oppressive. They had not—how could they + have?—the undergraduate’s virtue of taking Oxford as a matter of + course. The Germans loved it too little, the Colonials too much. The + Americans were, to a sensitive observer, the most troublesome—as + being the most troubled—of the whole lot. The Duke was not one of + those Englishmen who fling, or care to hear flung, cheap sneers at + America. Whenever any one in his presence said that America was not large + in area, he would firmly maintain that it was. He held, too, in his + enlightened way, that Americans have a perfect right to exist. But he did + often find himself wishing Mr. Rhodes had not enabled them to exercise + that right in Oxford. They were so awfully afraid of having their + strenuous native characters undermined by their delight in the place. They + held that the future was theirs, a glorious asset, far more glorious than + the past. But a theory, as the Duke saw, is one thing, an emotion another. + It is so much easier to covet what one hasn’t than to revel in what one + has. Also, it is so much easier to be enthusiastic about what exists than + about what doesn’t. The future doesn’t exist. The past does. For, whereas + all men can learn, the gift of prophecy has died out. A man cannot work up + in his breast any real excitement about what possibly won’t happen. He + cannot very well help being sentimentally interested in what he knows has + happened. On the other hand, he owes a duty to his country. And, if his + country be America, he ought to try to feel a vivid respect for the + future, and a cold contempt for the past. Also, if he be selected by his + country as a specimen of the best moral, physical, and intellectual type + that she can produce for the astounding of the effete foreigner, and + incidentally for the purpose of raising that foreigner’s tone, he must—mustn’t + he?—do his best to astound, to exalt. But then comes in this + difficulty. Young men don’t like to astound and exalt their fellows. And + Americans, individually, are of all people the most anxious to please. + That they talk overmuch is often taken as a sign of self-satisfaction. It + is merely a mannerism. Rhetoric is a thing inbred in them. They are quite + unconscious of it. It is as natural to them as breathing. And, while they + talk on, they really do believe that they are a quick, businesslike + people, by whom things are “put through” with an almost brutal abruptness. + This notion of theirs is rather confusing to the patient English auditor. + </p> + <p> + Altogether, the American Rhodes Scholars, with their splendid native gift + of oratory, and their modest desire to please, and their not less evident + feeling that they ought merely to edify, and their constant delight in all + that of Oxford their English brethren don’t notice, and their constant + fear that they are being corrupted, are a noble, rather than a + comfortable, element in the social life of the University. So, at least, + they seemed to the Duke. + </p> + <p> + And to-night, but that he had invited Oover to dine with him, he could + have been dining with Zuleika. And this was his last dinner on earth. Such + thoughts made him the less able to take pleasure in his guest. Perfect, + however, the amenity of his manner. + </p> + <p> + This was the more commendable because Oover’s “aura” was even more + disturbing than that of the average Rhodes Scholar. To-night, besides the + usual conflicts in this young man’s bosom, raged a special one between his + desire to behave well and his jealousy of the man who had to-day been Miss + Dobson’s escort. In theory he denied the Duke’s right to that honour. In + sentiment he admitted it. Another conflict, you see. And another. He + longed to orate about the woman who had his heart; yet she was the one + topic that must be shirked. + </p> + <p> + The MacQuern and Mr. Trent-Garby, Sir John Marraby and Lord Sayes, they + too—though they were no orators—would fain have unpacked their + hearts in words about Zuleika. They spoke of this and that, automatically, + none listening to another—each man listening, wide-eyed, to his own + heart’s solo on the Zuleika theme, and drinking rather more champagne than + was good for him. Maybe, these youths sowed in themselves, on this night, + the seeds of lifelong intemperance. We cannot tell. They did not live long + enough for us to know. + </p> + <p> + While the six dined, a seventh, invisible to them, leaned moodily against + the mantel-piece, watching them. He was not of their time. His long brown + hair was knotted in a black riband behind. He wore a pale brocaded coat + and lace ruffles, silken stockings, a sword. Privy to their doom, he + watched them. He was loth that his Junta must die. Yes, his. Could the + diners have seen him, they would have known him by his resemblance to the + mezzotint portrait that hung on the wall above him. They would have risen + to their feet in presence of Humphrey Greddon, founder and first president + of the club. + </p> + <p> + His face was not so oval, nor were his eyes so big, nor his lips so full, + nor his hands so delicate, as they appeared in the mezzotint. Yet (bating + the conventions of eighteenth-century portraiture) the likeness was a good + one. Humphrey Greddon was not less well-knit and graceful than the painter + had made him, and, hard though the lines of the face were, there was about + him a certain air of high romance that could not be explained away by the + fact that he was of a period not our own. You could understand the great + love that Nellie O’Mora had borne him. + </p> + <p> + Under the mezzotint hung Hoppner’s miniature of that lovely and + ill-starred girl, with her soft dark eyes, and her curls all astray from + beneath her little blue turban. And the Duke was telling Mr. Oover her + story—how she had left her home for Humphrey Greddon when she was + but sixteen, and he an undergraduate at Christ Church; and had lived for + him in a cottage at Littlemore, whither he would ride, most days, to be + with her; and how he tired of her, broke his oath that he would marry her, + thereby broke her heart; and how she drowned herself in a mill-pond; and + how Greddon was killed in Venice, two years later, duelling on the Riva + Schiavoni with a Senator whose daughter he had seduced. + </p> + <p> + And he, Greddon, was not listening very attentively to the tale. He had + heard it told so often in this room, and he did not understand the + sentiments of the modern world. Nellie had been a monstrous pretty + creature. He had adored her, and had done with her. It was right that she + should always be toasted after dinner by the Junta, as in the days when + first he loved her—“Here’s to Nellie O’Mora, the fairest witch that + ever was or will be!” He would have resented the omission of that toast. + But he was sick of the pitying, melting looks that were always cast + towards her miniature. Nellie had been beautiful, but, by God! she was + always a dunce and a simpleton. How could he have spent his life with her? + She was a fool, by God! not to marry that fool Trailby, of Merton, whom he + took to see her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oover’s moral tone, and his sense of chivalry, were of the American + kind: far higher than ours, even, and far better expressed. Whereas the + English guests of the Junta, when they heard the tale of Nellie O’Mora, + would merely murmur “Poor girl!” or “What a shame!” Mr. Oover said in a + tone of quiet authority that compelled Greddon’s ear “Duke, I hope I am + not incognisant of the laws that govern the relations of guest and host. + But, Duke, I aver deliberately that the founder of this fine old club; at + which you are so splendidly entertaining me to-night, was an unmitigated + scoundrel. I say he was not a white man.” + </p> + <p> + At the word “scoundrel,” Humphrey Greddon had sprung forward, drawing his + sword, and loudly, in a voice audible to himself alone, challenged the + American to make good his words. Then, as this gentleman took no notice, + with one clean straight thrust Greddon ran him through the heart, shouting + “Die, you damned psalm-singer and traducer! And so die all rebels against + King George!”* Withdrawing the blade, he wiped it daintily on his cambric + handkerchief. There was no blood. Mr. Oover, with unpunctured shirt-front, + was repeating “I say he was not a white man.” And Greddon remembered + himself—remembered he was only a ghost, impalpable, impotent, of no + account. “But I shall meet you in Hell to-morrow,” he hissed in Oover’s + face. And there he was wrong. It is quite certain that Oover went to + Heaven. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * As Edward VII. was at this time on the throne, it must have been + to George III. that Mr. Greddon was referring. +</pre> + <p> + Unable to avenge himself, Greddon had looked to the Duke to act for him. + When he saw that this young man did but smile at Oover and make a vague + deprecatory gesture, he again, in his wrath, forgot his disabilities. + Drawing himself to his full height, he took with great deliberation a + pinch of snuff, and, bowing low to the Duke, said “I am vastly obleeged to + your Grace for the fine high Courage you have exhibited in the behalf of + your most Admiring, most Humble Servant.” Then, having brushed away a + speck of snuff from his jabot, he turned on his heel; and only in the + doorway, where one of the club servants, carrying a decanter in each hand, + walked straight through him, did he realise that he had not spoilt the + Duke’s evening. With a volley of the most appalling eighteenth-century + oaths, he passed back into the nether world. + </p> + <p> + To the Duke, Nellie O’Mora had never been a very vital figure. He had + often repeated the legend of her. But, having never known what love was, + he could not imagine her rapture or her anguish. Himself the quarry of all + Mayfair’s wise virgins, he had always—so far as he thought of the + matter at all—suspected that Nellie’s death was due to thwarted + ambition. But to-night, while he told Oover about her, he could see into + her soul. Nor did he pity her. She had loved. She had known the one thing + worth living for—and dying for. She, as she went down to the + mill-pond, had felt just that ecstasy of self-sacrifice which he himself + had felt to-day and would feel to-morrow. And for a while, too—for a + full year—she had known the joy of being loved, had been for Greddon + “the fairest witch that ever was or will be.” He could not agree with + Oover’s long disquisition on her sufferings. And, glancing at her + well-remembered miniature, he wondered just what it was in her that had + captivated Greddon. He was in that blest state when a man cannot believe + the earth has been trodden by any really beautiful or desirable lady save + the lady of his own heart. + </p> + <p> + The moment had come for the removal of the table-cloth. The mahogany of + the Junta was laid bare—a clear dark lake, anon to reflect in its + still and ruddy depths the candelabras and the fruit-cradles, the slender + glasses and the stout old decanters, the forfeit-box and the snuff-box, + and other paraphernalia of the dignity of dessert. Lucidly, and + unwaveringly inverted in the depths these good things stood; and, so soon + as the wine had made its circuit, the Duke rose and with uplifted glass + proposed the first of the two toasts traditional to the Junta. “Gentlemen, + I give you Church and State.” + </p> + <p> + The toast having been honoured by all—and by none with a richer + reverence than by Oover, despite his passionate mental reservation in + favour of Pittsburg-Anabaptism and the Republican Ideal—the + snuff-box was handed round, and fruit was eaten. + </p> + <p> + Presently, when the wine had gone round again, the Duke rose and with + uplifted glass said “Gentlemen, I give you—” and there halted. + Silent, frowning, flushed, he stood for a few moments, and then, with a + deliberate gesture, tilted his glass and let fall the wine to the carpet. + “No,” he said, looking round the table, “I cannot give you Nellie O’Mora.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” gasped Sir John Marraby. + </p> + <p> + “You have a right to ask that,” said the Duke, still standing. “I can only + say that my conscience is stronger than my sense of what is due to the + customs of the club. Nellie O’Mora,” he said, passing his hand over his + brow, “may have been in her day the fairest witch that ever was—so + fair that our founder had good reason to suppose her the fairest witch + that ever would be. But his prediction was a false one. So at least it + seems to me. Of course I cannot both hold this view and remain President + of this club. MacQuern—Marraby—which of you is + Vice-President?” + </p> + <p> + “He is,” said Marraby. + </p> + <p> + “Then, MacQuern, you are hereby President, vice myself resigned. Take the + chair and propose the toast.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather not,” said The MacQuern after a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Then, Marraby, YOU must.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I!” said Marraby. + </p> + <p> + “Why is this?” asked the Duke, looking from one to the other. + </p> + <p> + The MacQuern, with Scotch caution, was silent. But the impulsive Marraby—Madcap + Marraby, as they called him in B.N.C.—said “It’s because I won’t + lie!” and, leaping up, raised his glass aloft and cried “I give you + Zuleika Dobson, the fairest witch that ever was or will be!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oover, Lord Sayes, Mr. Trent-Garby, sprang to their feet; The MacQuern + rose to his. “Zuleika Dobson!” they cried, and drained their glasses. + </p> + <p> + Then, when they had resumed their seats, came an awkward pause. The Duke, + still erect beside the chair he had vacated, looked very grave and pale. + Marraby had taken an outrageous liberty. But “a member of the Junta can do + no wrong,” and the liberty could not be resented. The Duke felt that the + blame was on himself, who had elected Marraby to the club. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oover, too, looked grave. All the antiquarian in him deplored the + sudden rupture of a fine old Oxford tradition. All the chivalrous American + in him resented the slight on that fair victim of the feudal system, Miss + O’Mora. And, at the same time, all the Abimelech V. in him rejoiced at + having honoured by word and act the one woman in the world. + </p> + <p> + Gazing around at the flushed faces and heaving shirt-fronts of the diners, + the Duke forgot Marraby’s misdemeanour. What mattered far more to him was + that here were five young men deeply under the spell of Zuleika. They must + be saved, if possible. He knew how strong his influence was in the + University. He knew also how strong was Zuleika’s. He had not much hope of + the issue. But his new-born sense of duty to his fellows spurred him on. + “Is there,” he asked with a bitter smile, “any one of you who doesn’t with + his whole heart love Miss Dobson?” + </p> + <p> + Nobody held up a hand. + </p> + <p> + “As I feared,” said the Duke, knowing not that if a hand had been held up + he would have taken it as a personal insult. No man really in love can + forgive another for not sharing his ardour. His jealousy for himself when + his beloved prefers another man is hardly a stronger passion than his + jealousy for her when she is not preferred to all other women. + </p> + <p> + “You know her only by sight—by repute?” asked the Duke. They + signified that this was so. “I wish you would introduce me to her,” said + Marraby. + </p> + <p> + “You are all coming to the Judas concert tonight?” the Duke asked, + ignoring Marraby. “You have all secured tickets?” They nodded. “To hear me + play, or to see Miss Dobson?” There was a murmur of “Both—both.” + “And you would all of you, like Marraby, wish to be presented to this + lady?” Their eyes dilated. “That way happiness lies, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, happiness be hanged!” said Marraby. + </p> + <p> + To the Duke this seemed a profoundly sane remark—an epitome of his + own sentiments. But what was right for himself was not right for all. He + believed in convention as the best way for average mankind. And so, + slowly, calmly, he told to his fellow-diners just what he had told a few + hours earlier to those two young men in Salt Cellar. Not knowing that his + words had already been spread throughout Oxford, he was rather surprised + that they seemed to make no sensation. Quite flat, too, fell his appeal + that the syren be shunned by all. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Oover, during his year of residence, had been sorely tried by the + quaint old English custom of not making public speeches after private + dinners. It was with a deep sigh of satisfaction that he now rose to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + “Duke,” he said in a low voice, which yet penetrated to every corner of + the room, “I guess I am voicing these gentlemen when I say that your words + show up your good heart, all the time. Your mentality, too, is bully, as + we all predicate. One may say without exaggeration that your scholarly and + social attainments are a by-word throughout the solar system, and be-yond. + We rightly venerate you as our boss. Sir, we worship the ground you walk + on. But we owe a duty to our own free and independent manhood. Sir, we + worship the ground Miss Z. Dobson treads on. We have pegged out a claim + right there. And from that location we aren’t to be budged—not for + bob-nuts. We asseverate we squat—where—we—squat, come—what—will. + You say we have no chance to win Miss Z. Dobson. That—we—know. + We aren’t worthy. We lie prone. Let her walk over us. You say her heart is + cold. We don’t pro-fess we can take the chill off. But, Sir, we can’t be + diverted out of loving her—not even by you, Sir. No, Sir! We love + her, and—shall, and—will, Sir, with—our—latest + breath.” + </p> + <p> + This peroration evoked loud applause. “I love her, and shall, and will,” + shouted each man. And again they honoured in wine her image. Sir John + Marraby uttered a cry familiar in the hunting-field. The MacQuern + contributed a few bars of a sentimental ballad in the dialect of his + country. “Hurrah, hurrah!” shouted Mr. Trent-Garby. Lord Sayes hummed the + latest waltz, waving his arms to its rhythm, while the wine he had just + spilt on his shirt-front trickled unheeded to his waistcoat. Mr. Oover + gave the Yale cheer. + </p> + <p> + The genial din was wafted down through the open window to the passers-by. + The wine-merchant across the way heard it, and smiled pensively. “Youth, + youth!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + The genial din grew louder. + </p> + <p> + At any other time, the Duke would have been jarred by the disgrace to the + Junta. But now, as he stood with bent head, covering his face with his + hands, he thought only of the need to rid these young men, here and now, + of the influence that had befallen them. To-morrow his tragic example + might be too late, the mischief have sunk too deep, the agony be + life-long. His good breeding forbade him to cast over a dinner-table the + shadow of his death. His conscience insisted that he must. He uncovered + his face, and held up one hand for silence. + </p> + <p> + “We are all of us,” he said, “old enough to remember vividly the + demonstrations made in the streets of London when war was declared between + us and the Transvaal Republic. You, Mr. Oover, doubtless heard in America + the echoes of those ebullitions. The general idea was that the war was + going to be a very brief and simple affair—what was called ‘a + walk-over.’ To me, though I was only a small boy, it seemed that all this + delirious pride in the prospect of crushing a trumpery foe argued a defect + in our sense of proportion. Still, I was able to understand the + demonstrators’ point of view. To ‘the giddy vulgar’ any sort of victory is + pleasant. But defeat? If, when that war was declared, every one had been + sure that not only should we fail to conquer the Transvaal, but that IT + would conquer US—that not only would it make good its freedom and + independence, but that we should forfeit ours—how would the cits + have felt then? Would they not have pulled long faces, spoken in whispers, + wept? You must forgive me for saying that the noise you have just made + around this table was very like to the noise made on the verge of the Boer + War. And your procedure seems to me as unaccountable as would have seemed + the antics of those mobs if England had been plainly doomed to disaster + and to vassalage. My guest here to-night, in the course of his very + eloquent and racy speech, spoke of the need that he and you should + preserve your ‘free and independent manhood.’ That seemed to me an + irreproachable ideal. But I confess I was somewhat taken aback by my + friend’s scheme for realising it. He declared his intention of lying prone + and letting Miss Dobson ‘walk over’ him; and he advised you to follow his + example; and to this counsel you gave evident approval. Gentlemen, suppose + that on the verge of the aforesaid war, some orator had said to the + British people ‘It is going to be a walk-over for our enemy in the field. + Mr. Kruger holds us in the hollow of his hand. In subjection to him we + shall find our long-lost freedom and independence’—what would have + been Britannia’s answer? What, on reflection, is yours to Mr. Oover? What + are Mr. Oover’s own second thoughts?” The Duke paused, with a smile to his + guest. + </p> + <p> + “Go right ahead, Duke,” said Mr. Oover. “I’ll re-ply when my turn comes.” + </p> + <p> + “And not utterly demolish me, I hope,” said the Duke. His was the Oxford + manner. “Gentlemen,” he continued, “is it possible that Britannia would + have thrown her helmet in the air, shrieking ‘Slavery for ever’? You, + gentlemen, seem to think slavery a pleasant and an honourable state. You + have less experience of it than I. I have been enslaved to Miss Dobson + since yesterday evening; you, only since this afternoon; I, at close + quarters; you, at a respectful distance. Your fetters have not galled you + yet. MY wrists, MY ankles, are excoriated. The iron has entered into my + soul. I droop. I stumble. Blood flows from me. I quiver and curse. I + writhe. The sun mocks me. The moon titters in my face. I can stand it no + longer. I will no more of it. Tomorrow I die.” + </p> + <p> + The flushed faces of the diners grew gradually pale. Their eyes lost + lustre. Their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths. + </p> + <p> + At length, almost inaudibly, The MacQuern asked “Do you mean you are going + to commit suicide?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Duke, “if you choose to put it in that way. Yes. And it is + only by a chance that I did not commit suicide this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “You—don’t—say,” gasped Mr. Oover. + </p> + <p> + “I do indeed,” said the Duke. “And I ask you all to weigh well my + message.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but does Miss Dobson know?” asked Sir John. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” was the reply. “Indeed, it was she who persuaded me not to die + till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but,” faltered Lord Sayes, “I saw her saying good-bye to you in + Judas Street. And—and she looked quite—as if nothing had + happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing HAD happened,” said the Duke. “And she was very much pleased to + have me still with her. But she isn’t so cruel as to hinder me from dying + for her to-morrow. I don’t think she exactly fixed the hour. It shall be + just after the Eights have been rowed. An earlier death would mark in me a + lack of courtesy to that contest... It seems strange to you that I should + do this thing? Take warning by me. Muster all your will-power, and forget + Miss Dobson. Tear up your tickets for the concert. Stay here and play + cards. Play high. Or rather, go back to your various Colleges, and speed + the news I have told you. Put all Oxford on its guard against this woman + who can love no lover. Let all Oxford know that I, Dorset, who had so much + reason to love life—I, the nonpareil—am going to die for the + love I bear this woman. And let no man think I go unwilling. I am no lamb + led to the slaughter. I am priest as well as victim. I offer myself up + with a pious joy. But enough of this cold Hebraism! It is ill-attuned to + my soul’s mood. Self-sacrifice—bah! Regard me as a voluptuary. I am + that. All my baffled ardour speeds me to the bosom of Death. She is gentle + and wanton. She knows I could never have loved her for her own sake. She + has no illusions about me. She knows well I come to her because not + otherwise may I quench my passion.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. The Duke, looking around at the bent heads and + drawn mouths of his auditors, saw that his words had gone home. It was + Marraby who revealed how powerfully home they had gone. + </p> + <p> + “Dorset,” he said huskily, “I shall die too.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke flung up his hands, staring wildly. + </p> + <p> + “I stand in with that,” said Mr. Oover. + </p> + <p> + “So do I!” said Lord Sayes. “And I!” said Mr. Trent-Garby; “And I!” The + MacQuern. + </p> + <p> + The Duke found voice. “Are you mad?” he asked, clutching at his throat. + “Are you all mad?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Duke,” said Mr. Oover. “Or, if we are, you have no right to be at + large. You have shown us the way. We—take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” said The MacQuern, stolidly. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, you fools,” cried the Duke. But through the open window came the + vibrant stroke of some clock. He wheeled round, plucked out his watch—nine!—the + concert!—his promise not to be late!—Zuleika! + </p> + <p> + All other thoughts vanished. In an instant he dodged beneath the sash of + the window. From the flower-box he sprang to the road beneath. (The facade + of the house is called, to this day, Dorset’s Leap.) Alighting with the + legerity of a cat, he swerved leftward in the recoil, and was off, like a + streak of mulberry-coloured lightning, down the High. + </p> + <p> + The other men had rushed to the window, fearing the worst. “No,” cried + Oover. “That’s all right. Saves time!” and he raised himself on to the + window-box. It splintered under his weight. He leapt heavily but well, + followed by some uprooted geraniums. Squaring his shoulders, he threw back + his head, and doubled down the slope. + </p> + <p> + There was a violent jostle between the remaining men. The MacQuern cannily + got out of it, and rushed downstairs. He emerged at the front-door just + after Marraby touched ground. The Baronet’s left ankle had twisted under + him. His face was drawn with pain as he hopped down the High on his right + foot, fingering his ticket for the concert. Next leapt Lord Sayes. And + last of all leapt Mr. Trent-Garby, who, catching his foot in the ruined + flower-box, fell headlong, and was, I regret to say, killed. Lord Sayes + passed Sir John in a few paces. The MacQuern overtook Mr. Oover at St. + Mary’s and outstripped him in Radcliffe Square. The Duke came in an easy + first. + </p> + <p> + Youth, youth! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + Across the Front Quadrangle, heedless of the great crowd to right and + left, Dorset rushed. Up the stone steps to the Hall he bounded, and only + on the Hall’s threshold was he brought to a pause. The doorway was blocked + by the backs of youths who had by hook and crook secured standing-room. + The whole scene was surprisingly unlike that of the average College + concert. + </p> + <p> + “Let me pass,” said the Duke, rather breathlessly. “Thank you. Make way + please. Thanks.” And with quick-pulsing heart he made his way down the + aisle to the front row. There awaited him a surprise that was like a + douche of cold water full in his face. Zuleika was not there! It had never + occurred to him that she herself might not be punctual. + </p> + <p> + The Warden was there, reading his programme with an air of great + solemnity. “Where,” asked the Duke, “is your grand-daughter?” His tone was + as of a man saying “If she is dead, don’t break it gently to me.” + </p> + <p> + “My grand-daughter?” said the Warden. “Ah, Duke, good evening.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s not ill?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, I think not. She said something about changing the dress she wore + at dinner. She will come.” And the Warden thanked his young friend for the + great kindness he had shown to Zuleika. He hoped the Duke had not let her + worry him with her artless prattle. “She seems to be a good, amiable + girl,” he added, in his detached way. + </p> + <p> + Sitting beside him, the Duke looked curiously at the venerable profile, as + at a mummy’s. To think that this had once been a man! To think that his + blood flowed in the veins of Zuleika! Hitherto the Duke had seen nothing + grotesque in him—had regarded him always as a dignified specimen of + priest and scholar. Such a life as the Warden’s, year following year in + ornamental seclusion from the follies and fusses of the world, had to the + Duke seemed rather admirable and enviable. Often he himself had (for a + minute or so) meditated taking a fellowship at All Souls and spending here + in Oxford the greater part of his life. He had never been young, and it + never had occurred to him that the Warden had been young once. To-night he + saw the old man in a new light—saw that he was mad. Here was a man + who—for had he not married and begotten a child?—must have + known, in some degree, the emotion of love. How, after that, could he have + gone on thus, year by year, rusting among his books, asking no favour of + life, waiting for death without a sign of impatience? Why had he not + killed himself long ago? Why cumbered he the earth? + </p> + <p> + On the dais an undergraduate was singing a song entitled “She Loves Not + Me.” Such plaints are apt to leave us unharrowed. Across the footlights of + an opera-house, the despair of some Italian tenor in red tights and a + yellow wig may be convincing enough. Not so, at a concert, the despair of + a shy British amateur in evening dress. The undergraduate on the dais, + fumbling with his sheet of music while he predicted that only when he were + “laid within the church-yard cold and grey” would his lady begin to pity + him, seemed to the Duke rather ridiculous; but not half so ridiculous as + the Warden. This fictitious love-affair was less nugatory than the actual + humdrum for which Dr. Dobson had sold his soul to the devil. Also, little + as one might suspect it, the warbler was perhaps expressing a genuine + sentiment. Zuleika herself, belike, was in his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + As he began the second stanza, predicting that when his lady died too the + angels of heaven would bear her straight to him, the audience heard a loud + murmur, or subdued roar, outside the Hall. And after a few bars the + warbler suddenly ceased, staring straight in front of him as though he saw + a vision. Automatically, all heads veered in the direction of his gaze. + From the entrance, slowly along the aisle, came Zuleika, brilliant in + black. + </p> + <p> + To the Duke, who had rapturously risen, she nodded and smiled as she + swerved down on the chair beside him. She looked to him somehow different. + He had quite forgiven her for being late: her mere presence was a perfect + excuse. And the very change in her, though he could not define it, was + somehow pleasing to him. He was about to question her, but she shook her + head and held up to her lips a black-gloved forefinger, enjoining silence + for the singer, who, with dogged British pluck, had harked back to the + beginning of the second stanza. When his task was done and he shuffled + down from the dais, he received a great ovation. Zuleika, in the way + peculiar to persons who are in the habit of appearing before the public, + held her hands well above the level of her brow, and clapped them with a + vigour demonstrative not less of her presence than of her delight. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she asked, turning to the Duke, “do you see? do you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Something, yes. But what?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it plain?” Lightly she touched the lobe of her left ear. “Aren’t + you flattered?” + </p> + <p> + He knew now what made the difference. It was that her little face was + flanked by two black pearls. + </p> + <p> + “Think,” said she, “how deeply I must have been brooding over you since we + parted!” + </p> + <p> + “Is this really,” he asked, pointing to the left ear-ring, “the pearl you + wore to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Isn’t it strange? A man ought to be pleased when a woman goes quite + unconsciously into mourning for him—goes just because she really + does mourn him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am more than pleased. I am touched. When did the change come?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I only noticed it after dinner, when I saw myself in the + mirror. All through dinner I had been thinking of you and of—well, + of to-morrow. And this dear sensitive pink pearl had again expressed my + soul. And there was I, in a yellow gown with green embroideries, gay as a + jacamar, jarring hideously on myself. I covered my eyes and rushed + upstairs, rang the bell and tore my things off. My maid was very cross.” + </p> + <p> + Cross! The Duke was shot through with envy of one who was in a position to + be unkind to Zuleika. “Happy maid!” he murmured. Zuleika replied that he + was stealing her thunder: hadn’t she envied the girl at his lodgings? “But + I,” she said, “wanted only to serve you in meekness. The idea of ever + being pert to you didn’t enter into my head. You show a side of your + character as unpleasing as it was unforeseen.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps then,” said the Duke, “it is as well that I am going to die.” She + acknowledged his rebuke with a pretty gesture of penitence. “You may have + been faultless in love,” he added; “but you would not have laid down your + life for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she answered, “wouldn’t I though? You don’t know me. That is just + the sort of thing I should have loved to do. I am much more romantic than + you are, really. I wonder,” she said, glancing at his breast, “if YOUR + pink pearl would have turned black? And I wonder if YOU would have taken + the trouble to change that extraordinary coat you are wearing?” + </p> + <p> + In sooth, no costume could have been more beautifully Cimmerian than + Zuleika’s. And yet, thought the Duke, watching her as the concert + proceeded, the effect of her was not lugubrious. Her darkness shone. The + black satin gown she wore was a stream of shifting high-lights. Big black + diamonds were around her throat and wrists, and tiny black diamonds + starred the fan she wielded. In her hair gleamed a great raven’s wing. And + brighter, brighter than all these were her eyes. Assuredly no, there was + nothing morbid about her. Would one even (wondered the Duke, for a + disloyal instant) go so far as to say she was heartless? Ah no, she was + merely strong. She was one who could tread the tragic plane without + stumbling, and be resilient in the valley of the shadow. What she had just + said was no more than the truth: she would have loved to die for him, had + he not forfeited her heart. She would have asked no tears. That she had + none to shed for him now, that she did but share his exhilaration, was the + measure of her worthiness to have the homage of his self-slaughter. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” she whispered, “I want to ask one little favour of you. Will + you, please, at the last moment to-morrow, call out my name in a loud + voice, so that every one around can hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will.” + </p> + <p> + “So that no one shall ever be able to say it wasn’t for me that you died, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “May I use simply your Christian name?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I really don’t see why you shouldn’t—at such a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” His face glowed. + </p> + <p> + Thus did they commune, these two, radiant without and within. And behind + them, throughout the Hall, the undergraduates craned their necks for a + glimpse. The Duke’s piano solo, which was the last item in the first half + of the programme, was eagerly awaited. Already, whispered first from the + lips of Oover and the others who had come on from the Junta, the news of + his resolve had gone from ear to ear among the men. He, for his part, had + forgotten the scene at the Junta, the baleful effect of his example. For + him the Hall was a cave of solitude—no one there but Zuleika and + himself. Yet almost, like the late Mr. John Bright, he heard in the air + the beating of the wings of the Angel of Death. Not awful wings; little + wings that sprouted from the shoulders of a rosy and blindfold child. Love + and Death—for him they were exquisitely one. And it seemed to him, + when his turn came to play, that he floated, rather than walked, to the + dais. + </p> + <p> + He had not considered what he would play tonight. Nor, maybe, was he + conscious now of choosing. His fingers caressed the keyboard vaguely; and + anon this ivory had voice and language; and for its master, and for some + of his hearers, arose a vision. And it was as though in delicate + procession, very slowly, listless with weeping, certain figures passed by, + hooded, and drooping forasmuch as by the loss of him whom they were + following to his grave their own hold on life had been loosened. He had + been so beautiful and young. Lo, he was but a burden to be carried hence, + dust to be hidden out of sight. Very slowly, very wretchedly they went by. + But, as they went, another feeling, faint at first, an all but + imperceptible current, seemed to flow through the procession; and now one, + now another of the mourners would look wanly up, with cast-back hood, as + though listening; and anon all were listening on their way, first in + wonder, then in rapture; for the soul of their friend was singing to them: + they heard his voice, but clearer and more blithe than they had ever known + it—a voice etherealised by a triumph of joy that was not yet for + them to share. But presently the voice receded, its echoes dying away into + the sphere whence it came. It ceased; and the mourners were left alone + again with their sorrow, and passed on all unsolaced, and drooping, + weeping. + </p> + <p> + Soon after the Duke had begun to play, an invisible figure came and stood + by and listened; a frail man, dressed in the fashion of 1840; the shade of + none other than Frederic Chopin. Behind whom, a moment later, came a woman + of somewhat masculine aspect and dominant demeanour, mounting guard over + him, and, as it were, ready to catch him if he fell. He bowed his head + lower and lower, he looked up with an ecstasy more and more intense, + according to the procedure of his Marche Funebre. And among the audience, + too, there was a bowing and uplifting of heads, just as among the figures + of the mourners evoked. Yet the head of the player himself was all the + while erect, and his face glad and serene. Nobly sensitive as was his + playing of the mournful passages, he smiled brilliantly through them. + </p> + <p> + And Zuleika returned his gaze with a smile not less gay. She was not sure + what he was playing. But she assumed that it was for her, and that the + music had some reference to his impending death. She was one of the people + who say “I don’t know anything about music really, but I know what I + like.” And she liked this; and she beat time to it with her fan. She + thought her Duke looked very handsome. She was proud of him. Strange that + this time yesterday she had been wildly in love with him! Strange, too, + that this time to-morrow he would be dead! She was immensely glad she had + saved him this afternoon. To-morrow! There came back to her what he had + told her about the omen at Tankerton, that stately home: “On the eve of + the death of a Duke of Dorset, two black owls come always and perch on the + battlements. They remain there through the night, hooting. At dawn they + fly away, none knows whither.” Perhaps, thought she, at this very moment + these two birds were on the battlements. + </p> + <p> + The music ceased. In the hush that followed it, her applause rang sharp + and notable. Not so Chopin’s. Of him and his intense excitement none but + his companion was aware. “Plus fin que Pachmann!” he reiterated, waving + his arms wildly, and dancing. + </p> + <p> + “Tu auras une migraine affreuse. Rentrons, petit coeur!” said George Sand, + gently but firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Laisse-moi le saluer,” cried the composer, struggling in her grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Demain soir, oui. Il sera parmi nous,” said the novelist, as she hurried + him away. “Moi aussi,” she added to herself, “je me promets un beau + plaisir en faisant la connaissance de ce jeune homme.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika was the first to rise as “ce jeune homme” came down from the dais. + Now was the interval between the two parts of the programme. There was a + general creaking and scraping of pushed-back chairs as the audience rose + and went forth into the night. The noise aroused from sleep the good + Warden, who, having peered at his programme, complimented the Duke with + old-world courtesy and went to sleep again. Zuleika, thrusting her fan + under one arm, shook the player by both hands. Also, she told him that she + knew nothing about music really, but that she knew what she liked. As she + passed with him up the aisle, she said this again. People who say it are + never tired of saying it. + </p> + <p> + Outside, the crowd was greater than ever. All the undergraduates from all + the Colleges seemed now to be concentrated in the great Front Quadrangle + of Judas. Even in the glow of the Japanese lanterns that hung around in + honour of the concert, the faces of the lads looked a little pale. For it + was known by all now that the Duke was to die. Even while the concert was + in progress, the news had spread out from the Hall, through the thronged + doorway, down the thronged steps, to the confines of the crowd. Nor had + Oover and the other men from the Junta made any secret of their own + determination. And now, as the rest saw Zuleika yet again at close + quarters, and verified their remembrance of her, the half-formed desire in + them to die too was hardened to a vow. + </p> + <p> + You cannot make a man by standing a sheep on its hind-legs. But by + standing a flock of sheep in that position you can make a crowd of men. If + man were not a gregarious animal, the world might have achieved, by this + time, some real progress towards civilisation. Segregate him, and he is no + fool. But let him loose among his fellows, and he is lost—he becomes + just an unit in unreason. If any one of the undergraduates had met Miss + Dobson in the desert of Sahara, he would have fallen in love with her; but + not one in a thousand of them would have wished to die because she did not + love him. The Duke’s was a peculiar case. For him to fall in love was + itself a violent peripety, bound to produce a violent upheaval; and such + was his pride that for his love to be unrequited would naturally enamour + him of death. These other, these quite ordinary, young men were the + victims less of Zuleika than of the Duke’s example, and of one another. A + crowd, proportionately to its size, magnifies all that in its units + pertains to the emotions, and diminishes all that in them pertains to + thought. It was because these undergraduates were a crowd that their + passion for Zuleika was so intense; and it was because they were a crowd + that they followed so blindly the lead given to them. To die for Miss + Dobson was “the thing to do.” The Duke was going to do it. The Junta was + going to do it. It is a hateful fact, but we must face the fact, that + snobbishness was one of the springs to the tragedy here chronicled. + </p> + <p> + We may set to this crowd’s credit that it refrained now from following + Zuleika. Not one of the ladies present was deserted by her escort. All the + men recognised the Duke’s right to be alone with Zuleika now. We may set + also to their credit that they carefully guarded the ladies from all + knowledge of what was afoot. + </p> + <p> + Side by side, the great lover and his beloved wandered away, beyond the + light of the Japanese lanterns, and came to Salt Cellar. + </p> + <p> + The moon, like a gardenia in the night’s button-hole—but no! why + should a writer never be able to mention the moon without likening her to + something else—usually something to which she bears not the faintest + resemblance?... The moon, looking like nothing whatsoever but herself, was + engaged in her old and futile endeavour to mark the hours correctly on the + sun-dial at the centre of the lawn. Never, except once, late one night in + the eighteenth century, when the toper who was Sub-Warden had spent an + hour in trying to set his watch here, had she received the slightest + encouragement. Still she wanly persisted. And this was the more absurd in + her because Salt Cellar offered very good scope for those legitimate + effects of hers which we one and all admire. Was it nothing to her to have + cut those black shadows across the cloisters? Was it nothing to her that + she so magically mingled her rays with the candle-light shed forth from + Zuleika’s bedroom? Nothing, that she had cleansed the lawn of all its + colour, and made of it a platform of silver-grey, fit for fairies to dance + on? + </p> + <p> + If Zuleika, as she paced the gravel path, had seen how transfigured—how + nobly like the Tragic Muse—she was just now, she could not have gone + on bothering the Duke for a keepsake of the tragedy that was to be. + </p> + <p> + She was still set on having his two studs. He was still firm in his + refusal to misappropriate those heirlooms. In vain she pointed out to him + that the pearls he meant, the white ones, no longer existed; that the + pearls he was wearing were no more “entailed” than if he had got them + yesterday. “And you actually DID get them yesterday,” she said. “And from + me. And I want them back.” + </p> + <p> + “You are ingenious,” he admitted. “I, in my simple way, am but head of the + Tanville-Tankerton family. Had you accepted my offer of marriage, you + would have had the right to wear these two pearls during your life-time. I + am very happy to die for you. But tamper with the property of my successor + I cannot and will not. I am sorry,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry!” echoed Zuleika. “Yes, and you were ‘sorry’ you couldn’t dine with + me to-night. But any little niggling scruple is more to you than I am. + What old maids men are!” And viciously with her fan she struck one of the + cloister pillars. + </p> + <p> + Her outburst was lost on the Duke. At her taunt about his not dining with + her, he had stood still, clapping one hand to his brow. The events of the + early evening swept back to him—his speech, its unforeseen and + horrible reception. He saw again the preternaturally solemn face of Oover, + and the flushed faces of the rest. He had thought, as he pointed down to + the abyss over which he stood, these fellows would recoil, and pull + themselves together. They had recoiled, and pulled themselves together, + only in the manner of athletes about to spring. He was responsible for + them. His own life was his to lose: others he must not squander. Besides, + he had reckoned to die alone, unique; aloft and apart... “There is + something—something I had forgotten,” he said to Zuleika, “something + that will be a great shock to you”; and he gave her an outline of what had + passed at the Junta. + </p> + <p> + “And you are sure they really MEANT it?” she asked in a voice that + trembled. + </p> + <p> + “I fear so. But they were over-excited. They will recant their folly. I + shall force them to.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not children. You yourself have just been calling them ‘men.’ + Why should they obey you?” + </p> + <p> + She turned at sound of a footstep, and saw a young man approaching. He + wore a coat like the Duke’s, and in his hand he dangled a handkerchief. He + bowed awkwardly, and, holding out the handkerchief, said to her “I beg + your pardon, but I think you dropped this. I have just picked it up.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika looked at the handkerchief, which was obviously a man’s, and + smilingly shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you know The MacQuern,” said the Duke, with sulky grace. + “This,” he said to the intruder, “is Miss Dobson.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it really true,” asked Zuleika, retaining The MacQuern’s hand, + “that you want to die for me?” + </p> + <p> + Well, the Scots are a self-seeking and a resolute, but a shy, race; swift + to act, when swiftness is needed, but seldom knowing quite what to say. + The MacQuern, with native reluctance to give something for nothing, had + determined to have the pleasure of knowing the young lady for whom he was + to lay down his life; and this purpose he had, by the simple stratagem of + his own handkerchief, achieved. Nevertheless, in answer to Zuleika’s + question, and with the pressure of her hand to inspire him, the only word + that rose to his lips was “Ay” (which may be roughly translated as “Yes”). + </p> + <p> + “You will do nothing of the sort,” interposed the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Zuleika, still retaining The MacQuern’s hand, “you see, it + is forbidden. You must not defy our dear little Duke. He is not used to + it. It is not done.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said The MacQuern, with a stony glance at the Duke, “that + he has anything to do with the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “He is older and wiser than you. More a man of the world. Regard him as + your tutor.” + </p> + <p> + “Do YOU want me not to die for you?” asked the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, <i>I</i> should not dare to impose my wishes on you,” said she, + dropping his hand. “Even,” she added, “if I knew what my wishes were. And + I don’t. I know only that I think it is very, very beautiful of you to + think of dying for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then that settles it,” said The MacQuern. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! You must not let yourself be influenced by ME. Besides, I am not + in a mood to influence anybody. I am overwhelmed. Tell me,” she said, + heedless of the Duke, who stood tapping his heel on the ground, with every + manifestation of disapproval and impatience, “tell me, is it true that + some of the other men love me too, and—feel as you do?” + </p> + <p> + The MacQuern said cautiously that he could answer for no one but himself. + “But,” he allowed, “I saw a good many men whom I know, outside the Hall + here, just now, and they seemed to have made up their minds.” + </p> + <p> + “To die for me? To-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow. After the Eights, I suppose; at the same time as the Duke. It + wouldn’t do to leave the races undecided.” + </p> + <p> + “Of COURSE not. But the poor dears! It is too touching! I have done + nothing, nothing to deserve it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatsoever,” said the Duke drily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh HE,” said Zuleika, “thinks me an unredeemed brute; just because I + don’t love him. YOU, dear Mr. MacQuern—does one call you ‘Mr.’? + ‘The’ would sound so odd in the vocative. And I can’t very well call you + ‘MacQuern’—YOU don’t think me unkind, do you? I simply can’t bear to + think of all these young lives cut short without my having done a thing to + brighten them. What can I do?—what can I do to show my gratitude?” + </p> + <p> + An idea struck her. She looked up to the lit window of her room. + “Melisande!” she called. + </p> + <p> + A figure appeared at the window. “Mademoiselle desire?” + </p> + <p> + “My tricks, Melisande! Bring down the box, quick!” She turned excitedly to + the two young men. “It is all I can do in return, you see. If I could + dance for them, I would. If I could sing, I would sing to them. I do what + I can. You,” she said to the Duke, “must go on to the platform and + announce it.” + </p> + <p> + “Announce what?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that I am going to do my tricks! All you need say is ‘Ladies and + gentlemen, I have the pleasure to—’ What is the matter now?” + </p> + <p> + “You make me feel slightly unwell,” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “And YOU are the most d-dis-disobliging and the unkindest and the + b-beastliest person I ever met,” Zuleika sobbed at him through her hands. + The MacQuern glared reproaches at him. So did Melisande, who had just + appeared through the postern, holding in her arms the great casket of + malachite. A painful scene; and the Duke gave in. He said he would do + anything—anything. Peace was restored. + </p> + <p> + The MacQuern had relieved Melisande of her burden; and to him was the + privilege of bearing it, in procession with his adored and her quelled + mentor, towards the Hall. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika babbled like a child going to a juvenile party. This was the great + night, as yet, in her life. Illustrious enough already it had seemed to + her, as eve of that ultimate flattery vowed her by the Duke. So fine a + thing had his doom seemed to her—his doom alone—that it had + sufficed to flood her pink pearl with the right hue. And now not on him + alone need she ponder. Now he was but the centre of a group—a group + that might grow and grow—a group that might with a little + encouragement be a multitude... With such hopes dimly whirling in the + recesses of her soul, her beautiful red lips babbled. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + Sounds of a violin, drifting out through the open windows of the Hall, + suggested that the second part of the concert had begun. All the + undergraduates, however, except the few who figured in the programme, had + waited outside till their mistress should re-appear. The sisters and + cousins of the Judas men had been escorted back to their places and + hurriedly left there. + </p> + <p> + It was a hushed, tense crowd. + </p> + <p> + “The poor darlings!” murmured Zuleika, pausing to survey them. “And oh,” + she exclaimed, “there won’t be room for all of them in there!” + </p> + <p> + “You might give an ‘overflow’ performance out here afterwards,” suggested + the Duke, grimly. + </p> + <p> + This idea flashed on her a better. Why not give her performance here and + now?—now, so eager was she for contact, as it were, with this crowd; + here, by moonlight, in the pretty glow of these paper lanterns. Yes, she + said, let it be here and now; and she bade the Duke make the announcement. + </p> + <p> + “What shall I say?” he asked. “‘Gentlemen, I have the pleasure to announce + that Miss Zuleika Dobson, the world-renowned She-Wizard, will now oblige’? + Or shall I call them ‘Gents,’ tout court?” + </p> + <p> + She could afford to laugh at his ill-humour. She had his promise of + obedience. She told him to say something graceful and simple. + </p> + <p> + The noise of the violin had ceased. There was not a breath of wind. The + crowd in the quadrangle was as still and as silent as the night itself. + Nowhere a tremour. And it was borne in on Zuleika that this crowd had one + mind as well as one heart—a common resolve, calm and clear, as well + as a common passion. No need for her to strengthen the spell now. No + waverers here. And thus it came true that gratitude was the sole motive + for her display. + </p> + <p> + She stood with eyes downcast and hands folded behind her, moonlit in the + glow of lanterns, modest to the point of pathos, while the Duke gracefully + and simply introduced her to the multitude. He was, he said, empowered by + the lady who stood beside him to say that she would be pleased to give + them an exhibition of her skill in the art to which she had devoted her + life—an art which, more potently perhaps than any other, touched in + mankind the sense of mystery and stirred the faculty of wonder; the most + truly romantic of all the arts: he referred to the art of conjuring. It + was not too much to say that by her mastery of this art, in which + hitherto, it must be confessed, women had made no very great mark, Miss + Zuleika Dobson (for such was the name of the lady who stood beside him) + had earned the esteem of the whole civilised world. And here in Oxford, + and in this College especially, she had a peculiar claim to—might he + say?—their affectionate regard, inasmuch as she was the + grand-daughter of their venerable and venerated Warden. + </p> + <p> + As the Duke ceased, there came from his hearers a sound like the rustling + of leaves. In return for it, Zuleika performed that graceful act of + subsidence to the verge of collapse which is usually kept for the + delectation of some royal person. And indeed, in the presence of this + doomed congress, she did experience humility; for she was not altogether + without imagination. But, as she arose from her “bob,” she was her own + bold self again, bright mistress of the situation. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible for her to give her entertainment in full. Some of her + tricks (notably the Secret Aquarium, and the Blazing Ball of Worsted) + needed special preparation, and a table fitted with a “servante” or secret + tray. The table for to-night’s performance was an ordinary one, brought + out from the porter’s lodge. The MacQuern deposited on it the great + casket. Zuleika, retaining him as her assistant, picked nimbly out from + their places and put in array the curious appurtenances of her art—the + Magic Canister, the Demon Egg-Cup, and the sundry other vessels which, + lost property of young Edward Gibbs, had been by a Romanoff transmuted + from wood to gold, and were now by the moon reduced temporarily to silver. + </p> + <p> + In a great dense semicircle the young men disposed themselves around her. + Those who were in front squatted down on the gravel; those who were behind + knelt; the rest stood. Young Oxford! Here, in this mass of boyish faces, + all fused and obliterated, was the realisation of that phrase. Two or + three thousands of human bodies, human souls? Yet the effect of them in + the moonlight was as of one great passive monster. + </p> + <p> + So was it seen by the Duke, as he stood leaning against the wall, behind + Zuleika’s table. He saw it as a monster couchant and enchanted, a monster + that was to die; and its death was in part his own doing. But remorse in + him gave place to hostility. Zuleika had begun her performance. She was + producing the Barber’s Pole from her mouth. And it was to her that the + Duke’s heart went suddenly out in tenderness and pity. He forgot her + levity and vanity—her wickedness, as he had inwardly called it. He + thrilled with that intense anxiety which comes to a man when he sees his + beloved offering to the public an exhibition of her skill, be it in + singing, acting, dancing, or any other art. Would she acquit herself well? + The lover’s trepidation is painful enough when the beloved has genius—how + should these clods appreciate her? and who set them in judgment over her? + It must be worse when the beloved has mediocrity. And Zuleika, in + conjuring, had rather less than that. Though indeed she took herself quite + seriously as a conjurer, she brought to her art neither conscience nor + ambition, in any true sense of those words. Since her debut, she had + learned nothing and forgotten nothing. The stale and narrow repertory + which she had acquired from Edward Gibbs was all she had to offer; and + this, and her marked lack of skill, she eked out with the self-same + “patter” that had sufficed that impossible young man. It was especially + her jokes that now sent shudders up the spine of her lover, and brought + tears to his eyes, and kept him in a state of terror as to what she would + say next. “You see,” she had exclaimed lightly after the production of the + Barber’s Pole, “how easy it is to set up business as a hairdresser.” Over + the Demon Egg-Cup she said that the egg was “as good as fresh.” And her + constantly reiterated catch-phrase—“Well, this is rather queer!”—was + the most distressing thing of all. + </p> + <p> + The Duke blushed to think what these men thought of her. Would love were + blind! These her lovers were doubtless judging her. They forgave her—confound + their impudence!—because of her beauty. The banality of her + performance was an added grace. It made her piteous. Damn them, they were + sorry for her. Little Noaks was squatting in the front row, peering up at + her through his spectacles. Noaks was as sorry for her as the rest of + them. Why didn’t the earth yawn and swallow them all up? + </p> + <p> + Our hero’s unreasoning rage was fed by a not unreasonable jealousy. It was + clear to him that Zuleika had forgotten his existence. To-day, as soon as + he had killed her love, she had shown him how much less to her was his + love than the crowd’s. And now again it was only the crowd she cared for. + He followed with his eyes her long slender figure as she threaded her way + in and out of the crowd, sinuously, confidingly, producing a penny from + one lad’s elbow, a threepenny-bit from between another’s neck and collar, + half a crown from another’s hair, and always repeating in that flute-like + voice of hers “Well, this is rather queer!” Hither and thither she fared, + her neck and arms gleaming white from the luminous blackness of her dress, + in the luminous blueness of the night. At a distance, she might have been + a wraith; or a breeze made visible; a vagrom breeze, warm and delicate, + and in league with death. + </p> + <p> + Yes, that is how she might have seemed to a casual observer. But to the + Duke there was nothing weird about her: she was radiantly a woman; a + goddess; and his first and last love. Bitter his heart was, but only + against the mob she wooed, not against her for wooing it. She was cruel? + All goddesses are that. She was demeaning herself? His soul welled up anew + in pity, in passion. + </p> + <p> + Yonder, in the Hall, the concert ran its course, making a feeble + incidental music to the dark emotions of the quadrangle. It ended somewhat + before the close of Zuleika’s rival show; and then the steps from the Hall + were thronged by ladies, who, with a sprinkling of dons, stood in + attitudes of refined displeasure and vulgar curiosity. The Warden was just + awake enough to notice the sea of undergraduates. Suspecting some breach + of College discipline, he retired hastily to his own quarters, for fear + his dignity might be somehow compromised. + </p> + <p> + Was there ever, I wonder, an historian so pure as not to have wished just + once to fob off on his readers just one bright fable for effect? I find + myself sorely tempted to tell you that on Zuleika, as her entertainment + drew to a close, the spirit of the higher thaumaturgy descended like a + flame and found in her a worthy agent. Specious Apollyon whispers to me + “Where would be the harm? Tell your readers that she cast a seed on the + ground, and that therefrom presently arose a tamarind-tree which blossomed + and bore fruit and, withering, vanished. Or say she conjured from an empty + basket of osier a hissing and bridling snake. Why not? Your readers would + be excited, gratified. And you would never be found out.” But the grave + eyes of Clio are bent on me, her servant. Oh pardon, madam: I did but + waver for an instant. It is not too late to tell my readers that the + climax of Zuleika’s entertainment was only that dismal affair, the Magic + Canister. + </p> + <p> + It she took from the table, and, holding it aloft, cried “Now, before I + say good night, I want to see if I have your confidence. But you mustn’t + think this is the confidence trick!” She handed the vessel to The + MacQuern, who, looking like an overgrown acolyte, bore it after her as she + went again among the audience. Pausing before a man in the front row, she + asked him if he would trust her with his watch. He held it out to her. + “Thank you,” she said, letting her fingers touch his for a moment before + she dropped it into the Magic Canister. From another man she borrowed a + cigarette-case, from another a neck-tie, from another a pair of + sleeve-links, from Noaks a ring—one of those iron rings which are + supposed, rightly or wrongly, to alleviate rheumatism. And when she had + made an ample selection, she began her return-journey to the table. + </p> + <p> + On her way she saw in the shadow of the wall the figure of her forgotten + Duke. She saw him, the one man she had ever loved, also the first man who + had wished definitely to die for her; and she was touched by remorse. She + had said she would remember him to her dying day; and already... But had + he not refused her the wherewithal to remember him—the pearls she + needed as the clou of her dear collection, the great relic among relics? + </p> + <p> + “Would you trust me with your studs?” she asked him, in a voice that could + be heard throughout the quadrangle, with a smile that was for him alone. + </p> + <p> + There was no help for it. He quickly extricated from his shirt-front the + black pearl and the pink. Her thanks had a special emphasis. + </p> + <p> + The MacQuern placed the Magic Canister before her on the table. She + pressed the outer sheath down on it. Then she inverted it so that the + contents fell into the false lid; then she opened it, looked into it, and, + exclaiming “Well, this is rather queer!” held it up so that the audience + whose intelligence she was insulting might see there was nothing in it. + </p> + <p> + “Accidents,” she said, “will happen in the best-regulated canisters! But I + think there is just a chance that I shall be able to restore your + property. Excuse me for a moment.” She then shut the canister, released + the false lid, made several passes over it, opened it, looked into it and + said with a flourish “Now I can clear my character!” Again she went among + the crowd, attended by The MacQuern; and the loans—priceless now + because she had touched them—were in due course severally restored. + When she took the canister from her acolyte, only the two studs remained + in it. + </p> + <p> + Not since the night of her flitting from the Gibbs’ humble home had + Zuleika thieved. Was she a back-slider? Would she rob the Duke, and his + heir-presumptive, and Tanville-Tankertons yet unborn? Alas, yes. But what + she now did was proof that she had qualms. And her way of doing it showed + that for legerdemain she had after all a natural aptitude which, properly + trained, might have won for her an honourable place in at least the second + rank of contemporary prestidigitators. With a gesture of her disengaged + hand, so swift as to be scarcely visible, she unhooked her ear-rings and + “passed” them into the canister. This she did as she turned away from the + crowd, on her way to the Duke. At the same moment, in a manner technically + not less good, though morally deplorable, she withdrew the studs and + “vanished” them into her bosom. + </p> + <p> + Was it triumph, or shame, or of both a little that so flushed her cheeks + as she stood before the man she had robbed? Or was it the excitement of + giving a present to the man she had loved? Certain it is that the + nakedness of her ears gave a new look to her face—a primitive look, + open and sweetly wild. The Duke saw the difference, without noticing the + cause. She was more adorable than ever. He blenched and swayed as in + proximity to a loveliness beyond endurance. His heart cried out within + him. A sudden mist came over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + In the canister that she held out to him, the two pearls rattled like + dice. + </p> + <p> + “Keep them!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “I shall,” she whispered back, almost shyly. “But these, these are for + you.” And she took one of his hands, and, holding it open, tilted the + canister over it, and let drop into it the two ear-rings, and went quickly + away. + </p> + <p> + As she re-appeared at the table, the crowd gave her a long ovation of + gratitude for her performance—an ovation all the more impressive + because it was solemn and subdued. She curtseyed again and again, not + indeed with the timid simplicity of her first obeisance (so familiar + already was she with the thought of the crowd’s doom), but rather in the + manner of a prima donna—chin up, eyelids down, all teeth manifest, + and hands from the bosom flung ecstatically wide asunder. + </p> + <p> + You know how, at a concert, a prima donna who has just sung insists on + shaking hands with the accompanist, and dragging him forward, to show how + beautiful her nature is, into the applause that is for herself alone. And + your heart, like mine, has gone out to the wretched victim. Even so would + you have felt for The MacQuern when Zuleika, on the implied assumption + that half the credit was his, grasped him by the wrist, and, continuing to + curtsey, would not release him till the last echoes of the clapping had + died away. + </p> + <p> + The ladies on the steps of the Hall moved down into the quadrangle, + spreading their resentment like a miasma. The tragic passion of the crowd + was merged in mere awkwardness. There was a general movement towards the + College gate. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika was putting her tricks back into the great casket, The MacQuern + assisting her. The Scots, as I have said, are a shy race, but a resolute + and a self-seeking. This young chieftain had not yet recovered from what + his heroine had let him in for. But he did not lose the opportunity of + asking her to lunch with him to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” she said, fitting the Demon Egg-Cup into its groove. Then, + looking up at him, “Are you popular?” she asked. “Have you many friends?” + He nodded. She said he must invite them all. + </p> + <p> + This was a blow to the young man, who, at once thrifty and infatuate, had + planned a luncheon a deux. “I had hoped—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Vainly,” she cut him short. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. “Whom shall I invite, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know any of them. How should I have preferences?” She remembered + the Duke. She looked round and saw him still standing in the shadow of the + wall. He came towards her. “Of course,” she said hastily to her host, “you + must ask HIM.” + </p> + <p> + The MacQuern complied. He turned to the Duke and told him that Miss Dobson + had very kindly promised to lunch with him to-morrow. “And,” said Zuleika, + “I simply WON’T unless you will.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke looked at her. Had it not been arranged that he and she should + spend his last day together? Did it mean nothing that she had given him + her ear-rings? Quickly drawing about him some remnants of his tattered + pride, he hid his wound, and accepted the invitation. + </p> + <p> + “It seems a shame,” said Zuleika to The MacQuern, “to ask you to bring + this great heavy box all the way back again. But—” + </p> + <p> + Those last poor rags of pride fell away now. The Duke threw a prehensile + hand on the casket, and, coldly glaring at The MacQuern, pointed with his + other hand towards the College gate. He, and he alone, was going to see + Zuleika home. It was his last night on earth, and he was not to be trifled + with. Such was the message of his eyes. The Scotsman’s flashed back a + precisely similar message. + </p> + <p> + Men had fought for Zuleika, but never in her presence. Her eyes dilated. + She had not the slightest impulse to throw herself between the two + antagonists. Indeed, she stepped back, so as not to be in the way. A short + sharp fight—how much better that is than bad blood! She hoped the + better man would win; and (do not misjudge her) she rather hoped this man + was the Duke. It occurred to her—a vague memory of some play or + picture—that she ought to be holding aloft a candelabra of lit + tapers; no, that was only done indoors, and in the eighteenth century. + Ought she to hold a sponge? Idle, these speculations of hers, and based on + complete ignorance of the manners and customs of undergraduates. The Duke + and The MacQuern would never have come to blows in the presence of a lady. + Their conflict was necessarily spiritual. + </p> + <p> + And it was the Scotsman, Scots though he was, who had to yield. Cowed by + something demoniac in the will-power pitted against his, he found himself + retreating in the direction indicated by the Duke’s forefinger. + </p> + <p> + As he disappeared into the porch, Zuleika turned to the Duke. “You were + splendid,” she said softly. He knew that very well. Does the stag in his + hour of victory need a diploma from the hind? Holding in his hands the + malachite casket that was the symbol of his triumph, the Duke smiled + dictatorially at his darling. He came near to thinking of her as a + chattel. Then with a pang he remembered his abject devotion to her. Abject + no longer though! The victory he had just won restored his manhood, his + sense of supremacy among his fellows. He loved this woman on equal terms. + She was transcendent? So was he, Dorset. To-night the world had on its + moonlit surface two great ornaments—Zuleika and himself. Neither of + the pair could be replaced. Was one of them to be shattered? Life and love + were good. He had been mad to think of dying. + </p> + <p> + No word was spoken as they went together to Salt Cellar. She expected him + to talk about her conjuring tricks. Could he have been disappointed? She + dared not inquire; for she had the sensitiveness, though no other quality + whatsoever, of the true artist. She felt herself aggrieved. She had half a + mind to ask him to give her back her ear-rings. And by the way, he hadn’t + yet thanked her for them! Well, she would make allowances for a condemned + man. And again she remembered the omen of which he had told her. She + looked at him, and then up into the sky. “This same moon,” she said to + herself, “sees the battlements of Tankerton. Does she see two black owls + there? Does she hear them hooting?” + </p> + <p> + They were in Salt Cellar now. “Melisande!” she called up to her window. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said the Duke, “I have something to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can say it all the better without that great box in your hands. + I want my maid to carry it up to my room for me.” And again she called out + for Melisande, and received no answer. “I suppose she’s in the + house-keeper’s room or somewhere. You had better put the box down inside + the door. She can bring it up later.” + </p> + <p> + She pushed open the postern; and the Duke, as he stepped across the + threshold, thrilled with a romantic awe. Re-emerging a moment later into + the moonlight, he felt that she had been right about the box: it was fatal + to self-expression; and he was glad he had not tried to speak on the way + from the Front Quad: the soul needs gesture; and the Duke’s first gesture + now was to seize Zuleika’s hands in his. + </p> + <p> + She was too startled to move. “Zuleika!” he whispered. She was too angry + to speak, but with a sudden twist she freed her wrists and darted back. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “You are afraid of me. You are afraid to let me kiss you, + because you are afraid of loving me. This afternoon—here—I all + but kissed you. I mistook you for Death. I was enamoured of Death. I was a + fool. That is what YOU are, you incomparable darling: you are a fool. You + are afraid of life. I am not. I love life. I am going to live for you, do + you hear?” + </p> + <p> + She stood with her back to the postern. Anger in her eyes had given place + to scorn. “You mean,” she said, “that you go back on your promise?” + </p> + <p> + “You will release me from it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you are afraid to die?” + </p> + <p> + “You will not be guilty of my death. You love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, you miserable coward.” She stepped back through the postern. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, Zuleika! Miss Dobson, don’t! Pull yourself together! Reflect! I + implore you... You will repent...” + </p> + <p> + Slowly she closed the postern on him. + </p> + <p> + “You will repent. I shall wait here, under your window...” + </p> + <p> + He heard a bolt rasped into its socket. He heard the retreat of a light + tread on the paven hall. + </p> + <p> + And he hadn’t even kissed her! That was his first thought. He ground his + heel in the gravel. + </p> + <p> + And he had hurt her wrists! This was Zuleika’s first thought, as she came + into her bedroom. Yes, there were two red marks where he had held her. No + man had ever dared to lay hands on her. With a sense of contamination, she + proceeded to wash her hands thoroughly with soap and water. From time to + time such words as “cad” and “beast” came through her teeth. + </p> + <p> + She dried her hands and flung herself into a chair, arose and went pacing + the room. So this was the end of her great night! What had she done to + deserve it? How had he dared? + </p> + <p> + There was a sound as of rain against the window. She was glad. The night + needed cleansing. + </p> + <p> + He had told her she was afraid of life. Life!—to have herself + caressed by HIM; humbly to devote herself to being humbly doted on; to be + the slave of a slave; to swim in a private pond of treacle—ugh! If + the thought weren’t so cloying and degrading, it would be laughable. + </p> + <p> + For a moment her hands hovered over those two golden and gemmed volumes + encasing Bradshaw and the A.B.C. Guide. To leave Oxford by an early train, + leave him to drown unthanked, unlooked at... But this could not be done + without slighting all those hundreds of other men ... And besides... + </p> + <p> + Again that sound on the window-pane. This time it startled her. There + seemed to be no rain. Could it have been—little bits of gravel? She + darted noiselessly to the window, pushed it open, and looked down. She saw + the upturned face of the Duke. She stepped back, trembling with fury, + staring around her. Inspiration came. + </p> + <p> + She thrust her head out again. “Are you there?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. I knew you would come.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment, wait!” + </p> + <p> + The water-jug stood where she had left it, on the floor by the wash-stand. + It was almost full, rather heavy. She bore it steadily to the window, and + looked out. + </p> + <p> + “Come a little nearer!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + The upturned and moonlit face obeyed her. She saw its lips forming the + word “Zuleika.” She took careful aim. + </p> + <p> + Full on the face crashed the cascade of moonlit water, shooting out on all + sides like the petals of some great silver anemone. + </p> + <p> + She laughed shrilly as she leapt back, letting the empty jug roll over on + the carpet. Then she stood tense, crouching, her hands to her mouth, her + eyes askance, as much as to say “Now I’ve done it!” She listened hard, + holding her breath. In the stillness of the night was a faint sound of + dripping water, and presently of footsteps going away. Then stillness + unbroken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + I said that I was Clio’s servant. And I felt, when I said it, that you + looked at me dubiously, and murmured among yourselves. + </p> + <p> + Not that you doubted I was somewhat connected with Clio’s household. The + lady after whom I have named this book is alive, and well known to some of + you personally, to all of you by repute. Nor had you finished my first + page before you guessed my theme to be that episode in her life which + caused so great a sensation among the newspaper-reading public a few years + ago. (It all seems but yesterday, does it not? They are still vivid to us, + those head-lines. We have hardly yet ceased to be edified by the morals + pointed in those leading articles.) And yet very soon you found me + behaving just like any novelist—reporting the exact words that + passed between the protagonists at private interviews—aye, and the + exact thoughts and emotions that were in their breasts. Little wonder that + you wondered! Let me make things clear to you. + </p> + <p> + I have my mistress’ leave to do this. At first (for reasons which you will + presently understand) she demurred. But I pointed out to her that I had + been placed in a false position, and that until this were rectified + neither she nor I could reap the credit due to us. + </p> + <p> + Know, then, that for a long time Clio had been thoroughly discontented. + She was happy enough, she says, when first she left the home of Pierus, + her father, to become a Muse. On those humble beginnings she looks back + with affection. She kept only one servant, Herodotus. The romantic element + in him appealed to her. He died, and she had about her a large staff of + able and faithful servants, whose way of doing their work irritated and + depressed her. To them, apparently, life consisted of nothing but politics + and military operations—things to which she, being a woman, was + somewhat indifferent. She was jealous of Melpomene. It seemed to her that + her own servants worked from without at a mass of dry details which might + as well be forgotten. Melpomene’s worked on material that was eternally + interesting—the souls of men and women; and not from without, + either; but rather casting themselves into those souls and showing to us + the essence of them. She was particularly struck by a remark of + Aristotle’s, that tragedy was “more philosophic” than history, inasmuch as + it concerned itself with what might be, while history was concerned with + merely what had been. This summed up for her what she had often felt, but + could not have exactly formulated. She saw that the department over which + she presided was at best an inferior one. She saw that just what she had + liked—and rightly liked—in poor dear Herodotus was just what + prevented him from being a good historian. It was wrong to mix up facts + and fancies. But why should her present servants deal with only one little + special set of the variegated facts of life? It was not in her power to + interfere. The Nine, by the terms of the charter that Zeus had granted to + them, were bound to leave their servants an absolutely free hand. But Clio + could at least refrain from reading the works which, by a legal fiction, + she was supposed to inspire. Once or twice in the course of a century, she + would glance into this or that new history book, only to lay it down with + a shrug of her shoulders. Some of the mediaeval chronicles she rather + liked. But when, one day, Pallas asked her what she thought of “The + Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” her only answer was “ostis toia + echei en edone echei en edone toia” (For people who like that kind of + thing, that is the kind of thing they like). This she did let slip. + Generally, throughout all the centuries, she kept up a pretence of + thinking history the greatest of all the arts. She always held her head + high among her Sisters. It was only on the sly that she was an omnivorous + reader of dramatic and lyric poetry. She watched with keen interest the + earliest developments of the prose romance in southern Europe; and after + the publication of “Clarissa Harlowe” she spent practically all her time + in reading novels. It was not until the Spring of the year 1863 that an + entirely new element forced itself into her peaceful life. Zeus fell in + love with her. + </p> + <p> + To us, for whom so quickly “time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,” + there is something strange, even a trifle ludicrous, in the thought that + Zeus, after all these years, is still at the beck and call of his + passions. And it seems anyhow lamentable that he has not yet gained + self-confidence enough to appear in his own person to the lady of his + choice, and is still at pains to transform himself into whatever object he + deems likeliest to please her. To Clio, suddenly from Olympus, he flashed + down in the semblance of Kinglake’s “Invasion of the Crimea” (four vols., + large 8vo, half-calf). She saw through his disguise immediately, and, with + great courage and independence, bade him begone. Rebuffed, he was not + deflected. Indeed it would seem that Clio’s high spirit did but sharpen + his desire. Hardly a day passed but he appeared in what he hoped would be + the irresistible form—a recently discovered fragment of Polybius, an + advance copy of the forthcoming issue of “The Historical Review,” the + note-book of Professor Carl Voertschlaffen... One day, all-prying Hermes + told him of Clio’s secret addiction to novel-reading. Thenceforth, year + in, year out, it was in the form of fiction that Zeus wooed her. The sole + result was that she grew sick of the sight of novels, and found a perverse + pleasure in reading history. These dry details of what had actually + happened were a relief, she told herself, from all that make-believe. + </p> + <p> + One Sunday afternoon—the day before that very Monday on which this + narrative opens—it occurred to her how fine a thing history might be + if the historian had the novelist’s privileges. Suppose he could be + present at every scene which he was going to describe, a presence + invisible and inevitable, and equipped with power to see into the breasts + of all the persons whose actions he set himself to watch... + </p> + <p> + While the Muse was thus musing, Zeus (disguised as Miss Annie S. Swan’s + latest work) paid his usual visit. She let her eyes rest on him. Hither + and thither she divided her swift mind, and addressed him in winged words. + “Zeus, father of gods and men, cloud-compeller, what wouldst thou of me? + But first will I say what I would of thee”; and she besought him to extend + to the writers of history such privileges as are granted to novelists. His + whole manner had changed. He listened to her with the massive gravity of a + ruler who never yet has allowed private influence to obscure his judgment. + He was silent for some time after her appeal. Then, in a voice of thunder, + which made quake the slopes of Parnassus, he gave his answer. He admitted + the disabilities under which historians laboured. But the novelists—were + they not equally handicapped? They had to treat of persons who never + existed, events which never were. Only by the privilege of being in the + thick of those events, and in the very bowels of those persons, could they + hope to hold the reader’s attention. If similar privileges were granted to + the historian, the demand for novels would cease forthwith, and many + thousand of hard-working, deserving men and women would be thrown out of + employment. In fact, Clio had asked him an impossible favour. But he might—he + said he conceivably might—be induced to let her have her way just + once. In that event, all she would have to do was to keep her eye on the + world’s surface, and then, so soon as she had reason to think that + somewhere was impending something of great import, to choose an historian. + On him, straightway, Zeus would confer invisibility, inevitability, and + psychic penetration, with a flawless memory thrown in. + </p> + <p> + On the following afternoon, Clio’s roving eye saw Zuleika stepping from + the Paddington platform into the Oxford train. A few moments later I found + myself suddenly on Parnassus. In hurried words Clio told me how I came + there, and what I had to do. She said she had selected me because she knew + me to be honest, sober, and capable, and no stranger to Oxford. Another + moment, and I was at the throne of Zeus. With a majesty of gesture which I + shall never forget, he stretched his hand over me, and I was indued with + the promised gifts. And then, lo! I was on the platform of Oxford station. + The train was not due for another hour. But the time passed pleasantly + enough. + </p> + <p> + It was fun to float all unseen, to float all unhampered by any corporeal + nonsense, up and down the platform. It was fun to watch the inmost + thoughts of the station-master, of the porters, of the young person at the + buffet. But of course I did not let the holiday-mood master me. I realised + the seriousness of my mission. I must concentrate myself on the matter in + hand: Miss Dobson’s visit. What was going to happen? Prescience was no + part of my outfit. From what I knew about Miss Dobson, I deduced that she + would be a great success. That was all. Had I had the instinct that was + given to those Emperors in stone, and even to the dog Corker, I should + have begged Clio to send in my stead some man of stronger nerve. She had + charged me to be calmly vigilant, scrupulously fair. I could have been + neither, had I from the outset foreseen all. Only because the immediate + future was broken to me by degrees, first as a set of possibilities, then + as a set of probabilities that yet might not come off, was I able to + fulfil the trust imposed in me. Even so, it was hard. I had always + accepted the doctrine that to understand all is to forgive all. Thanks to + Zeus, I understood all about Miss Dobson, and yet there were moments when + she repelled me—moments when I wished to see her neither from + without nor from within. So soon as the Duke of Dorset met her on the + Monday night, I felt I was in duty bound to keep him under constant + surveillance. Yet there were moments when I was so sorry for him that I + deemed myself a brute for shadowing him. + </p> + <p> + Ever since I can remember, I have been beset by a recurring doubt as to + whether I be or be not quite a gentleman. I have never attempted to define + that term: I have but feverishly wondered whether in its usual acceptation + (whatever that is) it be strictly applicable to myself. Many people hold + that the qualities connoted by it are primarily moral—a kind heart, + honourable conduct, and so forth. On Clio’s mission, I found honour and + kindness tugging me in precisely opposite directions. In so far as honour + tugged the harder, was I the more or the less gentlemanly? But the test is + not a fair one. Curiosity tugged on the side of honour. This goes to prove + me a cad? Oh, set against it the fact that I did at one point betray + Clio’s trust. When Miss Dobson had done the deed recorded at the close of + the foregoing chapter, I gave the Duke of Dorset an hour’s grace. + </p> + <p> + I could have done no less. In the lives of most of us is some one thing + that we would not after the lapse of how many years soever confess to our + most understanding friend; the thing that does not bear thinking of; the + one thing to be forgotten; the unforgettable thing. Not the commission of + some great crime: this can be atoned for by great penances; and the very + enormity of it has a dark grandeur. Maybe, some little deadly act of + meanness, some hole-and-corner treachery? But what a man has once willed + to do, his will helps him to forget. The unforgettable thing in his life + is usually not a thing he has done or left undone, but a thing done to him—some + insolence or cruelty for which he could not, or did not, avenge himself. + This it is that often comes back to him, years after, in his dreams, and + thrusts itself suddenly into his waking thoughts, so that he clenches his + hands, and shakes his head, and hums a tune loudly—anything to beat + it off. In the very hour when first befell him that odious humiliation, + would you have spied on him? I gave the Duke of Dorset an hour’s grace. + </p> + <p> + What were his thoughts in that interval, what words, if any, he uttered to + the night, never will be known. For this, Clio has abused me in language + less befitting a Muse than a fishwife. I do not care. I would rather be + chidden by Clio than by my own sense of delicacy, any day. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + Not less averse than from dogging the Duke was I from remaining another + instant in the presence of Miss Dobson. There seemed to be no possible + excuse for her. This time she had gone too far. She was outrageous. As + soon as the Duke had had time to get clear away, I floated out into the + night. + </p> + <p> + I may have consciously reasoned that the best way to forget the present + was in the revival of memories. Or I may have been driven by a mere homing + instinct. Anyhow, it was in the direction of my old College that I went. + Midnight was tolling as I floated in through the shut grim gate at which I + had so often stood knocking for admission. + </p> + <p> + The man who now occupied my room had sported his oak—my oak. I read + the name on the visiting-card attached thereto—E. J. Craddock—and + went in. + </p> + <p> + E. J. Craddock, interloper, was sitting at my table, with elbows squared + and head on one side, in the act of literary composition. The oars and + caps on my walls betokened him a rowing-man. Indeed, I recognised his + somewhat heavy face as that of the man whom, from the Judas barge this + afternoon, I had seen rowing “stroke” in my College Eight. + </p> + <p> + He ought, therefore, to have been in bed and asleep two hours ago. And the + offence of his vigil was aggravated by a large tumbler that stood in front + of him, containing whisky and soda. From this he took a deep draught. Then + he read over what he had written. I did not care to peer over his shoulder + at MS. which, though written in my room, was not intended for my eyes. But + the writer’s brain was open to me; and he had written “I, the undersigned + Edward Joseph Craddock, do hereby leave and bequeath all my personal and + other property to Zuleika Dobson, spinster. This is my last will and + testament.” + </p> + <p> + He gnawed his pen, and presently altered the “hereby leave” to “hereby and + herewith leave.” Fool! + </p> + <p> + I thereby and therewith left him. As I emerged through the floor of the + room above—through the very carpet that had so often been steeped in + wine, and encrusted with smithereens of glass, in the brave old days of a + well-remembered occupant—I found two men, both of them evidently + reading-men. One of them was pacing round the room. “Do you know,” he was + saying, “what she reminded me of, all the time? Those words—aren’t + they in the Song of Solomon?—‘fair as the moon, clear as the sun, + and... and...’” + </p> + <p> + “‘Terrible as an army with banners,’” supplied his host—rather + testily, for he was writing a letter. It began “My dear Father. By the + time you receive this I shall have taken a step which...” + </p> + <p> + Clearly it was vain to seek distraction in my old College. I floated out + into the untenanted meadows. Over them was the usual coverlet of white + vapour, trailed from the Isis right up to Merton Wall. The scent of these + meadows’ moisture is the scent of Oxford. Even in hottest noon, one feels + that the sun has not dried THEM. Always there is moisture drifting across + them, drifting into the Colleges. It, one suspects, must have had much to + do with the evocation of what is called the Oxford spirit—that + gentlest spirit, so lingering and searching, so dear to them who as youths + were brought into ken of it, so exasperating to them who were not. Yes, + certainly, it is this mild, miasmal air, not less than the grey beauty and + gravity of the buildings, that has helped Oxford to produce, and foster + eternally, her peculiar race of artist-scholars, scholar-artists. The + undergraduate, in his brief periods of residence, is too buoyant to be + mastered by the spirit of the place. He does but salute it, and catch the + manner. It is on him who stays to spend his maturity here that the spirit + will in its fulness gradually descend. The buildings and their traditions + keep astir in his mind whatsoever is gracious; the climate, enfolding and + enfeebling him, lulling him, keeps him careless of the sharp, harsh, + exigent realities of the outer world. Careless? Not utterly. These + realities may be seen by him. He may study them, be amused or touched by + them. But they cannot fire him. Oxford is too damp for that. The + “movements” made there have been no more than protests against the + mobility of others. They have been without the dynamic quality implied in + their name. They have been no more than the sighs of men gazing at what + other men had left behind them; faint, impossible appeals to the god of + retrogression, uttered for their own sake and ritual, rather than with any + intent that they should be heard. Oxford, that lotus-land, saps the + will-power, the power of action. But, in doing so, it clarifies the mind, + makes larger the vision, gives, above all, that playful and caressing + suavity of manner which comes of a conviction that nothing matters, except + ideas, and that not even ideas are worth dying for, inasmuch as the ghosts + of them slain seem worthy of yet more piously elaborate homage than can be + given to them in their heyday. If the Colleges could be transferred to the + dry and bracing top of some hill, doubtless they would be more evidently + useful to the nation. But let us be glad there is no engineer or enchanter + to compass that task. Egomet, I would liefer have the rest of England + subside into the sea than have Oxford set on a salubrious level. For there + is nothing in England to be matched with what lurks in the vapours of + these meadows, and in the shadows of these spires—that mysterious, + inenubilable spirit, spirit of Oxford. Oxford! The very sight of the word + printed, or sound of it spoken, is fraught for me with most actual magic. + </p> + <p> + And on that moonlit night when I floated among the vapours of these + meadows, myself less than a vapour, I knew and loved Oxford as never + before, as never since. Yonder, in the Colleges, was the fume and fret of + tragedy—Love as Death’s decoy, and Youth following her. What then? + Not Oxford was menaced. Come what might, not a stone of Oxford’s walls + would be loosened, nor a wreath of her vapours be undone, nor lost a + breath of her sacred spirit. + </p> + <p> + I floated up into the higher, drier air, that I might, for once, see the + total body of that spirit. + </p> + <p> + There lay Oxford far beneath me, like a map in grey and black and silver. + All that I had known only as great single things I saw now outspread in + apposition, and tiny; tiny symbols, as it were, of themselves, greatly + symbolising their oneness. There they lay, these multitudinous and + disparate quadrangles, all their rivalries merged in the making of a great + catholic pattern. And the roofs of the buildings around them seemed level + with their lawns. No higher the roofs of the very towers. Up from their + tiny segment of the earth’s spinning surface they stood negligible beneath + infinity. And new, too, quite new, in eternity; transient upstarts. I saw + Oxford as a place that had no more past and no more future than a + mining-camp. I smiled down. O hoary and unassailable mushroom!... But if a + man carry his sense of proportion far enough, lo! he is back at the point + from which he started. He knows that eternity, as conceived by him, is but + an instant in eternity, and infinity but a speck in infinity. How should + they belittle the things near to him?... Oxford was venerable and magical, + after all, and enduring. Aye, and not because she would endure was it the + less lamentable that the young lives within her walls were like to be + taken. My equanimity was gone; and a tear fell on Oxford. + </p> + <p> + And then, as though Oxford herself were speaking up to me, the air + vibrated with a sweet noise of music. It was the hour of one; the end of + the Duke’s hour of grace. Through the silvery tangle of sounds from other + clocks I floated quickly down to the Broad. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <p> + I had on the way a horrible apprehension. What if the Duke, in his agony, + had taken the one means to forgetfulness? His room, I could see, was lit + up; but a man does not necessarily choose to die in the dark. I hovered, + afraid, over the dome of the Sheldonian. I saw that the window of the room + above the Duke’s was also lit up. And there was no reason at all to doubt + the survival of Noaks. Perhaps the sight of him would hearten me. + </p> + <p> + I was wrong. The sight of Noaks in his room was as dismal a thing as could + be. With his chin sunk on his breast, he sat there, on a rickety chair, + staring up at the mantel-piece. This he had decked out as a sort of + shrine. In the centre, aloft on an inverted tin that had contained + Abernethy biscuits, stood a blue plush frame, with an inner rim of brass, + several sizes too big for the picture-postcard installed in it. Zuleika’s + image gazed forth with a smile that was obviously not intended for the + humble worshipper at this execrable shrine. On either side of her stood a + small vase, one holding some geraniums, the other some mignonette. And + just beneath her was placed that iron ring which, rightly or wrongly, + Noaks supposed to alleviate rheumatism—that same iron ring which, by + her touch to-night, had been charged for him with a yet deeper magic, + insomuch that he dared no longer wear it, and had set it before her as an + oblation. + </p> + <p> + Yet, for all his humility, he was possessed by a spirit of egoism that + repelled me. While he sat peering over his spectacles at the beauteous + image, he said again and again to himself, in a hollow voice, “I am so + young to die.” Every time he said this, two large, pear-shaped tears + emerged from behind his spectacles, and found their way to his waistcoat. + It did not seem to strike him that quite half of the undergraduates who + contemplated death—and contemplated it in a fearless, wholesome, + manly fashion—were his juniors. It seemed to seem to him that his + own death, even though all those other far brighter and more promising + lives than his were to be sacrificed, was a thing to bother about. Well, + if he did not want to die, why could he not have, at least, the courage of + his cowardice? The world would not cease to revolve because Noaks still + clung to its surface. For me the whole tragedy was cheapened by his + participation in it. I was fain to leave him. His squint, his short legs + dangling towards the floor, his tear-sodden waistcoat, and his refrain “I + am so young to die,” were beyond measure exasperating. Yet I hesitated to + pass into the room beneath, for fear of what I might see there. + </p> + <p> + How long I might have paltered, had no sound come from that room, I know + not. But a sound came, sharp and sudden in the night, instantly + reassuring. I swept down into the presence of the Duke. + </p> + <p> + He stood with his head flung back and his arms folded, gorgeous in a + dressing-gown of crimson brocade. In animation of pride and pomp, he + looked less like a mortal man than like a figure from some great biblical + group by Paul Veronese. + </p> + <p> + And this was he whom I had presumed to pity! And this was he whom I had + half expected to find dead. + </p> + <p> + His face, usually pale, was now red; and his hair, which no eye had ever + yet seen disordered, stood up in a glistening shock. These two changes in + him intensified the effect of vitality. One of them, however, vanished as + I watched it. The Duke’s face resumed its pallor. I realised then that he + had but blushed; and I realised, simultaneously, that what had called that + blush to his cheek was what had also been the signal to me that he was + alive. His blush had been a pendant to his sneeze. And his sneeze had been + a pendant to that outrage which he had been striving to forget. He had + caught cold. + </p> + <p> + He had caught cold. In the hour of his soul’s bitter need, his body had + been suborned against him. Base! Had he not stripped his body of its wet + vesture? Had he not vigorously dried his hair, and robed himself in + crimson, and struck in solitude such attitudes as were most congruous with + his high spirit and high rank? He had set himself to crush remembrance of + that by which through his body his soul had been assailed. And well had he + known that in this conflict a giant demon was his antagonist. But that his + own body would play traitor—no, this he had not foreseen. This was + too base a thing to be foreseen. + </p> + <p> + He stood quite still, a figure orgulous and splendent. And it seemed as + though the hot night, too, stood still, to watch him, in awe, through the + open lattices of his window, breathlessly. But to me, equipped to see + beneath the surface, he was piteous, piteous in ratio to the pretension of + his aspect. Had he crouched down and sobbed, I should have been as much + relieved as he. But he stood seignorial and aquiline. + </p> + <p> + Painless, by comparison with this conflict in him, seemed the conflict + that had raged in him yesternight. Then, it had been his dandihood against + his passion for Zuleika. What mattered the issue? Whichever won, the + victory were sweet. And of this he had all the while been subconscious, + gallantly though he fought for his pride of dandihood. To-night in the + battle between pride and memory, he knew from the outset that pride’s was + but a forlorn hope, and that memory would be barbarous in her triumph. Not + winning to oblivion, he must hate with a fathomless hatred. Of all the + emotions, hatred is the most excruciating. Of all the objects of hatred, a + woman once loved is the most hateful. Of all deaths, the bitterest that + can befall a man is that he lay down his life to flatter the woman he + deems vilest of her sex. + </p> + <p> + Such was the death that the Duke of Dorset saw confronting him. Most men, + when they are at war with the past, have the future as ally. Looking + steadfastly forward, they can forget. The Duke’s future was openly in + league with his past. For him, prospect was memory. All that there was for + him of future was the death to which his honour was pledged. To envisage + that was to... no, he would NOT envisage it! With a passionate effort he + hypnotised himself to think of nothing at all. His brain, into which, by + the power Zeus gave me, I was gazing, became a perfect vacuum, insulated + by the will. It was the kind of experiment which scientists call + “beautiful.” And yes, beautiful it was. + </p> + <p> + But not in the eyes of Nature. She abhors a vacuum. Seeing the enormous + odds against which the Duke was fighting, she might well have stood aside. + But she has no sense of sport whatsoever. She stepped in. + </p> + <p> + At first I did not realise what was happening. I saw the Duke’s eyes + contract, and the muscles of his mouth drawn down, and, at the same time, + a tense upward movement of his whole body. Then, suddenly, the strain + undone: a downward dart of the head, a loud percussion. Thrice the Duke + sneezed, with a sound that was as the bursting of the dams of body and + soul together; then sneezed again. + </p> + <p> + Now was his will broken. He capitulated. In rushed shame and horror and + hatred, pell-mell, to ravage him. + </p> + <p> + What care now, what use, for deportment? He walked coweringly round and + round his room, with frantic gestures, with head bowed. He shuffled and + slunk. His dressing-gown had the look of a gabardine. + </p> + <p> + Shame and horror and hatred went slashing and hewing throughout the fallen + citadel. At length, exhausted, he flung himself down on the window-seat + and leaned out into the night, panting. The air was full of thunder. He + clutched at his throat. From the depths of the black caverns beneath their + brows the eyes of the unsleeping Emperors watched him. + </p> + <p> + He had gone through much in the day that was past. He had loved and lost. + He had striven to recapture, and had failed. In a strange resolve he had + found serenity and joy. He had been at the point of death, and had been + saved. He had seen that his beloved was worthless, and he had not cared. + He had fought for her, and conquered; and had pled with her, and—all + these memories were loathsome by reason of that final thing which had all + the while lain in wait for him. + </p> + <p> + He looked back and saw himself as he had been at a score of crucial + moments in the day—always in the shadow of that final thing. He saw + himself as he had been on the playing-fields of Eton; aye! and in the arms + of his nurse, to and fro on the terrace of Tankerton—always in the + shadow of that final thing, always piteous and ludicrous, doomed. Thank + heaven the future was unknowable? It wasn’t, now. To-morrow—to-day—he + must die for that accursed fiend of a woman—the woman with the hyena + laugh. + </p> + <p> + What to do meanwhile? Impossible to sleep. He felt in his body the strain + of his quick sequence of spiritual adventures. He was dog-tired. But his + brain was furiously out of hand: no stopping it. And the night was + stifling. And all the while, in the dead silence, as though his soul had + ears, there was a sound. It was a very faint, unearthly sound, and seemed + to come from nowhere, yet to have a meaning. He feared he was rather + over-wrought. + </p> + <p> + He must express himself. That would soothe him. Ever since childhood he + had had, from time to time, the impulse to set down in writing his + thoughts or his moods. In such exercises he had found for his + self-consciousness the vent which natures less reserved than his find in + casual talk with Tom, Dick and Harry, with Jane, Susan, and Liz. Aloof + from either of these triads, he had in his first term at Eton taken to + himself as confidant, and retained ever since, a great quarto volume, + bound in red morocco and stamped with his coronet and cypher. It was + herein, year by year, that his soul spread itself. + </p> + <p> + He wrote mostly in English prose; but other modes were not infrequent. + Whenever he was abroad, it was his courteous habit to write in the + language of the country where he was residing—French, when he was in + his house on the Champs Elysees; Italian, when he was in his villa at + Baiae; and so on. When he was in his own country he felt himself free to + deviate sometimes from the vernacular into whatever language were aptest + to his frame of mind. In his sterner moods he gravitated to Latin, and + wrought the noble iron of that language to effects that were, if anything, + a trifle over-impressive. He found for his highest flights of + contemplation a handy vehicle in Sanscrit. In hours of mere joy it was + Greek poetry that flowed likeliest from his pen; and he had a special + fondness for the metre of Alcaeus. + </p> + <p> + And now, too, in his darkest hour, it was Greek that surged in him—iambics + of thunderous wrath such as those which are volleyed by Prometheus. But as + he sat down to his writing-table, and unlocked the dear old album, and + dipped his pen in the ink, a great calm fell on him. The iambics in him + began to breathe such sweetness as is on the lips of Alcestis going to her + doom. But, just as he set pen to paper, his hand faltered, and he sprang + up, victim of another and yet more violent fit of sneezing. + </p> + <p> + Disbuskined, dangerous. The spirit of Juvenal woke in him. He would flay. + He would make Woman (as he called Zuleika) writhe. Latin hexameters, of + course. An epistle to his heir presumptive... “Vae tibi,” he began, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Vae tibi, vae misero, nisi circumspexeris artes + Femineas, nam nulla salus quin femina possit + Tradere, nulla fides quin”— +</pre> + <p> + “Quin,” he repeated. In writing soliloquies, his trouble was to curb + inspiration. The thought that he was addressing his heir-presumptive—now + heir-only-too-apparent—gave him pause. Nor, he reflected, was he + addressing this brute only, but a huge posthumous audience. These + hexameters would be sure to appear in the “authorised” biography. “A + melancholy interest attaches to the following lines, written, it would + seem, on the very eve of”... He winced. Was it really possible, and no + dream, that he was to die to-morrow—to-day? + </p> + <p> + Even you, unassuming reader, go about with a vague notion that in your + case, somehow, the ultimate demand of nature will be waived. The Duke, + until he conceived his sudden desire to die, had deemed himself certainly + exempt. And now, as he sat staring at his window, he saw in the paling of + the night the presage of the dawn of his own last day. Sometimes (orphaned + though he was in early childhood) he had even found it hard to believe + there was no exemption for those to whom he stood in any personal + relation. He remembered how, soon after he went to Eton, he had received + almost with incredulity the news of the death of his god-father, Lord + Stackley, an octogenarian.... He took from the table his album, knowing + that on one of the earliest pages was inscribed his boyish sense of that + bereavement. Yes, here the passage was, written in a large round hand: + </p> + <p> + “Death knocks, as we know, at the door of the cottage and of the castle. + He stalks up the front-garden and the steep steps of the semi-detached + villa, and plies the ornamental knocker so imperiously that the panels of + imitation stained glass quiver in the thin front-door. Even the family + that occupies the topmost story of a building without a lift is on his + ghastly visiting-list. He rattles his fleshless knuckles against the door + of the gypsy’s caravan. Into the savage’s tent, wigwam, or wattled hut, he + darts unbidden. Even on the hermit in the cave he forces his obnoxious + presence. His is an universal beat, and he walks it with a grin. But be + sure it is at the sombre portal of the nobleman that he knocks with the + greatest gusto. It is there, where haply his visit will be commemorated + with a hatchment; it is then, when the muffled thunder of the Dead March + in ‘Saul’ will soon be rolling in cathedrals; it is then, it is there, + that the pride of his unquestioned power comes grimliest home to him. Is + there no withstanding him? Why should he be admitted always with awe, a + cravenly-honoured guest? When next he calls, let the butler send him about + his business, or tell him to step round to the servants’ entrance. If it + be made plain to him that his visits are an impertinence, he will soon be + disemboldened. Once the aristocracy make a stand against him, there need + be no more trouble about the exorbitant Duties named after him. And for + the hereditary system—that system which both offends the common + sense of the Radical, and wounds the Tory by its implied admission that + noblemen are mortal—a seemly substitute will have been found.” + </p> + <p> + Artless and crude in expression, very boyish, it seemed now to its author. + Yet, in its simple wistfulness, it had quality: it rang true. The Duke + wondered whether, with all that he had since mastered in the great art of + English prose, he had not lost something, too. + </p> + <p> + “Is there no withstanding him?” To think that the boy who uttered that + cry, and gave back so brave an answer, was within nine years to go seek + death of his own accord! How the gods must be laughing! Yes, the exquisite + point of the joke, for them, was that he CHOSE to die. But—and, as + the thought flashed through him, he started like a man shot—what if + he chose not to? Stay, surely there was some reason why he MUST die. Else, + why throughout the night had he taken his doom for granted?... Honour: + yes, he had pledged himself. Better death than dishonour. Was it, though? + was it? Ah, he, who had come so near to death, saw dishonour as a tiny + trifle. Where was the sting of it? Not he would be ridiculous to-morrow—to-day. + Every one would acclaim his splendid act of moral courage. She, she, the + hyena woman, would be the fool. No one would have thought of dying for + her, had he not set the example. Every one would follow his new example. + Yes, he would save Oxford yet. That was his duty. Duty and darling + vengeance! And life—life! + </p> + <p> + It was full dawn now. Gone was that faint, monotonous sound which had + punctuated in his soul the horrors of his vigil. But, in reminder of those + hours, his lamp was still burning. He extinguished it; and the going-out + of that tarnished light made perfect his sense of release. + </p> + <p> + He threw wide his arms in welcome of the great adorable day, and of all + the great adorable days that were to be his. + </p> + <p> + He leaned out from his window, drinking the dawn in. The gods had made + merry over him, had they? And the cry of the hyena had made night hideous. + Well, it was his turn now. He would laugh last and loudest. + </p> + <p> + And already, for what was to be, he laughed outright into the morning; + insomuch that the birds in the trees of Trinity, and still more the + Emperors over the way, marvelled greatly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <p> + They had awaited thousands and innumerable thousands of daybreaks in the + Broad, these Emperors, counting the long slow hours till the night were + over. It is in the night especially that their fallen greatness haunts + them. Day brings some distraction. They are not incurious of the lives + around them—these little lives that succeed one another so quickly. + To them, in their immemorial old age, youth is a constant wonder. And so + is death, which to them comes not. Youth or death—which, they had + often asked themselves, was the goodlier? But it was ill that these two + things should be mated. It was ill-come, this day of days. + </p> + <p> + Long after the Duke was in bed and asleep, his peal of laughter echoed in + the ears of the Emperors. Why had he laughed? + </p> + <p> + And they said to themselves “We are very old men, and broken, and in a + land not our own. There are things that we do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + Brief was the freshness of the dawn. From all points of the compass, dark + grey clouds mounted into the sky. There, taking their places as though in + accordance to a strategic plan laid down for them, they ponderously massed + themselves, and presently, as at a given signal, drew nearer to earth, and + halted, an irresistible great army, awaiting orders. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere under cover of them the sun went his way, transmitting a + sulphurous heat. The very birds in the trees of Trinity were oppressed and + did not twitter. The very leaves did not whisper. + </p> + <p> + Out through the railings, and across the road, prowled a skimpy and dingy + cat, trying to look like a tiger. + </p> + <p> + It was all very sinister and dismal. + </p> + <p> + The hours passed. The Broad put forth, one by one, its signs of waking. + </p> + <p> + Soon after eight o’clock, as usual, the front-door of the Duke’s lodgings + was opened from within. The Emperors watched for the faint cloud of dust + that presently emerged, and for her whom it preceded. To them, this first + outcoming of the landlady’s daughter was a moment of daily interest. + Katie!—they had known her as a toddling child; and later as a little + girl scampering off to school, all legs and pinafore and streaming golden + hair. And now she was sixteen years old. Her hair, tied back at the nape + of her neck, would very soon be “up.” Her big blue eyes were as they had + always been; but she had long passed out of pinafores into aprons, had + taken on a sedateness befitting her years and her duties, and was anxious + to be regarded rather as an aunt than as a sister by her brother Clarence, + aged twelve. The Emperors had always predicted that she would be pretty. + And very pretty she was. + </p> + <p> + As she came slowly out, with eyes downcast to her broom, sweeping the dust + so seriously over the doorstep and then across the pavement, and anon when + she reappeared with pail and scrubbing-brush, and abased herself before + the doorstep, and wrought so vehemently there, what filled her little soul + was not the dignity of manual labour. The duties that Zuleika had envied + her were dear to her exactly as they would have been, yesterday morning, + to Zuleika. The Emperors had often noticed that during vacations their + little favourite’s treatment of the doorstep was languid and perfunctory. + They knew well her secret, and always (for who can be long in England + without becoming sentimental?) they cherished the hope of a romantic union + between her and “a certain young gentleman,” as they archly called the + Duke. His continued indifference to her they took almost as an affront to + themselves. Where in all England was a prettier, sweeter girl than their + Katie? The sudden irruption of Zuleika into Oxford was especially grievous + to them because they could no longer hope against hope that Katie would be + led by the Duke to the altar, and thence into the highest social circles, + and live happily ever after. Luckily it was for Katie, however, that they + had no power to fill her head with their foolish notions. It was well for + her to have never doubted she loved in vain. She had soon grown used to + her lot. Not until yesterday had there been any bitterness. Jealousy + surged in Katie at the very moment when she beheld Zuleika on the + threshold. A glance at the Duke’s face when she showed the visitor up was + enough to acquaint her with the state of his heart. And she did not, for + confirming her intuition, need the two or three opportunities she took of + listening at the keyhole. What in the course of those informal audiences + did surprise her—so much indeed that she could hardly believe her + ear—was that it was possible for a woman not to love the Duke. Her + jealousy of “that Miss Dobson” was for a while swallowed up in her pity + for him. What she had borne so cheerfully for herself she could not bear + for her hero. She wished she had not happened to listen. + </p> + <p> + And this morning, while she knelt swaying and spreading over “his” + doorstep, her blue eyes added certain tears to be scrubbed away in the + general moisture of the stone. Rising, she dried her hands in her apron, + and dried her eyes with her hands. Lest her mother should see that she had + been crying, she loitered outside the door. Suddenly, her roving glance + changed to a stare of acute hostility. She knew well that the person + wandering towards her was—no, not “that Miss Dobson,” as she had for + the fraction of an instant supposed, but the next worst thing. + </p> + <p> + It has been said that Melisande indoors was an evidently French maid. Out + of doors she was not less evidently Zuleika’s. Not that she aped her + mistress. The resemblance had come by force of propinquity and devotion. + Nature had laid no basis for it. Not one point of form or colour had the + two women in common. It has been said that Zuleika was not strictly + beautiful. Melisande, like most Frenchwomen, was strictly plain. But in + expression and port, in her whole tournure, she had become, as every good + maid does, her mistress’ replica. The poise of her head, the boldness of + her regard and brilliance of her smile, the leisurely and swinging way in + which she walked, with a hand on the hip—all these things of hers + were Zuleika’s too. She was no conqueror. None but the man to whom she was + betrothed—a waiter at the Cafe Tourtel, named Pelleas—had ever + paid court to her; nor was she covetous of other hearts. Yet she looked + victorious, and insatiable of victories, and “terrible as an army with + banners.” + </p> + <p> + In the hand that was not on her hip she carried a letter. And on her + shoulders she had to bear the full burden of the hatred that Zuleika had + inspired in Katie. But this she did not know. She came glancing boldly, + leisurely, at the numbers on the front-doors. + </p> + <p> + Katie stepped back on to the doorstep, lest the inferiority of her stature + should mar the effect of her disdain. + </p> + <p> + “Good-day. Is it here that Duke D’Orsay lives?” asked Melisande, as nearly + accurate as a Gaul may be in such matters. + </p> + <p> + “The Duke of Dorset,” said Katie with a cold and insular emphasis, “lives + here.” And “You,” she tried to convey with her eyes, “you, for all your + smart black silk, are a hireling. I am Miss Batch. I happen to have a + hobby for housework. I have not been crying.” + </p> + <p> + “Then please mount this to him at once,” said Melisande, holding out the + letter. “It is from Miss Dobson’s part. Very express. I wait response.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very ugly,” Katie signalled with her eyes. “I am very pretty. I + have the Oxfordshire complexion. And I play the piano.” With her lips she + said merely, “His Grace is not called before nine o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “But to-day you go wake him now—quick—is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite out of the question,” said Katie. “If you care to leave that letter + here, I will see that it is placed on his Grace’s breakfast-table, with + the morning’s post.” “For the rest,” added her eyes, “Down with France!” + </p> + <p> + “I find you droll, but droll, my little one!” cried Melisande. + </p> + <p> + Katie stepped back and shut the door in her face. “Like a little Empress,” + the Emperors commented. + </p> + <p> + The Frenchwoman threw up her hands and apostrophised heaven. To this day + she believes that all the bonnes of Oxford are mad, but mad, and of a + madness. + </p> + <p> + She stared at the door, at the pail and scrubbing-brush that had been shut + out with her, at the letter in her hand. She decided that she had better + drop the letter into the slit in the door and make report to Miss Dobson. + </p> + <p> + As the envelope fell through the slit to the door-mat, Katie made at + Melisande a grimace which, had not the panels been opaque, would have + astonished the Emperors. Resuming her dignity, she picked the thing up, + and, at arm’s length, examined it. It was inscribed in pencil. Katie’s + lips curled at sight of the large, audacious handwriting. But it is + probable that whatever kind of handwriting Zuleika might have had would + have been just the kind that Katie would have expected. + </p> + <p> + Fingering the envelope, she wondered what the wretched woman had to say. + It occurred to her that the kettle was simmering on the hob in the + kitchen, and that she might easily steam open the envelope and master its + contents. However, her doing this would have in no way affected the course + of the tragedy. And so the gods (being to-day in a strictly artistic mood) + prompted her to mind her own business. + </p> + <p> + Laying the Duke’s table for breakfast, she made as usual a neat + rectangular pile of the letters that had come for him by post. Zuleika’s + letter she threw down askew. That luxury she allowed herself. + </p> + <p> + And he, when he saw the letter, allowed himself the luxury of leaving it + unopened awhile. Whatever its purport, he knew it could but minister to + his happy malice. A few hours ago, with what shame and dread it would have + stricken him! Now it was a dainty to be dallied with. + </p> + <p> + His eyes rested on the black tin boxes that contained his robes of the + Garter. Hateful had been the sight of them in the watches of the night, + when he thought he had worn those robes for the last time. But now—! + </p> + <p> + He opened Zuleika’s letter. It did not disappoint him. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR DUKE,—DO, DO forgive me. I am beyond words ashamed of the + silly tomboyish thing I did last night. Of course it was no worse than + that, but an awful fear haunts me that you MAY have thought I acted in + anger at the idea of your breaking your promise to me. Well, it is quite + true I had been hurt and angry when you hinted at doing that, but the + moment I left you I saw that you had been only in fun, and I enjoyed the + joke against myself, though I thought it was rather too bad of you. And + then, as a sort of revenge, but almost before I knew what I was doing, I + played that IDIOTIC practical joke on you. I have been MISERABLE ever + since. DO come round as early as possible and tell me I am forgiven. But + before you tell me that, please lecture me till I cry—though indeed + I have been crying half through the night. And then if you want to be VERY + horrid you may tease me for being so slow to see a joke. And then you + might take me to see some of the Colleges and things before we go on to + lunch at The MacQuern’s? Forgive pencil and scrawl. Am sitting up in bed + to write.—Your sincere friend, + </p> + <p> + “Z. D. + </p> + <p> + “P.S.—Please burn this.” + </p> + <p> + At that final injunction, the Duke abandoned himself to his mirth. “Please + burn this.” Poor dear young woman, how modest she was in the glare of her + diplomacy! Why there was nothing, not one phrase, to compromise her in the + eyes of a coroner’s jury!... Seriously, she had good reason to be proud of + her letter. For the purpose in view it couldn’t have been better done. + That was what made it so touchingly absurd. He put himself in her + position. He pictured himself as her, “sitting up in bed,” pencil in hand, + to explain away, to soothe, to clinch and bind... Yes, if he had happened + to be some other man—one whom her insult might have angered without + giving love its death-blow, and one who could be frightened out of not + keeping his word—this letter would have been capital. + </p> + <p> + He helped himself to some more marmalade, and poured out another cup of + coffee. Nothing is more thrilling, thought he, than to be treated as a + cully by the person you hold in the hollow of your hand. + </p> + <p> + But within this great irony lay (to be glided over) another irony. He knew + well in what mood Zuleika had done what she had done to him last night; + yet he preferred to accept her explanation of it. + </p> + <p> + Officially, then, he acquitted her of anything worse than tomboyishness. + But this verdict for his own convenience implied no mercy to the culprit. + The sole point for him was how to administer her punishment the most + poignantly. Just how should he word his letter? + </p> + <p> + He rose from his chair, and “Dear Miss Dobson—no, MY dear Miss + Dobson,” he murmured, pacing the room, “I am so very sorry I cannot come + to see you: I have to attend two lectures this morning. By contrast with + this weariness, it will be the more delightful to meet you at The + MacQuern’s. I want to see as much as I can of you to-day, because to-night + there is the Bump Supper, and to-morrow morning, alas! I must motor to + Windsor for this wretched Investiture. Meanwhile, how can you ask to be + forgiven when there is nothing whatever to forgive? It seems to me that + mine, not yours, is the form of humour that needs explanation. My proposal + to die for you was made in as playful a spirit as my proposal to marry + you. And it is really for me to ask forgiveness of you. One thing + especially,” he murmured, fingering in his waistcoat-pocket the ear-rings + she had given him, “pricks my conscience. I do feel that I ought not to + have let you give me these two pearls—at any rate, not the one which + went into premature mourning for me. As I have no means of deciding which + of the two this one is, I enclose them both, with the hope that the pretty + difference between them will in time reappear”... Or words to that + effect... Stay! why not add to the joy of contriving that effect the + greater joy of watching it? Why send Zuleika a letter? He would obey her + summons. He would speed to her side. He snatched up a hat. + </p> + <p> + In this haste, however, he detected a certain lack of dignity. He steadied + himself, and went slowly to the mirror. There he adjusted his hat with + care, and regarded himself very seriously, very sternly, from various + angles, like a man invited to paint his own portrait for the Uffizi. He + must be worthy of himself. It was well that Zuleika should be chastened. + Great was her sin. Out of life and death she had fashioned toys for her + vanity. But his joy must be in vindication of what was noble, not in + making suffer what was vile. Yesterday he had been her puppet, her + Jumping-Jack; to-day it was as avenging angel that he would appear before + her. The gods had mocked him who was now their minister. Their minister? + Their master, as being once more master of himself. It was they who had + plotted his undoing. Because they loved him they were fain that he should + die young. The Dobson woman was but their agent, their cat’s-paw. By her + they had all but got him. Not quite! And now, to teach them, through her, + a lesson they would not soon forget, he would go forth. + </p> + <p> + Shaking with laughter, the gods leaned over the thunder-clouds to watch + him. + </p> + <p> + He went forth. + </p> + <p> + On the well-whitened doorstep he was confronted by a small boy in uniform + bearing a telegram. + </p> + <p> + “Duke of Dorset?” asked the small boy. + </p> + <p> + Opening the envelope, the Duke saw that the message, with which was a + prepaid form for reply, had been handed in at the Tankerton post-office. + It ran thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Deeply regret inform your grace last night + two black owls came and perched on battlements + remained there through night hooting + at dawn flew away none knows whither + awaiting instructions Jellings +</pre> + <p> + The Duke’s face, though it grew white, moved not one muscle. + </p> + <p> + Somewhat shamed now, the gods ceased from laughing. + </p> + <p> + The Duke looked from the telegram to the boy. “Have you a pencil?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Lord,” said the boy, producing a stump of pencil. + </p> + <p> + Holding the prepaid form against the door, the Duke wrote: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jellings Tankerton Hall + Prepare vault for funeral Monday + + Dorset +</pre> + <p> + His handwriting was as firmly and minutely beautiful as ever. Only in that + he forgot there was nothing to pay did he belie his calm. “Here,” he said + to the boy, “is a shilling; and you may keep the change.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my Lord,” said the boy, and went his way, as happy as a + postman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <p> + Humphrey Greddon, in the Duke’s place, would have taken a pinch of snuff. + But he could not have made that gesture with a finer air than the Duke + gave to its modern equivalent. In the art of taking and lighting a + cigarette, there was one man who had no rival in Europe. This time he + outdid even himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” you say, “but ‘pluck’ is one thing, endurance another. A man who + doesn’t reel on receipt of his death-warrant may yet break down when he + has had time to think it over. How did the Duke acquit himself when he + came to the end of his cigarette? And by the way, how was it that after he + had read the telegram you didn’t give him again an hour’s grace?” + </p> + <p> + In a way, you have a perfect right to ask both those questions. But their + very pertinence shows that you think I might omit things that matter. + Please don’t interrupt me again. Am <i>I</i> writing this history, or are + you? + </p> + <p> + Though the news that he must die was a yet sharper douche, as you have + suggested, than the douche inflicted by Zuleika, it did at least leave + unscathed the Duke’s pride. The gods can make a man ridiculous through a + woman, but they cannot make him ridiculous when they deal him a blow + direct. The very greatness of their power makes them, in that respect, + impotent. They had decreed that the Duke should die, and they had told him + so. There was nothing to demean him in that. True, he had just measured + himself against them. But there was no shame in being gravelled. The + peripety was according to the best rules of tragic art. The whole thing + was in the grand manner. + </p> + <p> + Thus I felt that there were no indelicacy, this time, in watching him. + Just as “pluck” comes of breeding, so is endurance especially an attribute + of the artist. Because he can stand outside himself, and (if there be + nothing ignoble in them) take a pleasure in his own sufferings, the artist + has a huge advantage over you and me. The Duke, so soon as Zuleika’s spell + was broken, had become himself again—a highly self-conscious artist + in life. And now, standing pensive on the doorstep, he was almost enviable + in his great affliction. + </p> + <p> + Through the wreaths of smoke which, as they came from his lips, hung in + the sultry air as they would have hung in a closed room, he gazed up at + the steadfast thunder-clouds. How nobly they had been massed for him! One + of them, a particularly large and dark one, might with advantage, he + thought, have been placed a little further to the left. He made a gesture + to that effect. Instantly the cloud rolled into position. The gods were + painfully anxious, now, to humour him in trifles. His behaviour in the + great emergency had so impressed them at a distance that they rather + dreaded meeting him anon at close quarters. They rather wished they had + not uncaged, last night, the two black owls. Too late. What they had done + they had done. + </p> + <p> + That faint monotonous sound in the stillness of the night—the Duke + remembered it now. What he had thought to be only his fancy had been his + death-knell, wafted to him along uncharted waves of ether, from the + battlements of Tankerton. It had ceased at daybreak. He wondered now that + he had not guessed its meaning. And he was glad that he had not. He was + thankful for the peace that had been granted to him, the joyous arrogance + in which he had gone to bed and got up for breakfast. He valued these + mercies the more for the great tragic irony that came of them. Aye, and he + was inclined to blame the gods for not having kept him still longer in the + dark and so made the irony still more awful. Why had they not caused the + telegram to be delayed in transmission? They ought to have let him go and + riddle Zuleika with his scorn and his indifference. They ought to have let + him hurl through her his defiance of them. Art aside, they need not have + grudged him that excursion. + </p> + <p> + He could not, he told himself, face Zuleika now. As artist, he saw that + there was irony enough left over to make the meeting a fine one. As + theologian, he did not hold her responsible for his destiny. But as a man, + after what she had done to him last night, and before what he had to do + for her to-day, he would not go out of his way to meet her. Of course, he + would not actually avoid her. To seem to run away from her were beneath + his dignity. But, if he did meet her, what in heaven’s name should he say + to her? He remembered his promise to lunch with The MacQuern, and + shuddered. She would be there. Death, as he had said, cancelled all + engagements. A very simple way out of the difficulty would be to go + straight to the river. No, that would be like running away. It couldn’t be + done. + </p> + <p> + Hardly had he rejected the notion when he had a glimpse of a female figure + coming quickly round the corner—a glimpse that sent him walking + quickly away, across the road, towards Turl Street, blushing violently. + Had she seen him? he asked himself. And had she seen that he saw her? He + heard her running after him. He did not look round, he quickened his pace. + She was gaining on him. Involuntarily, he ran—ran like a hare, and, + at the corner of Turl Street, rose like a trout, saw the pavement rise at + him, and fell, with a bang, prone. + </p> + <p> + Let it be said at once that in this matter the gods were absolutely + blameless. It is true they had decreed that a piece of orange-peel should + be thrown down this morning at the corner of Turl Street. But the Master + of Balliol, not the Duke, was the person they had destined to slip on it. + You must not imagine that they think out and appoint everything that is to + befall us, down to the smallest detail. Generally, they just draw a sort + of broad outline, and leave us to fill it in according to our taste. Thus, + in the matters of which this book is record, it was they who made the + Warden invite his grand-daughter to Oxford, and invite the Duke to meet + her on the evening of her arrival. And it was they who prompted the Duke + to die for her on the following (Tuesday) afternoon. They had intended + that he should execute his resolve after, or before, the boat-race of that + evening. But an oversight upset this plan. They had forgotten on Monday + night to uncage the two black owls; and so it was necessary that the + Duke’s death should be postponed. They accordingly prompted Zuleika to + save him. For the rest, they let the tragedy run its own course—merely + putting in a felicitous touch here and there, or vetoing a superfluity, + such as that Katie should open Zuleika’s letter. It was no part of their + scheme that the Duke should mistake Melisande for her mistress, or that he + should run away from her, and they were genuinely sorry when he, instead + of the Master of Balliol, came to grief over the orange-peel. + </p> + <p> + Them, however, the Duke cursed as he fell; them again as he raised himself + on one elbow, giddy and sore; and when he found that the woman bending + over him was not she whom he dreaded, but her innocent maid, it was + against them that he almost foamed at the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Duc has done himself harm—no?” panted Melisande. “Here + is a letter from Miss Dobson’s part. She say to me ‘Give it him with your + own hand.’” + </p> + <p> + The Duke received the letter and, sitting upright, tore it to shreds, thus + confirming a suspicion which Melisande had conceived at the moment when he + took to his heels, that all English noblemen are mad, but mad, and of a + madness. + </p> + <p> + “Nom de Dieu,” she cried, wringing her hands, “what shall I tell to + Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her—” the Duke choked back a phrase of which the memory would + have shamed his last hours. “Tell her,” he substituted, “that you have + seen Marius sitting among the ruins of Carthage,” and limped quickly away + down the Turl. + </p> + <p> + Both his hands had been abraded by the fall. He tended them angrily with + his handkerchief. Mr. Druce, the chemist, had anon the privilege of + bathing and plastering them, also of balming and binding the right knee + and the left shin. “Might have been a very nasty accident, your Grace,” he + said. “It was,” said the Duke. Mr. Druce concurred. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Mr. Druce’s remark sank deep. The Duke thought it quite + likely that the gods had intended the accident to be fatal, and that only + by his own skill and lightness in falling had he escaped the ignominy of + dying in full flight from a lady’s-maid. He had not, you see, lost all + sense of free-will. While Mr. Druce put the finishing touches to his shin, + “I am utterly purposed,” he said to himself, “that for this death of mine + I will choose my own manner and my own—well, not ‘time’ exactly, but + whatever moment within my brief span of life shall seem aptest to me. + Unberufen,” he added, lightly tapping Mr. Druce’s counter. + </p> + <p> + The sight of some bottles of Cold Mixture on that hospitable board + reminded him of a painful fact. In the clash of the morning’s excitements, + he had hardly felt the gross ailment that was on him. He became fully + conscious of it now, and there leapt in him a hideous doubt: had he + escaped a violent death only to succumb to “natural causes”? He had never + hitherto had anything the matter with him, and thus he belonged to the + worst, the most apprehensive, class of patients. He knew that a cold, were + it neglected, might turn malignant; and he had a vision of himself gripped + suddenly in the street by internal agonies—a sympathetic crowd, an + ambulance, his darkened bedroom; local doctor making hopelessly wrong + diagnosis; eminent specialists served up hot by special train, commending + local doctor’s treatment, but shaking their heads and refusing to say more + than “He has youth on his side”; a slight rally at sunset; the end. All + this flashed through his mind. He quailed. There was not a moment to lose. + He frankly confessed to Mr. Druce that he had a cold. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Druce, trying to insinuate by his manner that this fact had not been + obvious, suggested the Mixture—a teaspoonful every two hours. “Give + me some now, please, at once,” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + He felt magically better for the draught. He handled the little glass + lovingly, and eyed the bottle. “Why not two teaspoonfuls every hour?” he + suggested, with an eagerness almost dipsomaniacal. But Mr. Druce was + respectfully firm against that. The Duke yielded. He fancied, indeed, that + the gods had meant him to die of an overdose. + </p> + <p> + Still, he had a craving for more. Few though his hours were, he hoped the + next two would pass quickly. And, though he knew Mr. Druce could be + trusted to send the bottle round to his rooms immediately, he preferred to + carry it away with him. He slipped it into the breast-pocket of his coat, + almost heedless of the slight extrusion it made there. + </p> + <p> + Just as he was about to cross the High again, on his way home, a butcher’s + cart dashed down the slope, recklessly driven. He stepped well back on the + pavement, and smiled a sardonic smile. He looked to right and to left, + carefully gauging the traffic. Some time elapsed before he deemed the road + clear enough for transit. + </p> + <p> + Safely across, he encountered a figure that seemed to loom up out of the + dim past. Oover! Was it but yesternight that Oover dined with him? With + the sensation of a man groping among archives, he began to apologise to + the Rhodes Scholar for having left him so abruptly at the Junta. Then, + presto!—as though those musty archives were changed to a crisp + morning paper agog with terrific head-lines—he remembered the awful + resolve of Oover, and of all young Oxford. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he asked, with a lightness that hardly hid his dread of the + answer, “you have dismissed the notion you were toying with when I left + you?” + </p> + <p> + Oover’s face, like his nature, was as sensitive as it was massive, and it + instantly expressed his pain at the doubt cast on his high seriousness. + “Duke,” he asked, “d’you take me for a skunk?” + </p> + <p> + “Without pretending to be quite sure what a skunk is,” said the Duke, “I + take you to be all that it isn’t. And the high esteem in which I hold you + is the measure for me of the loss that your death would be to America and + to Oxford.” + </p> + <p> + Oover blushed. “Duke” he said “that’s a bully testimonial. But don’t + worry. America can turn out millions just like me, and Oxford can have as + many of them as she can hold. On the other hand, how many of YOU can be + turned out, as per sample, in England? Yet you choose to destroy yourself. + You avail yourself of the Unwritten Law. And you’re right, Sir. Love + transcends all.” + </p> + <p> + “But does it? What if I told you I had changed my mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Duke,” said Oover, slowly, “I should believe that all those yarns I + used to hear about the British aristocracy were true, after all. I should + aver that you were not a white man. Leading us on like that, and then—Say, + Duke! Are you going to die to-day, or not?” + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact, I am, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Shake!” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + Oover wrung the Duke’s hand, and was passing on. “Stay!” he was adjured. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, unable. It’s just turning eleven o’clock, and I’ve a lecture. + While life lasts, I’m bound to respect Rhodes’ intentions.” The + conscientious Scholar hurried away. + </p> + <p> + The Duke wandered down the High, taking counsel with himself. He was + ashamed of having so utterly forgotten the mischief he had wrought at + large. At dawn he had vowed to undo it. Undo it he must. But the task was + not a simple one now. If he could say “Behold, I take back my word. I + spurn Miss Dobson, and embrace life,” it was possible that his example + would suffice. But now that he could only say “Behold, I spurn Miss + Dobson, and will not die for her, but I am going to commit suicide, all + the same,” it was clear that his words would carry very little force. + Also, he saw with pain that they placed him in a somewhat ludicrous + position. His end, as designed yesterday, had a large and simple grandeur. + So had his recantation of it. But this new compromise between the two + things had a fumbled, a feeble, an ignoble look. It seemed to combine all + the disadvantages of both courses. It stained his honour without + prolonging his life. Surely, this was a high price to pay for snubbing + Zuleika... Yes, he must revert without more ado to his first scheme. He + must die in the manner that he had blazoned forth. And he must do it with + a good grace, none knowing he was not glad; else the action lost all + dignity. True, this was no way to be a saviour. But only by not dying at + all could he have set a really potent example.... He remembered the look + that had come into Oover’s eyes just now at the notion of his unfaith. + Perhaps he would have been the mock, not the saviour, of Oxford. Better + dishonour than death, maybe. But, since die he must, he must die not + belittling or tarnishing the name of Tanville-Tankerton. + </p> + <p> + Within these bounds, however, he must put forth his full might to avert + the general catastrophe—and to punish Zuleika nearly well enough, + after all, by intercepting that vast nosegay from her outstretched hands + and her distended nostrils. There was no time to be lost, then. But he + wondered, as he paced the grand curve between St. Mary’s and Magdalen + Bridge, just how was he to begin? + </p> + <p> + Down the flight of steps from Queen’s came lounging an average + undergraduate. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Smith,” said the Duke, “a word with you.” + </p> + <p> + “But my name is not Smith,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Generically it is,” replied the Duke. “You are Smith to all intents and + purposes. That, indeed, is why I address you. In making your acquaintance, + I make a thousand acquaintances. You are a short cut to knowledge. Tell + me, do you seriously think of drowning yourself this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather,” said the undergraduate. + </p> + <p> + “A meiosis in common use, equivalent to ‘Yes, assuredly,’” murmured the + Duke. “And why,” he then asked, “do you mean to do this?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? How can you ask? Why are YOU going to do it?” + </p> + <p> + “The Socratic manner is not a game at which two can play. Please answer my + question, to the best of your ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because I can’t live without her. Because I want to prove my love + for her. Because—” + </p> + <p> + “One reason at a time please,” said the Duke, holding up his hand. “You + can’t live without her? Then I am to assume that you look forward to + dying?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather.” + </p> + <p> + “You are truly happy in that prospect?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Rather.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, suppose I showed you two pieces of equally fine amber—a big + one and a little one. Which of these would you rather possess?” + </p> + <p> + “The big one, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “And this because it is better to have more than to have less of a good + thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you consider happiness a good thing or a bad one?” + </p> + <p> + “A good one.” + </p> + <p> + “So that a man would rather have more than less of happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then does it not seem to you that you would do well to postpone your + suicide indefinitely?” + </p> + <p> + “But I have just said I can’t live without her.” + </p> + <p> + “You have still more recently declared yourself truly happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, be careful, Mr. Smith. Remember, this is a matter of life and death. + Try to do yourself justice. I have asked you—” + </p> + <p> + But the undergraduate was walking away, not without a certain dignity. + </p> + <p> + The Duke felt that he had not handled his man skilfully. He remembered + that even Socrates, for all the popular charm of his mock-modesty and his + true geniality, had ceased after a while to be tolerable. Without such a + manner to grace his method, Socrates would have had a very brief time + indeed. The Duke recoiled from what he took to be another pitfall. He + almost smelt hemlock. + </p> + <p> + A party of four undergraduates abreast was approaching. How should he + address them? His choice wavered between the evangelic wistfulness of “Are + you saved?” and the breeziness of the recruiting sergeant’s “Come, you’re + fine upstanding young fellows. Isn’t it a pity,” etc. Meanwhile, the + quartet had passed by. + </p> + <p> + Two other undergraduates approached. The Duke asked them simply as a + personal favour to himself not to throw away their lives. They said they + were very sorry, but in this particular matter they must please + themselves. In vain he pled. They admitted that but for his example they + would never have thought of dying. They wished they could show him their + gratitude in any way but the one which would rob them of it. + </p> + <p> + The Duke drifted further down the High, bespeaking every undergraduate he + met, leaving untried no argument, no inducement. For one man, whose name + he happened to know, he invented an urgent personal message from Miss + Dobson imploring him not to die on her account. On another man he offered + to settle by hasty codicil a sum of money sufficient to yield an annual + income of two thousand pounds—three thousand—any sum within + reason. With another he offered to walk, arm in arm, to Carfax and back + again. All to no avail. + </p> + <p> + He found himself in the precincts of Magdalen, preaching from the little + open-air pulpit there an impassioned sermon on the sacredness of human + life, and referring to Zuleika in terms which John Knox would have + hesitated to utter. As he piled up the invective, he noticed an ominous + restiveness in the congregation—murmurs, clenching of hands, dark + looks. He saw the pulpit as yet another trap laid for him by the gods. He + had walked straight into it: another moment, and he might be dragged down, + overwhelmed by numbers, torn limb from limb. All that was in him of + quelling power he put hastily into his eyes, and manoeuvred his tongue to + gentler discourse, deprecating his right to judge “this lady,” and merely + pointing the marvel, the awful though noble folly, of his resolve. He + ended on a note of quiet pathos. “To-night I shall be among the shades. + There be not you, my brothers.” + </p> + <p> + Good though the sermon was in style and sentiment, the flaw in its + reasoning was too patent for any converts to be made. As he walked out of + the quadrangle, the Duke felt the hopelessness of his cause. Still he + battled bravely for it up the High, waylaying, cajoling, commanding, + offering vast bribes. He carried his crusade into the Loder, and thence + into Vincent’s, and out into the street again, eager, untiring, + unavailing: everywhere he found his precept checkmated by his example. + </p> + <p> + The sight of The MacQuern coming out top-speed from the Market, with a + large but inexpensive bunch of flowers, reminded him of the luncheon that + was to be. Never to throw over an engagement was for him, as we have seen, + a point of honour. But this particular engagement—hateful, when he + accepted it, by reason of his love—was now impossible for the reason + which had made him take so ignominiously to his heels this morning. He + curtly told the Scot not to expect him. + </p> + <p> + “Is SHE not coming?” gasped the Scot, with quick suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the Duke, turning on his heel, “she doesn’t know that I shan’t + be there. You may count on her.” This he took to be the very truth, and he + was glad to have made of it a thrust at the man who had so uncouthly + asserted himself last night. He could not help smiling, though, at this + little resentment erect after the cataclysm that had swept away all else. + Then he smiled to think how uneasy Zuleika would be at his absence. What + agonies of suspense she must have had all this morning! He imagined her + silent at the luncheon, with a vacant gaze at the door, eating nothing at + all. And he became aware that he was rather hungry. He had done all he + could to save young Oxford. Now for some sandwiches! He went into the + Junta. + </p> + <p> + As he rang the dining-room bell, his eyes rested on the miniature of + Nellie O’Mora. And the eyes of Nellie O’Mora seemed to meet his in + reproach. Just as she may have gazed at Greddon when he cast her off, so + now did she gaze at him who a few hours ago had refused to honour her + memory. + </p> + <p> + Yes, and many other eyes than hers rebuked him. It was around the walls of + this room that hung those presentments of the Junta as focussed, year + after year, in a certain corner of Tom Quad, by Messrs. Hills and + Saunders. All around, the members of the little hierarchy, a hierarchy + ever changing in all but youth and a certain sternness of aspect that + comes at the moment of being immortalised, were gazing forth now with a + sternness beyond their wont. Not one of them but had in his day handed on + loyally the praise of Nellie O’Mora, in the form their Founder had + ordained. And the Duke’s revolt last night had so incensed them that they + would, if they could, have come down from their frames and walked straight + out of the club, in chronological order—first, the men of the + ‘sixties, almost as near in time to Greddon as to the Duke, all so + gloriously be-whiskered and cravated, but how faded now, alas, by + exposure; and last of all in the procession and angrier perhaps than any + of them, the Duke himself—the Duke of a year ago, President and sole + Member. + </p> + <p> + But, as he gazed into the eyes of Nellie O’Mora now, Dorset needed not for + penitence the reproaches of his past self or of his forerunners. “Sweet + girl,” he murmured, “forgive me. I was mad. I was under the sway of a + deplorable infatuation. It is past. See,” he murmured with a delicacy of + feeling that justified the untruth, “I am come here for the express + purpose of undoing my impiety.” And, turning to the club-waiter who at + this moment answered the bell, he said “Bring me a glass of port, please, + Barrett.” Of sandwiches he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + At the word “See” he had stretched one hand towards Nellie; the other he + had laid on his heart, where it seemed to encounter some sort of hard + obstruction. This he vaguely fingered, wondering what it might be, while + he gave his order to Barrett. With a sudden cry he dipped his hand into + his breast-pocket and drew forth the bottle he had borne away from Mr. + Druce’s. He snatched out his watch: one o’clock!—fifteen minutes + overdue. Wildly he called the waiter back. “A tea-spoon, quick! No port. A + wine-glass and a tea-spoon. And—for I don’t mind telling you, + Barrett, that your mission is of an urgency beyond conjecture—take + lightning for your model. Go!” + </p> + <p> + Agitation mastered him. He tried vainly to feel his pulse, well knowing + that if he found it he could deduce nothing from its action. He saw + himself haggard in the looking-glass. Would Barrett never come? “Every two + hours”—the directions were explicit. Had he delivered himself into + the gods’ hands? The eyes of Nellie O’Mora were on him compassionately; + and all the eyes of his forerunners were on him in austere scorn: “See,” + they seemed to be saying, “the chastisement of last night’s blasphemy.” + Violently, insistently, he rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + In rushed Barrett at last. From the tea-spoon into the wine-glass the Duke + poured the draught of salvation, and then, raising it aloft, he looked + around at his fore-runners and in a firm voice cried “Gentlemen, I give + you Nellie O’Mora, the fairest witch that ever was or will be.” He drained + his glass, heaved the deep sigh of a double satisfaction, dismissed with a + glance the wondering Barrett, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + He was glad to be able to face Nellie with a clear conscience. Her eyes + were not less sad now, but it seemed to him that their sadness came of a + knowledge that she would never see him again. She seemed to be saying to + him “Had you lived in my day, it is you that I would have loved, not + Greddon.” And he made silent answer, “Had you lived in my day, I should + have been Dobson-proof.” He realised, however, that to Zuleika he owed the + tenderness he now felt for Miss O’Mora. It was Zuleika that had cured him + of his aseity. She it was that had made his heart a warm and negotiable + thing. Yes, and that was the final cruelty. To love and be loved—this, + he had come to know, was all that mattered. Yesterday, to love and die had + seemed felicity enough. Now he knew that the secret, the open secret, of + happiness was in mutual love—a state that needed not the fillip of + death. And he had to die without having ever lived. Admiration, homage, + fear, he had sown broadcast. The one woman who had loved him had turned to + stone because he loved her. Death would lose much of its sting for him if + there were somewhere in the world just one woman, however lowly, whose + heart would be broken by his dying. What a pity Nellie O’Mora was not + really extant! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he recalled certain words lightly spoken yesterday by Zuleika. + She had told him he was loved by the girl who waited on him—the + daughter of his landlady. Was this so? He had seen no sign of it, had + received no token of it. But, after all, how should he have seen a sign of + anything in one whom he had never consciously visualised? That she had + never thrust herself on his notice might mean merely that she had been + well brought-up. What likelier than that the daughter of Mrs. Batch, that + worthy soul, had been well brought up? + </p> + <p> + Here, at any rate, was the chance of a new element in his life, or rather + in his death. Here, possibly, was a maiden to mourn him. He would lunch in + his rooms. + </p> + <p> + With a farewell look at Nellie’s miniature, he took the medicine-bottle + from the table, and went quickly out. The heavens had grown steadily + darker and darker, the air more sulphurous and baleful. And the High had a + strangely woebegone look, being all forsaken by youth, in this hour of + luncheon. Even so would its look be all to-morrow, thought the Duke, and + for many morrows. Well he had done what he could. He was free now to + brighten a little his own last hours. He hastened on, eager to see the + landlady’s daughter. He wondered what she was like, and whether she really + loved him. + </p> + <p> + As he threw open the door of his sitting-room, he was aware of a rustle, a + rush, a cry. In another instant, he was aware of Zuleika Dobson at his + feet, at his knees, clasping him to her, sobbing, laughing, sobbing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <p> + For what happened a few moments later you must not blame him. Some measure + of force was the only way out of an impossible situation. It was in vain + that he commanded the young lady to let go: she did but cling the closer. + It was in vain that he tried to disentangle himself of her by standing + first on one foot, then on the other, and veering sharply on his heel: she + did but sway as though hinged to him. He had no choice but to grasp her by + the wrists, cast her aside, and step clear of her into the room. + </p> + <p> + Her hat, gauzily basking with a pair of long white gloves on one of his + arm-chairs, proclaimed that she had come to stay. + </p> + <p> + Nor did she rise. Propped on one elbow, with heaving bosom and parted + lips, she seemed to be trying to realise what had been done to her. + Through her undried tears her eyes shone up to him. + </p> + <p> + He asked: “To what am I indebted for this visit?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, say that again!” she murmured. “Your voice is music.” + </p> + <p> + He repeated his question. + </p> + <p> + “Music!” she said dreamily; and such is the force of habit that “I don’t,” + she added, “know anything about music, really. But I know what I like.” + </p> + <p> + “Had you not better get up from the floor?” he said. “The door is open, + and any one who passed might see you.” + </p> + <p> + Softly she stroked the carpet with the palms of her hands. “Happy carpet!” + she crooned. “Aye, happy the very women that wove the threads that are + trod by the feet of my beloved master. But hark! he bids his slave rise + and stand before him!” + </p> + <p> + Just after she had risen, a figure appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, your Grace; Mother wants to know, will you be lunching in?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Duke. “I will ring when I am ready.” And it dawned on him + that this girl, who perhaps loved him, was, according to all known + standards, extraordinarily pretty. + </p> + <p> + “Will—” she hesitated, “will Miss Dobson be—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “I shall be alone.” And there was in the girl’s parting + half-glance at Zuleika that which told him he was truly loved, and made + him the more impatient of his offensive and accursed visitor. + </p> + <p> + “You want to be rid of me?” asked Zuleika, when the girl was gone. + </p> + <p> + “I have no wish to be rude; but—since you force me to say it—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take me,” she cried, throwing back her arms, “and throw me out of + the window.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled coldly. + </p> + <p> + “You think I don’t mean it? You think I would struggle? Try me.” She let + herself droop sideways, in an attitude limp and portable. “Try me,” she + repeated. + </p> + <p> + “All this is very well conceived, no doubt,” said he, “and well executed. + But it happens to be otiose.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean you may set your mind at rest. I am not going to back out of my + promise.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika flushed. “You are cruel. I would give the world and all not to + have written you that hateful letter. Forget it, forget it, for pity’s + sake!” + </p> + <p> + The Duke looked searchingly at her. “You mean that you now wish to release + me from my promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Release you? As if you were ever bound! Don’t torture me!” + </p> + <p> + He wondered what deep game she was playing. Very real, though, her anguish + seemed; and, if real it was, then—he stared, he gasped—there + could be but one explanation. He put it to her. “You love me?” + </p> + <p> + “With all my soul.” + </p> + <p> + His heart leapt. If she spoke truth, then indeed vengeance was his! But + “What proof have I?” he asked her. + </p> + <p> + “Proof? Have men absolutely NO intuition? If you need proof, produce it. + Where are my ear-rings?” + </p> + <p> + “Your ear-rings? Why?” + </p> + <p> + Impatiently she pointed to two white pearls that fastened the front of her + blouse. “These are your studs. It was from them I had the great first hint + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Black and pink, were they not, when you took them?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. And then I forgot that I had them. When I undressed, they must + have rolled on to the carpet. Melisande found them this morning when she + was making the room ready for me to dress. That was just after she came + back from bringing you my first letter. I was bewildered. I doubted. Might + not the pearls have gone back to their natural state simply through being + yours no more? That is why I wrote again to you, my own darling—a + frantic little questioning letter. When I heard how you had torn it up, I + knew, I knew that the pearls had not mocked me. I telescoped my toilet and + came rushing round to you. How many hours have I been waiting for you?” + </p> + <p> + The Duke had drawn her ear-rings from his waistcoat pocket, and was + contemplating them in the palm of his hand. Blanched, both of them, yes. + He laid them on the table. “Take them,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she shuddered. “I could never forget that once they were both + black.” She flung them into the fender. “Oh John,” she cried, turning to + him and falling again to her knees, “I do so want to forget what I have + been. I want to atone. You think you can drive me out of your life. You + cannot, darling—since you won’t kill me. Always I shall follow you + on my knees, thus.” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her over his folded arms, + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to back out of my promise,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + She stopped her ears. + </p> + <p> + With a stern joy he unfolded his arms, took some papers from his + breast-pocket, and, selecting one of them, handed it to her. It was the + telegram sent by his steward. + </p> + <p> + She read it. With a stern joy he watched her reading it. + </p> + <p> + Wild-eyed, she looked up from it to him, tried to speak, and swerved down + senseless. + </p> + <p> + He had not foreseen this. “Help!” he vaguely cried—was she not a + fellow-creature?—and rushed blindly out to his bedroom, whence he + returned, a moment later, with the water-jug. He dipped his hand, and + sprinkled the upturned face (Dew-drops on a white rose? But some other, + sharper analogy hovered to him). He dipped and sprinkled. The water-beads + broke, mingled—rivulets now. He dipped and flung, then caught the + horrible analogy and rebounded. + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment that Zuleika opened her eyes. “Where am I?” She + weakly raised herself on one elbow; and the suspension of the Duke’s + hatred would have been repealed simultaneously with that of her + consciousness, had it not already been repealed by the analogy. She put a + hand to her face, then looked at the wet palm wonderingly, looked at the + Duke, saw the water-jug beside him. She, too, it seemed, had caught the + analogy; for with a wan smile she said “We are quits now, John, aren’t + we?” + </p> + <p> + Her poor little jest drew to the Duke’s face no answering smile, did but + make hotter the blush there. The wave of her returning memory swept on—swept + up to her with a roar the instant past. “Oh,” she cried, staggering to her + feet, “the owls, the owls!” + </p> + <p> + Vengeance was his, and “Yes, there,” he said, “is the ineluctable hard + fact you wake to. The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This day + your wish is to be fulfilled.” + </p> + <p> + “The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This day—oh, it must + not be, John! Heaven have mercy on me!” + </p> + <p> + “The unerring owls have hooted. The dispiteous and humorous gods have + spoken. Miss Dobson, it has to be. And let me remind you,” he added, with + a glance at his watch, “that you ought not to keep The MacQuern waiting + for luncheon.” + </p> + <p> + “That is unworthy of you,” she said. There was in her eyes a look that + made the words sound as if they had been spoken by a dumb animal. + </p> + <p> + “You have sent him an excuse?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I have forgotten him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is unworthy of you. After all, he is going to die for you, like the + rest of us. I am but one of a number, you know. Use your sense of + proportion.” + </p> + <p> + “If I do that,” she said after a pause, “you may not be pleased by the + issue. I may find that whereas yesterday I was great in my sinfulness, and + to-day am great in my love, you, in your hate of me, are small. I may find + that what I had taken to be a great indifference is nothing but a very + small hate... Ah, I have wounded you? Forgive me, a weak woman, talking at + random in her wretchedness. Oh John, John, if I thought you small, my love + would but take on the crown of pity. Don’t forbid me to call you John. I + looked you up in Debrett while I was waiting for you. That seemed to bring + you nearer to me. So many other names you have, too. I remember you told + me them all yesterday, here in this room—not twenty-four hours ago. + Hours? Years!” She laughed hysterically. “John, don’t you see why I won’t + stop talking? It’s because I dare not think.” + </p> + <p> + “Yonder in Balliol,” he suavely said, “you will find the matter of my + death easier to forget than here.” He took her hat and gloves from the + arm-chair, and held them carefully out to her; but she did not take them. + </p> + <p> + “I give you three minutes,” he told her. “Two minutes, that is, in which + to make yourself tidy before the mirror. A third in which to say good-bye + and be outside the front-door.” + </p> + <p> + “If I refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “You will not.” + </p> + <p> + “If I do?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall send for a policeman.” + </p> + <p> + She looked well at him. “Yes,” she slowly said, “I think you would do + that.” + </p> + <p> + She took her things from him, and laid them by the mirror. With a high + hand she quelled the excesses of her hair—some of the curls still + agleam with water—and knowingly poised and pinned her hat. Then, + after a few swift touches and passes at neck and waist, she took her + gloves and, wheeling round to him, “There!” she said, “I have been quick.” + </p> + <p> + “Admirably,” he allowed. + </p> + <p> + “Quick in more than meets the eye, John. Spiritually quick. You saw me + putting on my hat; you did not see love taking on the crown of pity, and + me bonneting her with it, tripping her up and trampling the life out of + her. Oh, a most cold-blooded business, John! Had to be done, though. No + other way out. So I just used my sense of proportion, as you rashly bade + me, and then hardened my heart at sight of you as you are. One of a + number? Yes, and a quite unlovable unit. So I am all right again. And now, + where is Balliol? Far from here?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, choking a little, as might a card-player who, having + been dealt a splendid hand, and having played it with flawless skill, has + yet—damn it!—lost the odd trick. “Balliol is quite near. At + the end of this street in fact. I can show it to you from the front-door.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, he had controlled himself. But this, he furiously felt, did not make + him look the less a fool. What ought he to have SAID? He prayed, as he + followed the victorious young woman downstairs, that l’esprit de + l’escalier might befall him. Alas, it did not. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” she said, when he had shown her where Balliol lay, “have you + told anybody that you aren’t dying just for me?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, “I have preferred not to.” + </p> + <p> + “Then officially, as it were, and in the eyes of the world, you die for + me? Then all’s well that ends well. Shall we say good-bye here? I shall be + on the Judas Barge; but I suppose there will be a crush, as yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure to be. There always is on the last night of the Eights, you know. + Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, little John—small John,” she cried across her shoulder, + having the last word. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <p> + He might not have grudged her the last word, had she properly needed it. + Its utter superfluity—the perfection of her victory without it—was + what galled him. Yes, she had outflanked him, taken him unawares, and he + had fired not one shot. Esprit de l’escalier—it was as he went + upstairs that he saw how he might yet have snatched from her, if not the + victory, the palm. Of course he ought to have laughed aloud—“Capital, + capital! You really do deserve to fool me. But ah, yours is a love that + can’t be dissembled. Never was man by maiden loved more ardently than I by + you, my poor girl, at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + And stay!—what if she really HAD been but pretending to have killed + her love? He paused on the threshold of his room. The sudden doubt made + his lost chance the more sickening. Yet was the doubt dear to him ... What + likelier, after all, than that she had been pretending? She had already + twitted him with his lack of intuition. He had not seen that she loved him + when she certainly did love him. He had needed the pearls’ demonstration + of that.—The pearls! THEY would betray her. He darted to the fender, + and one of them he espied there instantly—white? A rather flushed + white, certainly. For the other he had to peer down. There it lay, not + very distinct on the hearth’s black-leading. + </p> + <p> + He turned away. He blamed himself for not dismissing from his mind the + hussy he had dismissed from his room. Oh for an ounce of civet and a few + poppies! The water-jug stood as a reminder of the hateful visit and of... + He took it hastily away into his bedroom. There he washed his hands. The + fact that he had touched Zuleika gave to this ablution a symbolism that + made it the more refreshing. + </p> + <p> + Civet, poppies? Was there not, at his call, a sweeter perfume, a stronger + anodyne? He rang the bell, almost caressingly. + </p> + <p> + His heart beat at sound of the clinking and rattling of the tray borne up + the stairs. She was coming, the girl who loved him, the girl whose heart + would be broken when he died. Yet, when the tray appeared in the doorway, + and she behind it, the tray took precedence of her in his soul not less + than in his sight. Twice, after an arduous morning, had his luncheon been + postponed, and the coming of it now made intolerable the pangs of his + hunger. + </p> + <p> + Also, while the girl laid the table-cloth, it occurred to him how flimsy, + after all, was the evidence that she loved him. Suppose she did nothing of + the kind! At the Junta, he had foreseen no difficulty in asking her. Now + he found himself a prey to embarrassment. He wondered why. He had not + failed in flow of gracious words to Nellie O’Mora. Well, a miniature by + Hoppner was one thing, a landlady’s live daughter was another. At any + rate, he must prime himself with food. He wished Mrs. Batch had sent up + something more calorific than cold salmon. He asked her daughter what was + to follow. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a pigeon-pie, your Grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Cold? Then please ask your mother to heat it in the oven—quickly. + Anything after that?” + </p> + <p> + “A custard pudding, your Grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Cold? Let this, too, be heated. And bring up a bottle of champagne, + please; and—and a bottle of port.” + </p> + <p> + His was a head that had always hitherto defied the grape. But he thought + that to-day, by all he had gone through, by all the shocks he had + suffered, and the strains he had steeled himself to bear, as well as by + the actual malady that gripped him, he might perchance have been sapped + enough to experience by reaction that cordial glow of which he had now and + again seen symptoms in his fellows. + </p> + <p> + Nor was he altogether disappointed of this hope. As the meal progressed, + and the last of the champagne sparkled in his glass, certain things said + to him by Zuleika—certain implied criticisms that had rankled, yes—lost + their power to discommode him. He was able to smile at the impertinences + of an angry woman, the tantrums of a tenth-rate conjurer told to go away. + He felt he had perhaps acted harshly. With all her faults, she had adored + him. Yes, he had been arbitrary. There seemed to be a strain of brutality + in his nature. Poor Zuleika! He was glad for her that she had contrived to + master her infatuation... Enough for him that he was loved by this + exquisite meek girl who had served him at the feast. Anon, when he + summoned her to clear the things away, he would bid her tell him the tale + of her lowly passion. He poured a second glass of port, sipped it, quaffed + it, poured a third. The grey gloom of the weather did but, as he eyed the + bottle, heighten his sense of the rich sunshine so long ago imprisoned by + the vintner and now released to make glad his soul. Even so to be released + was the love pent for him in the heart of this sweet girl. Would that he + loved her in return!... Why not? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Prius insolentem + Serva Briseis niveo colore + Movit Achillem.” + </pre> + <p> + Nor were it gracious to invite an avowal of love and offer none in return. + Yet, yet, expansive though his mood was, he could not pretend to himself + that he was about to feel in this girl’s presence anything but gratitude. + He might pretend to her? Deception were a very poor return indeed for all + her kindness. Besides, it might turn her head. Some small token of his + gratitude—some trinket by which to remember him—was all that + he could allow himself to offer... What trinket? Would she like to have + one of his scarf-pins? Studs? Still more abs—Ah! he had it, he + literally and most providentially had it, there, in the fender: a pair of + ear-rings! + </p> + <p> + He plucked the pink pearl and the black from where they lay, and rang the + bell. + </p> + <p> + His sense of dramatic propriety needed that the girl should, before he + addressed her, perform her task of clearing the table. If she had it to + perform after telling her love, and after receiving his gift and his + farewell, the bathos would be distressing for them both. + </p> + <p> + But, while he watched her at her task, he did wish she would be a little + quicker. For the glow in him seemed to be cooling momently. He wished he + had had more than three glasses from the crusted bottle which she was + putting away into the chiffonier. Down, doubt! Down, sense of disparity! + The moment was at hand. Would he let it slip? Now she was folding up the + table-cloth, now she was going. + </p> + <p> + “Stay!” he uttered. “I have something to say to you.” The girl turned to + him. + </p> + <p> + He forced his eyes to meet hers. “I understand,” he said in a constrained + voice, “that you regard me with sentiments of something more than esteem.—Is + this so?” + </p> + <p> + The girl had stepped quickly back, and her face was scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” he said, having to go through with it now, “there is no cause for + embarrassment. And I am sure you will acquit me of wanton curiosity. Is it + a fact that you—love me?” + </p> + <p> + She tried to speak, could not. But she nodded her head. + </p> + <p> + The Duke, much relieved, came nearer to her. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” he asked gently. + </p> + <p> + “Katie,” she was able to gasp. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Katie, how long have you loved me?” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since,” she faltered, “ever since you came to engage the rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not, of course, given to idolising any tenant of your mother’s?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “May I boast myself the first possessor of your heart?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” She had become very pale now, and was trembling painfully. + </p> + <p> + “And may I assume that your love for me has been entirely + disinterested?... You do not catch my meaning? I will put my question in + another way. In loving me, you never supposed me likely to return your + love?” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked up at him quickly, but at once her eyelids fluttered down + again. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” said the Duke. “My question is a plain one. Did you ever for + an instant suppose, Katie, that I might come to love you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said in a whisper; “I never dared to hope that.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said he. “You never imagined that you had anything to gain by + your affection. You were not contriving a trap for me. You were upheld by + no hope of becoming a young Duchess, with more frocks than you could wear + and more dross than you could scatter. I am glad. I am touched. You are + the first woman that has loved me in that way. Or rather,” he muttered, + “the first but one. And she... Answer me,” he said, standing over the + girl, and speaking with a great intensity. “If I were to tell you that I + loved you, would you cease to love me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh your Grace!” cried the girl. “Why no! I never dared—” + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” he said. “The catechism is ended. I have something which I + should like to give you. Are your ears pierced?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your Grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Katie, honour me by accepting this present.” So saying, he placed + in the girl’s hand the black pearl and the pink. The sight of them + banished for a moment all other emotions in their recipient. She forgot + herself. “Lor!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will wear them always for my sake,” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + She had expressed herself in the monosyllable. No words came to her lips, + but to her eyes many tears, through which the pearls were visible. They + whirled in her bewildered brain as a token that she was loved—loved + by HIM, though but yesterday he had loved another. It was all so sudden, + so beautiful. You might have knocked her down (she says so to this day) + with a feather. Seeing her agitation, the Duke pointed to a chair, bade + her be seated. + </p> + <p> + Her mind was cleared by the new posture. Suspicion crept into it, followed + by alarm. She looked at the ear-rings, then up at the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, misinterpreting the question in her eyes, “they are real + pearls.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t that,” she quavered, “it is—it is—” + </p> + <p> + “That they were given to me by Miss Dobson?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they were, were they? Then”—Katie rose, throwing the pearls on + the floor—“I’ll have nothing to do with them. I hate her.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” said the Duke, in a burst of confidence. “No, I don’t,” he + added hastily. “Please forget that I said that.” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Katie that Miss Dobson would be ill-pleased that the pearls + should pass to her. She picked them up. + </p> + <p> + “Only—only—” again her doubts beset her and she looked from + the pearls to the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Speak on,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh you aren’t playing with me, are you? You don’t mean me harm, do you? I + have been well brought up. I have been warned against things. And it seems + so strange, what you have said to me. You are a Duke, and I—I am + only—” + </p> + <p> + “It is the privilege of nobility to condescend.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she cried. “I see. Oh I was wicked to doubt you. And love + levels all, doesn’t it? love and the Board school. Our stations are far + apart, but I’ve been educated far above mine. I’ve learnt more than most + real ladies have. I passed the Seventh Standard when I was only just + fourteen. I was considered one of the sharpest girls in the school. And + I’ve gone on learning since then,” she continued eagerly. “I utilise all + my spare moments. I’ve read twenty-seven of the Hundred Best Books. I + collect ferns. I play the piano, whenever...” She broke off, for she + remembered that her music was always interrupted by the ringing of the + Duke’s bell and a polite request that it should cease. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear of these accomplishments. They do you great credit, I + am sure. But—well, I do not quite see why you enumerate them just + now.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t that I am vain,” she pleaded. “I only mentioned them because ... + oh, don’t you see? If I’m not ignorant, I shan’t disgrace you. People + won’t be so able to say you’ve been and thrown yourself away.” + </p> + <p> + “Thrown myself away? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’ll make all sorts of objections, I know. They’ll all be against + me, and—” + </p> + <p> + “For heaven’s sake, explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Your aunt, she looked a very proud lady—very high and hard. I + thought so when she came here last term. But you’re of age. You’re your + own master. Oh, I trust you; you’ll stand by me. If you love me really you + won’t listen to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Love you? I? Are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + Each stared at the other, utterly bewildered. + </p> + <p> + The girl was the first to break the silence. Her voice came in a whisper. + “You’ve not been playing a joke on me? You meant what you said, didn’t + you?” + </p> + <p> + “What have I said?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you loved me.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not. Here are the ear-rings you gave me.” She pinched them as + material proof. “You said you loved me just before you gave me them. You + know you did. And if I thought you’d been laughing at me all the time—I’d—I’d”—a + sob choked her voice—“I’d throw them in your face!” + </p> + <p> + “You must not speak to me in that manner,” said the Duke coldly. “And let + me warn you that this attempt to trap me and intimidate me—” + </p> + <p> + The girl had flung the ear-rings at his face. She had missed her mark. But + this did not extenuate the outrageous gesture. He pointed to the door. + “Go!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try that on!” she laughed. “I shan’t go—not unless you drag + me out. And if you do that, I’ll raise the house. I’ll have in the + neighbours. I’ll tell them all what you’ve done, and—” But defiance + melted in the hot shame of humiliation. “Oh, you coward!” she gasped. “You + coward!” She caught her apron to her face and, swaying against the wall, + sobbed piteously. + </p> + <p> + Unaccustomed to love-affairs, the Duke could not sail lightly over a flood + of woman’s tears. He was filled with pity for the poor quivering figure + against the wall. How should he soothe her? Mechanically he picked up the + two pearls from the carpet, and crossed to her side. He touched her on the + shoulder. She shuddered away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” he said gently. “Don’t cry. I can’t bear it. I have been stupid + and thoughtless. What did you say your name was? ‘Katie,’ to be sure. + Well, Katie, I want to beg your pardon. I expressed myself badly. I was + unhappy and lonely, and I saw in you a means of comfort. I snatched at + you, Katie, as at a straw. And then, I suppose, I must have said something + which made you think I loved you. I almost wish I did. I don’t wonder you + threw the ear-rings at me. I—I almost wish they had hit me... You + see, I have quite forgiven you. Now do you forgive me. You will not refuse + now to wear the ear-rings. I gave them to you as a keepsake. Wear them + always in memory of me. For you will never see me again.” + </p> + <p> + The girl had ceased from crying, and her anger had spent itself in sobs. + She was gazing at him woebegone but composed. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “You must not ask that,” said he. “Enough that my wings are spread.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going because of ME?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least. Indeed, your devotion is one of the things which make + bitter my departure. And yet—I am glad you love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go,” she faltered. He came nearer to her, and this time she did not + shrink from him. “Don’t you find the rooms comfortable?” she asked, gazing + up at him. “Have you ever had any complaint to make about the attendance?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Duke, “the attendance has always been quite satisfactory. I + have never felt that so keenly as I do to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you leaving? Why are you breaking my heart?” + </p> + <p> + “Suffice it that I cannot do otherwise. Henceforth you will see me no + more. But I doubt not that in the cultivation of my memory you will find + some sort of lugubrious satisfaction. See! here are the ear-rings. If you + like, I will put them in with my own hands.” + </p> + <p> + She held up her face side-ways. Into the lobe of her left ear he + insinuated the hook of the black pearl. On the cheek upturned to him there + were still traces of tears; the eyelashes were still spangled. For all her + blondness, they were quite dark, these glistening eyelashes. He had an + impulse, which he put from him. “Now the other ear,” he said. The girl + turned her head. Soon the pink pearl was in its place. Yet the girl did + not move. She seemed to be waiting. Nor did the Duke himself seem to be + quite satisfied. He let his fingers dally with the pearl. Anon, with a + sigh, he withdrew them. The girl looked up. Their eyes met. He looked away + from her. He turned away from her. “You may kiss my hand,” he murmured, + extending it towards her. After a pause, the warm pressure of her lips was + laid on it. He sighed, but did not look round. Another pause, a longer + pause, and then the clatter and clink of the outgoing tray. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Her actual offspring does not suffice a very motherly woman. Such a woman + was Mrs. Batch. Had she been blest with a dozen children, she must yet + have regarded herself as also a mother to whatever two young gentlemen + were lodging under her roof. Childless but for Katie and Clarence, she had + for her successive pairs of tenants a truly vast fund of maternal feeling + to draw on. Nor were the drafts made in secret. To every gentleman, from + the outset, she proclaimed the relation in which she would stand to him. + Moreover, always she needed a strong filial sense in return: this was only + fair. + </p> + <p> + Because the Duke was an orphan, even more than because he was a Duke, her + heart had with a special rush gone out to him when he and Mr. Noaks became + her tenants. But, perhaps because he had never known a mother, he was + evidently quite incapable of conceiving either Mrs. Batch as his mother or + himself as her son. Indeed, there was that in his manner, in his look, + which made her falter, for once, in exposition of her theory—made + her postpone the matter to some more favourable time. That time never + came, somehow. Still, her solicitude for him, her pride in him, her sense + that he was a great credit to her, rather waxed than waned. He was more to + her (such are the vagaries of the maternal instinct) than Katie or Mr. + Noaks: he was as much as Clarence. + </p> + <p> + It was, therefore, a deeply agitated woman who now came heaving up into + the Duke’s presence. His Grace was “giving notice”? She was sure she + begged his pardon for coming up so sudden. But the news was that sudden. + Hadn’t her girl made a mistake, maybe? Girls were so vague-like nowadays. + She was sure it was most kind of him to give those handsome ear-rings. But + the thought of him going off so unexpected—middle of term, too—with + never a why or a but! Well! + </p> + <p> + In some such welter of homely phrase (how foreign to these classic pages!) + did Mrs. Batch utter her pain. The Duke answered her tersely but kindly. + He apologised for going so abruptly, and said he would be very happy to + write for her future use a testimonial to the excellence of her rooms and + of her cooking; and with it he would give her a cheque not only for the + full term’s rent, and for his board since the beginning of term, but also + for such board as he would have been likely to have in the term’s + remainder. He asked her to present her accounts forthwith. + </p> + <p> + He occupied the few minutes of her absence by writing the testimonial. It + had shaped itself in his mind as a short ode in Doric Greek. But, for the + benefit of Mrs. Batch, he chose to do a rough equivalent in English. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO AN UNDERGRADUATE NEEDING + ROOMS IN OXFORD + + (A Sonnet in Oxfordshire Dialect) + + Zeek w’ere thee will in t’Univursity, + Lad, thee’ll not vind nor bread nor bed that + matches + Them as thee’ll vind, roight zure, at Mrs. + Batch’s... +</pre> + <p> + I do not quote the poem in extenso, because, frankly, I think it was one + of his least happily-inspired works. His was not a Muse that could with a + good grace doff the grand manner. Also, his command of the Oxfordshire + dialect seems to me based less on study than on conjecture. In fact, I do + not place the poem higher than among the curiosities of literature. It has + extrinsic value, however, as illustrating the Duke’s thoughtfulness for + others in the last hours of his life. And to Mrs. Batch the MS., framed + and glazed in her hall, is an asset beyond price (witness her recent + refusal of Mr. Pierpont Morgan’s sensational bid for it). + </p> + <p> + This MS. she received together with the Duke’s cheque. The presentation + was made some twenty minutes after she had laid her accounts before him. + </p> + <p> + Lavish in giving large sums of his own accord, he was apt to be + circumspect in the matter of small payments. Such is ever the way of + opulent men. Nor do I see that we have a right to sneer at them for it. We + cannot deny that their existence is a temptation to us. It is in our + fallen nature to want to get something out of them; and, as we think in + small sums (heaven knows), it is of small sums that they are careful. + Absurd to suppose they really care about halfpence. It must, therefore, be + about us that they care; and we ought to be grateful to them for the pains + they are at to keep us guiltless. I do not suggest that Mrs. Batch had at + any point overcharged the Duke; but how was he to know that she had not + done so, except by checking the items, as was his wont? The reductions + that he made, here and there, did not in all amount to three-and-sixpence. + I do not say they were just. But I do say that his motive for making them, + and his satisfaction at having made them, were rather beautiful than + otherwise. + </p> + <p> + Having struck an average of Mrs. Batch’s weekly charges, and a similar + average of his own reductions, he had a basis on which to reckon his board + for the rest of the term. This amount he added to Mrs. Batch’s amended + total, plus the full term’s rent, and accordingly drew a cheque on the + local bank where he had an account. Mrs. Batch said she would bring up a + stamped receipt directly; but this the Duke waived, saying that the cashed + cheque itself would be a sufficient receipt. Accordingly, he reduced by + one penny the amount written on the cheque. Remembering to initial the + correction, he remembered also, with a melancholy smile, that to-morrow + the cheque would not be negotiable. Handing it, and the sonnet, to Mrs. + Batch, he bade her cash it before the bank closed. “And,” he said, with a + glance at his watch, “you have no time to lose. It is a quarter to four.” + Only two hours and a quarter before the final races! How quickly the sands + were running out! + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Batch paused on the threshold, wanted to know if she could “help with + the packing.” The Duke replied that he was taking nothing with him: his + various things would be sent for, packed, and removed, within a few days. + No, he did not want her to order a cab. He was going to walk. And + “Good-bye, Mrs. Batch,” he said. “For legal reasons with which I won’t + burden you, you really must cash that cheque at once.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down in solitude; and there crept over him a mood of deep + depression... Almost two hours and a quarter before the final races! What + on earth should he do in the meantime? He seemed to have done all that + there was for him to do. His executors would do the rest. He had no + farewell-letters to write. He had no friends with whom he was on terms of + valediction. There was nothing at all for him to do. He stared blankly out + of the window, at the greyness and blackness of the sky. What a day! What + a climate! Why did any sane person live in England? He felt positively + suicidal. + </p> + <p> + His dully vagrant eye lighted on the bottle of Cold Mixture. He ought to + have dosed himself a full hour ago. Well, he didn’t care. + </p> + <p> + Had Zuleika noticed the bottle? he idly wondered. Probably not. She would + have made some sprightly reference to it before she went. + </p> + <p> + Since there was nothing to do but sit and think, he wished he could + recapture that mood in which at luncheon he had been able to see Zuleika + as an object for pity. Never, till to-day, had he seen things otherwise + than they were. Nor had he ever needed to. Never, till last night, had + there been in his life anything he needed to forget. That woman! As if it + really mattered what she thought of him. He despised himself for wishing + to forget she despised him. But the wish was the measure of the need. He + eyed the chiffonier. Should he again solicit the grape? + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly he uncorked the crusted bottle, and filled a glass. Was he + come to this? He sighed and sipped, quaffed and sighed. The spell of the + old stored sunshine seemed not to work, this time. He could not cease from + plucking at the net of ignominies in which his soul lay enmeshed. Would + that he had died yesterday, escaping how much! + </p> + <p> + Not for an instant did he flinch from the mere fact of dying to-day. Since + he was not immortal, as he had supposed, it were as well he should die now + as fifty years hence. Better, indeed. To die “untimely,” as men called it, + was the timeliest of all deaths for one who had carved his youth to + greatness. What perfection could he, Dorset, achieve beyond what was + already his? Future years could but stale, if not actually mar, that + perfection. Yes, it was lucky to perish leaving much to the imagination of + posterity. Dear posterity was of a sentimental, not a realistic, habit. + She always imagined the dead young hero prancing gloriously up to the + Psalmist’s limit a young hero still; and it was the sense of her vast loss + that kept his memory green. Byron!—he would be all forgotten to-day + if he had lived to be a florid old gentleman with iron-grey whiskers, + writing very long, very able letters to “The Times” about the Repeal of + the Corn Laws. Yes, Byron would have been that. It was indicated in him. + He would have been an old gentleman exacerbated by Queen Victoria’s + invincible prejudice against him, her brusque refusal to “entertain” Lord + John Russell’s timid nomination of him for a post in the Government... + Shelley would have been a poet to the last. But how dull, how very dull, + would have been the poetry of his middle age!—a great unreadable + mass interposed between him and us... Did Byron, mused the Duke, know what + was to be at Missolonghi? Did he know that he was to die in service of the + Greeks whom he despised? Byron might not have minded that. But what if the + Greeks had told him, in so many words, that they despised HIM? How would + he have felt then? Would he have been content with his potations of + barley-water?... The Duke replenished his glass, hoping the spell might + work yet.... Perhaps, had Byron not been a dandy—but ah, had he not + been in his soul a dandy there would have been no Byron worth mentioning. + And it was because he guarded not his dandyism against this and that + irrelevant passion, sexual or political, that he cut so annoyingly + incomplete a figure. He was absurd in his politics, vulgar in his loves. + Only in himself, at the times when he stood haughtily aloof, was he + impressive. Nature, fashioning him, had fashioned also a pedestal for him + to stand and brood on, to pose and sing on. Off that pedestal he was + lost.... “The idol has come sliding down from its pedestal”—the Duke + remembered these words spoken yesterday by Zuleika. Yes, at the moment + when he slid down, he, too, was lost. For him, master-dandy, the common + arena was no place. What had he to do with love? He was an utter fool at + it. Byron had at least had some fun out of it. What fun had HE had? Last + night, he had forgotten to kiss Zuleika when he held her by the wrists. + To-day it had been as much as he could do to let poor little Katie kiss + his hand. Better be vulgar with Byron than a noodle with Dorset! he + bitterly reflected... Still, noodledom was nearer than vulgarity to + dandyism. It was a less flagrant lapse. And he had over Byron this further + advantage: his noodledom was not a matter of common knowledge; whereas + Byron’s vulgarity had ever needed to be in the glare of the footlights of + Europe. The world would say of him that he laid down his life for a woman. + Deplorable somersault? But nothing evident save this in his whole life was + faulty... The one other thing that might be carped at—the partisan + speech he made in the Lords—had exquisitely justified itself by its + result. For it was as a Knight of the Garter that he had set the perfect + seal on his dandyism. Yes, he reflected, it was on the day when first he + donned the most grandiose of all costumes, and wore it grandlier than ever + yet in history had it been worn, than ever would it be worn hereafter, + flaunting the robes with a grace unparalleled and inimitable, and lending, + as it were, to the very insignia a glory beyond their own, that he once + and for all fulfilled himself, doer of that which he had been sent into + the world to do. + </p> + <p> + And there floated into his mind a desire, vague at first, soon definite, + imperious, irresistible, to see himself once more, before he died, indued + in the fulness of his glory and his might. + </p> + <p> + Nothing hindered. There was yet a whole hour before he need start for the + river. His eyes dilated, somewhat as might those of a child about to + “dress up” for a charade; and already, in his impatience, he had undone + his neck-tie. + </p> + <p> + One after another, he unlocked and threw open the black tin boxes, + snatching out greedily their great good splendours of crimson and white + and royal blue and gold. You wonder he was not appalled by the task of + essaying unaided a toilet so extensive and so intricate? You wondered even + when you heard that he was wont at Oxford to make without help his toilet + of every day. Well, the true dandy is always capable of such high + independence. He is craftsman as well as artist. And, though any unaided + Knight but he with whom we are here concerned would belike have doddered + hopeless in that labyrinth of hooks and buckles which underlies the + visible glory of a Knight “arraied full and proper,” Dorset threaded his + way featly and without pause. He had mastered his first excitement. In his + swiftness was no haste. His procedure had the ease and inevitability of a + natural phenomenon, and was most like to the coming of a rainbow. + </p> + <p> + Crimson-doubleted, blue-ribanded, white-trunk-hosed, he stooped to + understrap his left knee with that strap of velvet round which sparkles + the proud gay motto of the Order. He affixed to his breast the octoradiant + star, so much larger and more lustrous than any actual star in heaven. + Round his neck he slung that long daedal chain wherefrom St. George, + slaying the Dragon, dangles. He bowed his shoulders to assume that vast + mantle of blue velvet, so voluminous, so enveloping, that, despite the + Cross of St. George blazing on it, and the shoulder-knots like two great + white tropical flowers planted on it, we seem to know from it in what + manner of mantle Elijah prophesied. Across his breast he knotted this + mantle’s two cords of gleaming bullion, one tassel a due trifle higher + than its fellow. All these things being done, he moved away from the + mirror, and drew on a pair of white kid gloves. Both of these being + buttoned, he plucked up certain folds of his mantle into the hollow of his + left arm, and with his right hand gave to his left hand that + ostrich-plumed and heron-plumed hat of black velvet in which a Knight of + the Garter is entitled to take his walks abroad. Then, with head erect, + and measured tread, he returned to the mirror. + </p> + <p> + You are thinking, I know, of Mr. Sargent’s famous portrait of him. Forget + it. Tankerton Hall is open to the public on Wednesdays. Go there, and in + the dining-hall stand to study well Sir Thomas Lawrence’s portrait of the + eleventh Duke. Imagine a man some twenty years younger than he whom you + there behold, but having some such features and some such bearing, and + clad in just such robes. Sublimate the dignity of that bearing and of + those features, and you will then have seen the fourteenth Duke somewhat + as he stood reflected in the mirror of his room. Resist your impulse to + pass on to the painting which hangs next but two to Lawrence’s. It + deserves, I know, all that you said about it when (at the very time of the + events in this chronicle) it was hanging in Burlington House. Marvellous, + I grant you, are those passes of the swirling brush by which the velvet of + the mantle is rendered—passes so light and seemingly so fortuitous, + yet, seen at the right distance, so absolute in their power to create an + illusion of the actual velvet. Sheen of white satin and silk, glint of + gold, glitter of diamonds—never were such things caught by surer + hand obedient to more voracious eye. Yes, all the splendid surface of + everything is there. Yet must you not look. The soul is not there. An + expensive, very new costume is there, but no evocation of the high antique + things it stands for; whereas by the Duke it was just these things that + were evoked to make an aura round him, a warm symbolic glow sharpening the + outlines of his own particular magnificence. Reflecting him, the mirror + reflected, in due subordination, the history of England. There is nothing + of that on Mr. Sargent’s canvas. Obtruded instead is the astounding + slickness of Mr. Sargent’s technique: not the sitter, but the painter, is + master here. Nay, though I hate to say it, there is in the portrayal of + the Duke’s attitude and expression a hint of something like mockery—unintentional, + I am sure, but to a sensitive eye discernible. And—but it is clumsy + of me to be reminding you of the very picture I would have you forget. + </p> + <p> + Long stood the Duke gazing, immobile. One thing alone ruffled his deep + inward calm. This was the thought that he must presently put off from him + all his splendour, and be his normal self. + </p> + <p> + The shadow passed from his brow. He would go forth as he was. He would be + true to the motto he wore, and true to himself. A dandy he had lived. In + the full pomp and radiance of his dandyism he would die. + </p> + <p> + His soul rose from calm to triumph. A smile lit his face, and he held his + head higher than ever. He had brought nothing into this world and could + take nothing out of it? Well, what he loved best he could carry with him + to the very end; and in death they would not be divided. + </p> + <p> + The smile was still on his face as he passed out from his room. Down the + stairs he passed, and “Oh,” every stair creaked faintly, “I ought to have + been marble!” + </p> + <p> + And it did indeed seem that Mrs. Batch and Katie, who had hurried out into + the hall, were turned to some kind of stone at sight of the descending + apparition. A moment ago, Mrs. Batch had been hoping she might yet at the + last speak motherly words. A hopeless mute now! A moment ago, Katie’s + eyelids had been red with much weeping. Even from them the colour suddenly + ebbed now. Dead-white her face was between the black pearl and the pink. + “And this is the man of whom I dared once for an instant hope that he + loved me!”—it was thus that the Duke, quite correctly, interpreted + her gaze. + </p> + <p> + To her and to her mother he gave an inclusive bow as he swept slowly by. + Stone was the matron, and stone the maid. + </p> + <p> + Stone, too, the Emperors over the way; and the more poignantly thereby was + the Duke a sight to anguish them, being the very incarnation of what + themselves had erst been, or tried to be. But in this bitterness they did + not forget their sorrow at his doom. They were in a mood to forgive him + the one fault they had ever found in him—his indifference to their + Katie. And now—o mirum mirorum—even this one fault was wiped + out. + </p> + <p> + For, stung by memory of a gibe lately cast at him by himself, the Duke had + paused and, impulsively looking back into the hall, had beckoned Katie to + him; and she had come (she knew not how) to him; and there, standing on + the doorstep whose whiteness was the symbol of her love, he—very + lightly, it is true, and on the upmost confines of the brow, but quite + perceptibly—had kissed her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX + </h2> + <p> + And now he had passed under the little arch between the eighth and the + ninth Emperor, rounded the Sheldonian, and been lost to sight of Katie, + whom, as he was equally glad and sorry he had kissed her, he was able to + dismiss from his mind. + </p> + <p> + In the quadrangle of the Old Schools he glanced round at the familiar + labels, blue and gold, over the iron-studded doors,—Schola + Theologiae et Antiquae Philosophiae; Museum Arundelianum; Schola Musicae. + And Bibliotheca Bodleiana—he paused there, to feel for the last time + the vague thrill he had always felt at sight of the small and devious + portal that had lured to itself, and would always lure, so many scholars + from the ends of the earth, scholars famous and scholars obscure, scholars + polyglot and of the most diverse bents, but none of them not stirred in + heart somewhat on the found threshold of the treasure-house. “How deep, + how perfect, the effect made here by refusal to make any effect + whatsoever!” thought the Duke. Perhaps, after all... but no: one could lay + down no general rule. He flung his mantle a little wider from his breast, + and proceeded into Radcliffe Square. + </p> + <p> + Another farewell look he gave to the old vast horse-chestnut that is + called Bishop Heber’s tree. Certainly, no: there was no general rule. With + its towering and bulging masses of verdure tricked out all over in their + annual finery of catkins, Bishop Heber’s tree stood for the very type of + ingenuous ostentation. And who should dare cavil? who not be gladdened? + Yet awful, more than gladdening, was the effect that the tree made to-day. + Strangely pale was the verdure against the black sky; and the + multitudinous catkins had a look almost ghostly. The Duke remembered the + legend that every one of these fair white spires of blossom is the spirit + of some dead man who, having loved Oxford much and well, is suffered thus + to revisit her, for a brief while, year by year. And it pleased him to + doubt not that on one of the topmost branches, next Spring, his own spirit + would be. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look!” cried a young lady emerging with her brother and her aunt + through the gate of Brasenose. + </p> + <p> + “For heaven’s sake, Jessie, try to behave yourself,” hissed her brother. + “Aunt Mabel, for heaven’s sake don’t stare.” He compelled the pair to walk + on with him. “Jessie, if you look round over your shoulder... No, it is + NOT the Vice-Chancellor. It’s Dorset, of Judas—the Duke of Dorset... + Why on earth shouldn’t he?... No, it isn’t odd in the least... No, I’m NOT + losing my temper. Only, don’t call me your dear boy... No, we will NOT + walk slowly so as to let him pass us... Jessie, if you look round...” + </p> + <p> + Poor fellow! However fond an undergraduate be of his womenfolk, at Oxford + they keep him in a painful state of tension: at any moment they may + somehow disgrace him. And if throughout the long day he shall have had the + added strain of guarding them from the knowledge that he is about to + commit suicide, a certain measure of irritability must be condoned. + </p> + <p> + Poor Jessie and Aunt Mabel! They were destined to remember that Harold had + been “very peculiar” all day. They had arrived in the morning, happy and + eager despite the menace of the sky, and—well, they were destined to + reproach themselves for having felt that Harold was “really rather + impossible.” Oh, if he had only confided in them! They could have reasoned + with him, saved him—surely they could have saved him! When he told + them that the “First Division” of the races was always very dull, and that + they had much better let him go to it alone,—when he told them that + it was always very rowdy, and that ladies were not supposed to be there—oh, + why had they not guessed and clung to him, and kept him away from the + river? + </p> + <p> + Well, here they were, walking on Harold’s either side, blind to fate, and + only longing to look back at the gorgeous personage behind them. Aunt + Mabel had inwardly calculated that the velvet of the mantle alone could + not have cost less than four guineas a yard. One good look back, and she + would be able to calculate how many yards there were... She followed the + example of Lot’s wife; and Jessie followed hers. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Harold. “That settles it. I go alone.” And he was gone + like an arrow, across the High, down Oriel Street. + </p> + <p> + The two women stood staring ruefully at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said the Duke, with a sweep of his plumed hat. “I observe you + are stranded; and, if I read your thoughts aright, you are impugning the + courtesy of that young runagate. Neither of you, I am very sure, is as one + of those ladies who in Imperial Rome took a saucy pleasure in the + spectacle of death. Neither of you can have been warned by your escort + that you were on the way to see him die, of his own accord, in company + with many hundreds of other lads, myself included. Therefore, regard his + flight from you as an act not of unkindness, but of tardy compunction. The + hint you have had from him let me turn into a counsel. Go back, both of + you, to the place whence you came.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you SO much,” said Aunt Mabel, with what she took to be great + presence of mind. “MOST kind of you. We’ll do JUST what you tell us. Come, + Jessie dear,” and she hurried her niece away with her. + </p> + <p> + Something in her manner of fixing him with her eye had made the Duke + suspect what was in her mind. Well, she would find out her mistake soon + enough, poor woman. He desired, however, that her mistake should be made + by no one else. He would give no more warnings. + </p> + <p> + Tragic it was for him, in Merton Street, to see among the crowd converging + to the meadows so many women, young and old, all imprescient, troubled by + nothing but the thunder that was in the air, that was on the brows of + their escorts. He knew not whether it was for their escorts or for them + that he felt the greater pity; and an added load for his heart was the + sense of his partial responsibility for what impended. But his lips were + sealed now. Why should he not enjoy the effect he was creating? + </p> + <p> + It was with a measured tread, as yesterday with Zuleika, that he entered + the avenue of elms. The throng streamed past from behind him, parting + wide, and marvelling as it streamed. Under the pall of this evil evening + his splendour was the more inspiring. And, just as yesterday no man had + questioned his right to be with Zuleika, so to-day there was none to deem + him caparisoned too much. All the men felt at a glance that he, coming to + meet death thus, did no more than the right homage to Zuleika—aye, + and that he made them all partakers in his own glory, casting his great + mantle over all commorients. Reverence forbade them to do more than + glance. But the women with them were impelled by wonder to stare hard, + uttering sharp little cries that mingled with the cawing of the rooks + overhead. Thus did scores of men find themselves shamed like our friend + Harold. But this, you say, was no more than a just return for their + behaviour yesterday, when, in this very avenue, so many women were almost + crushed to death by them in their insensate eagerness to see Miss Dobson. + </p> + <p> + To-day by scores of women it was calculated not only that the velvet of + the Duke’s mantle could not have cost less than four guineas a yard, but + also that there must be quite twenty-five yards of it. Some of the fair + mathematicians had, in the course of the past fortnight, visited the Royal + Academy and seen there Mr. Sargent’s portrait of the wearer, so that their + estimate now was but the endorsement of an estimate already made. Yet + their impression of the Duke was above all a spiritual one. The nobility + of his face and bearing was what most thrilled them as they went by; and + those of them who had heard the rumour that he was in love with that + frightfully flashy-looking creature, Zuleika Dobson, were more than ever + sure there wasn’t a word of truth in it. + </p> + <p> + As he neared the end of the avenue, the Duke was conscious of a thinning + in the procession on either side of him, and anon he was aware that not + one undergraduate was therein. And he knew at once—did not need to + look back to know—why this was. SHE was coming. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she had come into the avenue, her magnetism speeding before her, + insomuch that all along the way the men immediately ahead of her looked + round, beheld her, stood aside for her. With her walked The MacQuern, and + a little bodyguard of other blest acquaintances; and behind her swayed the + dense mass of the disorganised procession. And now the last rank between + her and the Duke was broken, and at the revealed vision of him she + faltered midway in some raillery she was addressing to The MacQuern. Her + eyes were fixed, her lips were parted, her tread had become stealthy. With + a brusque gesture of dismissal to the men beside her, she darted forward, + and lightly overtook the Duke just as he was turning towards the barges. + </p> + <p> + “May I?” she whispered, smiling round into his face. + </p> + <p> + His shoulder-knots just perceptibly rose. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t a policeman in sight, John. You’re at my mercy. No, no; I’m + at yours. Tolerate me. You really do look quite wonderful. There, I won’t + be so impertinent as to praise you. Only let me be with you. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + The shoulder-knots repeated their answer. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t listen to me; needn’t look at me—unless you care to use + my eyes as mirrors. Only let me be seen with you. That’s what I want. Not + that your society isn’t a boon in itself, John. Oh, I’ve been so bored + since I left you. The MacQuern is too, too dull, and so are his friends. + Oh, that meal with them in Balliol! As soon as I grew used to the thought + that they were going to die for me, I simply couldn’t stand them. Poor + boys! it was as much as I could do not to tell them I wished them dead + already. Indeed, when they brought me down for the first races, I did + suggest that they might as well die now as later. Only they looked very + solemn and said it couldn’t possibly be done till after the final races. + And oh, the tea with them! What have YOU been doing all the afternoon? Oh + John, after THEM, I could almost love you again. Why can’t one fall in + love with a man’s clothes? To think that all those splendid things you + have on are going to be spoilt—all for me. Nominally for me, that + is. It is very wonderful, John. I do appreciate it, really and truly, + though I know you think I don’t. John, if it weren’t mere spite you feel + for me—but it’s no good talking about that. Come, let us be as + cheerful as we may be. Is this the Judas house-boat?” + </p> + <p> + “The Judas barge,” said the Duke, irritated by a mistake which but + yesterday had rather charmed him. + </p> + <p> + As he followed his companion across the plank, there came dully from the + hills the first low growl of the pent storm. The sound struck for him a + strange contrast with the prattle he had perforce been listening to. + </p> + <p> + “Thunder,” said Zuleika over her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Evidently,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Half-way up the stairs to the roof, she looked round. “Aren’t you coming?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, and pointed to the raft in front of the barge. She + quickly descended. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” he said, “my gesture was not a summons. The raft is for + men.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to do on it?” + </p> + <p> + “To wait there till the races are over.” + </p> + <p> + “But—what do you mean? Aren’t you coming up on to the roof at all? + Yesterday—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see,” said the Duke, unable to repress a smile. “But to-day I am + not dressed for a flying-leap.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika put a finger to her lips. “Don’t talk so loud. Those women up + there will hear you. No one must ever know I knew what was going to + happen. What evidence should I have that I tried to prevent it? Only my + own unsupported word—and the world is always against a woman. So do + be careful. I’ve thought it all out. The whole thing must be SPRUNG on me. + Don’t look so horribly cynical... What was I saying? Oh yes; well, it + doesn’t really matter. I had it fixed in my mind that you—but no, of + course, in that mantle you couldn’t. But why not come up on the roof with + me meanwhile, and then afterwards make some excuse and—” The rest of + her whisper was lost in another growl of thunder. + </p> + <p> + “I would rather make my excuses forthwith,” said the Duke. “And, as the + races must be almost due now, I advise you to go straight up and secure a + place against the railing.” + </p> + <p> + “It will look very odd, my going all alone into a crowd of people whom I + don’t know. I’m an unmarried girl. I do think you might—” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + Again Zuleika raised a warning finger. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, John,” she whispered. “See, I am still wearing your studs. + Good-bye. Don’t forget to call my name in a loud voice. You promised.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” she added, after a pause, “remember this. I have loved but twice in + my life; and none but you have I loved. This, too: if you hadn’t forced me + to kill my love, I would have died with you. And you know it is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” It was true enough. + </p> + <p> + Courteously he watched her up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + As she reached the roof, she cried down to him from the throng, “Then you + will wait down there to take me home afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + He bowed silently. + </p> + <p> + The raft was even more crowded than yesterday, but way was made for him by + Judasians past and present. He took his place in the centre of the front + row. + </p> + <p> + At his feet flowed the fateful river. From the various barges the last + punt-loads had been ferried across to the towing-path, and the last of the + men who were to follow the boats in their course had vanished towards the + starting-point. There remained, however, a fringe of lesser enthusiasts. + Their figures stood outlined sharply in that strange dark clearness which + immediately precedes a storm. + </p> + <p> + The thunder rumbled around the hills, and now and again there was a faint + glare on the horizon. + </p> + <p> + Would Judas bump Magdalen? Opinion on the raft seemed to be divided. But + the sanguine spirits were in a majority. + </p> + <p> + “If I were making a book on the event,” said a middle-aged clergyman, with + that air of breezy emancipation which is so distressing to the laity, “I’d + bet two to one we bump.” + </p> + <p> + “You demean your cloth, sir,” the Duke would have said, “without cheating + its disabilities,” had not his mouth been stopped by a loud and prolonged + thunder-clap. + </p> + <p> + In the hush thereafter, came the puny sound of a gunshot. The boats were + starting. Would Judas bump Magdalen? Would Judas be head of the river? + </p> + <p> + Strange, thought the Duke, that for him, standing as he did on the peak of + dandyism, on the brink of eternity, this trivial question of boats could + have importance. And yet, and yet, for this it was that his heart was + beating. A few minutes hence, an end to victors and vanquished alike; and + yet... + </p> + <p> + A sudden white vertical streak slid down the sky. Then there was a + consonance to split the drums of the world’s ears, followed by a horrific + rattling as of actual artillery—tens of thousands of gun-carriages + simultaneously at the gallop, colliding, crashing, heeling over in the + blackness. + </p> + <p> + Then, and yet more awful, silence; the little earth cowering voiceless + under the heavens’ menace. And, audible in the hush now, a faint sound; + the sound of the runners on the towing-path cheering the crews forward, + forward. + </p> + <p> + And there was another faint sound that came to the Duke’s ears. It he + understood when, a moment later, he saw the surface of the river alive + with infinitesimal fountains. + </p> + <p> + Rain! + </p> + <p> + His very mantle was aspersed. In another minute he would stand sodden, + inglorious, a mock. He didn’t hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “Zuleika!” he cried in a loud voice. Then he took a deep breath, and, + burying his face in his mantle, plunged. + </p> + <p> + Full on the river lay the mantle outspread. Then it, too, went under. A + great roll of water marked the spot. The plumed hat floated. + </p> + <p> + There was a confusion of shouts from the raft, of screams from the roof. + Many youths—all the youths there—cried “Zuleika!” and leapt + emulously headlong into the water. “Brave fellows!” shouted the elder men, + supposing rescue-work. The rain pelted, the thunder pealed. Here and there + was a glimpse of a young head above water—for an instant only. + </p> + <p> + Shouts and screams now from the infected barges on either side. A score of + fresh plunges. “Splendid fellows!” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, what of the Duke? I am glad to say that he was alive and (but + for the cold he had caught last night) well. Indeed, his mind had never + worked more clearly than in this swift dim underworld. His mantle, the + cords of it having come untied, had drifted off him, leaving his arms + free. With breath well-pent, he steadily swam, scarcely less amused than + annoyed that the gods had, after all, dictated the exact time at which he + should seek death. + </p> + <p> + I am loth to interrupt my narrative at this rather exciting moment—a + moment when the quick, tense style, exemplified in the last paragraph but + one, is so very desirable. But in justice to the gods I must pause to put + in a word of excuse for them. They had imagined that it was in mere irony + that the Duke had said he could not die till after the bumping-races; and + not until it seemed that he stood ready to make an end of himself had the + signal been given by Zeus for the rain to fall. One is taught to refrain + from irony, because mankind does tend to take it literally. In the hearing + of the gods, who hear all, it is conversely unsafe to make a simple and + direct statement. So what is one to do? The dilemma needs a whole volume + to itself. + </p> + <p> + But to return to the Duke. He had now been under water for a full minute, + swimming down stream; and he calculated that he had yet another full + minute of consciousness. Already the whole of his past life had vividly + presented itself to him—myriads of tiny incidents, long forgotten, + now standing out sharply in their due sequence. He had mastered this + conspectus in a flash of time, and was already tired of it. How smooth and + yielding were the weeds against his face! He wondered if Mrs. Batch had + been in time to cash the cheque. If not, of course his executors would pay + the amount, but there would be delays, long delays, Mrs. Batch in meshes + of red tape. Red tape for her, green weeds for him—he smiled at this + poor conceit, classifying it as a fair sample of merman’s wit. He swam on + through the quiet cool darkness, less quickly now. Not many more strokes + now, he told himself; a few, only a few; then sleep. How was he come here? + Some woman had sent him. Ever so many years ago, some woman. He forgave + her. There was nothing to forgive her. It was the gods who had sent him—too + soon, too soon. He let his arms rise in the water, and he floated up. + There was air in that over-world, and something he needed to know there + before he came down again to sleep. + </p> + <p> + He gasped the air into his lungs, and he remembered what it was that he + needed to know. + </p> + <p> + Had he risen in mid-stream, the keel of the Magdalen boat might have + killed him. The oars of Magdalen did all but graze his face. The eyes of + the Magdalen cox met his. The cords of the Magdalen rudder slipped from + the hands that held them; whereupon the Magdalen man who rowed “bow” + missed his stroke. + </p> + <p> + An instant later, just where the line of barges begins, Judas had bumped + Magdalen. + </p> + <p> + A crash of thunder deadened the din of the stamping and dancing crowd on + the towing-path. The rain was a deluge making land and water as one. + </p> + <p> + And the conquered crew, and the conquering, both now had seen the face of + the Duke. A white smiling face, anon it was gone. Dorset was gone down to + his last sleep. + </p> + <p> + Victory and defeat alike forgotten, the crews staggered erect and flung + themselves into the river, the slender boats capsizing and spinning futile + around in a melley of oars. + </p> + <p> + From the towing-path—no more din there now, but great single cries + of “Zuleika!”—leapt figures innumerable through rain to river. The + arrested boats of the other crews drifted zigzag hither and thither. The + dropped oars rocked and clashed, sank and rebounded, as the men plunged + across them into the swirling stream. + </p> + <p> + And over all this confusion and concussion of men and man-made things + crashed the vaster discords of the heavens; and the waters of the heavens + fell ever denser and denser, as though to the aid of waters that could not + in themselves envelop so many hundreds of struggling human forms. + </p> + <p> + All along the soaked towing-path lay strewn the horns, the rattles, the + motor-hooters, that the youths had flung aside before they leapt. Here and + there among these relics stood dazed elder men, staring through the storm. + There was one of them—a grey-beard—who stripped off his + blazer, plunged, grabbed at some live man, grappled him, was dragged + under. He came up again further along stream, swam choking to the bank, + clung to the grasses. He whimpered as he sought foot-hold in the slime. It + was ill to be down in that abominable sink of death. + </p> + <p> + Abominable, yes, to them who discerned there death only; but sacramental + and sweet enough to the men who were dying there for love. Any face that + rose was smiling. + </p> + <p> + The thunder receded; the rain was less vehement: the boats and the oars + had drifted against the banks. And always the patient river bore its awful + burden towards Iffley. + </p> + <p> + As on the towing-path, so on the youth-bereft rafts of the barges, yonder, + stood many stupefied elders, staring at the river, staring back from the + river into one another’s faces. + </p> + <p> + Dispeopled now were the roofs of the barges. Under the first drops of the + rain most of the women had come huddling down for shelter inside; panic + had presently driven down the rest. Yet on one roof one woman still was. A + strange, drenched figure, she stood bright-eyed in the dimness; alone, as + it was well she should be in her great hour; draining the lees of such + homage as had come to no woman in history recorded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX + </h2> + <p> + Artistically, there is a good deal to be said for that old Greek friend of + ours, the Messenger; and I dare say you blame me for having, as it were, + made you an eye-witness of the death of the undergraduates, when I might + so easily have brought some one in to tell you about it after it was all + over... Some one? Whom? Are you not begging the question? I admit there + were, that evening in Oxford, many people who, when they went home from + the river, gave vivid reports of what they had seen. But among them was + none who had seen more than a small portion of the whole affair. + Certainly, I might have pieced together a dozen of the various accounts, + and put them all into the mouth of one person. But credibility is not + enough for Clio’s servant. I aim at truth. And so, as I by my Zeus-given + incorporeity was the one person who had a good view of the scene at large, + you must pardon me for having withheld the veil of indirect narration. + </p> + <p> + “Too late,” you will say if I offer you a Messenger now. But it was not + thus that Mrs. Batch and Katie greeted Clarence when, lamentably soaked + with rain, that Messenger appeared on the threshold of the kitchen. Katie + was laying the table-cloth for seven o’clock supper. Neither she nor her + mother was clairvoyante. Neither of them knew what had been happening. + But, as Clarence had not come home since afternoon-school, they had + assumed that he was at the river; and they now assumed from the look of + him that something very unusual had been happening there. As to what this + was, they were not quickly enlightened. Our old Greek friend, after a run + of twenty miles, would always reel off a round hundred of graphic verses + unimpeachable in scansion. Clarence was of degenerate mould. He collapsed + on to a chair, and sat there gasping; and his recovery was rather delayed + than hastened by his mother, who, in her solicitude, patted him vigorously + between the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Let him alone, mother, do,” cried Katie, wringing her hands. + </p> + <p> + “The Duke, he’s drowned himself,” presently gasped the Messenger. + </p> + <p> + Blank verse, yes, so far as it went; but delivered without the slightest + regard for rhythm, and composed in stark defiance of those laws which + should regulate the breaking of bad news. You, please remember, were + carefully prepared by me against the shock of the Duke’s death; and yet I + hear you still mumbling that I didn’t let the actual fact be told you by a + Messenger. Come, do you really think your grievance against me is for a + moment comparable with that of Mrs. and Miss Batch against Clarence? Did + you feel faint at any moment in the foregoing chapter? No. But Katie, at + Clarence’s first words, fainted outright. Think a little more about this + poor girl senseless on the floor, and a little less about your own paltry + discomfort. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Batch herself did not faint, but she was too much overwhelmed to + notice that her daughter had done so. + </p> + <p> + “No! Mercy on us! Speak, boy, can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “The river,” gasped Clarence. “Threw himself in. On purpose. I was on the + towing-path. Saw him do it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Batch gave a low moan. + </p> + <p> + “Katie’s fainted,” added the Messenger, not without a touch of personal + pride. + </p> + <p> + “Saw him do it,” Mrs. Batch repeated dully. “Katie,” she said, in the same + voice, “get up this instant.” But Katie did not hear her. + </p> + <p> + The mother was loth to have been outdone in sensibility by the daughter, + and it was with some temper that she hastened to make the necessary + ministrations. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I?” asked Katie, at length, echoing the words used in this very + house, at a similar juncture, on this very day, by another lover of the + Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you may well ask that,” said Mrs. Batch, with more force than reason. + “A mother’s support indeed! Well! And as for you,” she cried, turning on + Clarence, “sending her off like that with your—” She was face to + face again with the tragic news. Katie, remembering it simultaneously, + uttered a loud sob. Mrs. Batch capped this with a much louder one. + Clarence stood before the fire, slowly revolving on one heel. His clothes + steamed briskly. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t true,” said Katie. She rose and came uncertainly towards her + brother, half threatening, half imploring. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said he, strong in his advantage. “Then I shan’t tell either + of you anything more.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Batch through her tears called Katie a bad girl, and Clarence a bad + boy. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get THEM?” asked Clarence, pointing to the ear-rings worn + by his sister. + </p> + <p> + “HE gave me them,” said Katie. Clarence curbed the brotherly intention of + telling her she looked “a sight” in them. + </p> + <p> + She stood staring into vacancy. “He didn’t love HER,” she murmured. “That + was all over. I’ll vow he didn’t love HER.” + </p> + <p> + “Who d’you mean by her?” asked Clarence. + </p> + <p> + “That Miss Dobson that’s been here.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s her other name?” + </p> + <p> + “Zuleika,” Katie enunciated with bitterest abhorrence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, he jolly well did love her. That’s the name he called out + just before he threw himself in. ‘Zuleika!’—like that,” added the + boy, with a most infelicitous attempt to reproduce the Duke’s manner. + </p> + <p> + Katie had shut her eyes, and clenched her hands. + </p> + <p> + “He hated her. He told me so,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I was always a mother to him,” sobbed Mrs. Batch, rocking to and fro on a + chair in a corner. “Why didn’t he come to me in his trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “He kissed me,” said Katie, as in a trance. “No other man shall ever do + that.” + </p> + <p> + “He did?” exclaimed Clarence. “And you let him?” + </p> + <p> + “You wretched little whipper-snapper!” flashed Katie. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am, am I?” shouted Clarence, squaring up to his sister. “Say that + again, will you?” + </p> + <p> + There is no doubt that Katie would have said it again, had not her mother + closed the scene with a prolonged wail of censure. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be thinking of ME, you wicked girl,” said Mrs. Batch. Katie + went across, and laid a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. This, + however, did but evoke a fresh flood of tears. Mrs. Batch had a keen sense + of the deportment owed to tragedy. Katie, by bickering with Clarence, had + thrown away the advantage she had gained by fainting. Mrs. Batch was not + going to let her retrieve it by shining as a consoler. I hasten to add + that this resolve was only sub-conscious in the good woman. Her grief was + perfectly sincere. And it was not the less so because with it was mingled + a certain joy in the greatness of the calamity. She came of good sound + peasant stock. Abiding in her was the spirit of those old songs and + ballads in which daisies and daffodillies and lovers’ vows and smiles are + so strangely inwoven with tombs and ghosts, with murders and all manner of + grim things. She had not had education enough to spoil her nerve. She was + able to take the rough with the smooth. She was able to take all life for + her province, and death too. + </p> + <p> + The Duke was dead. This was the stupendous outline she had grasped: now + let it be filled in. She had been stricken: now let her be racked. Soon + after her daughter had moved away, Mrs. Batch dried her eyes, and bade + Clarence tell just what had happened. She did not flinch. Modern Katie + did. + </p> + <p> + Such had ever been the Duke’s magic in the household that Clarence had at + first forgotten to mention that any one else was dead. Of this omission he + was glad. It promised him a new lease of importance. Meanwhile, he + described in greater detail the Duke’s plunge. Mrs. Batch’s mind, while + she listened, ran ahead, dog-like, into the immediate future, ranging + around: “the family” would all be here to-morrow, the Duke’s own room must + be “put straight” to-night, “I was of speaking”... + </p> + <p> + Katie’s mind harked back to the immediate past—to the tone of that + voice, to that hand which she had kissed, to the touch of those lips on + her brow, to the door-step she had made so white for him, day by day... + </p> + <p> + The sound of the rain had long ceased. There was the noise of a gathering + wind. + </p> + <p> + “Then in went a lot of others,” Clarence was saying. “And they all shouted + out ‘Zuleika!’ just like he did. Then a lot more went in. First I thought + it was some sort of fun. Not it!” And he told how, by inquiries further + down the river, he had learned the extent of the disaster. “Hundreds and + hundreds of them—ALL of them,” he summed up. “And all for the love + of HER,” he added, as with a sulky salute to Romance. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Batch had risen from her chair, the better to cope with such + magnitude. She stood with wide-spread arms, silent, gaping. She seemed, by + sheer force of sympathy, to be expanding to the dimensions of a crowd. + </p> + <p> + Intensive Katie recked little of all these other deaths. “I only know,” + she said, “that he hated her.” + </p> + <p> + “Hundreds and hundreds—ALL,” intoned Mrs. Batch, then gave a sudden + start, as having remembered something. Mr. Noaks! He, too! She staggered + to the door, leaving her actual offspring to their own devices, and went + heavily up the stairs, her mind scampering again before her.... If he was + safe and sound, dear young gentleman, heaven be praised! and she would + break the awful news to him, very gradually. If not, there was another + “family” to be solaced; “I’m a mother myself, Mrs. Noaks”... + </p> + <p> + The sitting-room door was closed. Twice did Mrs. Batch tap on the panel, + receiving no answer. She went in, gazed around in the dimness, sighed + deeply, and struck a match. Conspicuous on the table lay a piece of paper. + She bent to examine it. A piece of lined paper, torn from an exercise + book, it was neatly inscribed with the words “What is Life without Love?” + The final word and the note of interrogation were somewhat blurred, as by + a tear. The match had burnt itself out. The landlady lit another, and read + the legend a second time, that she might take in the full pathos of it. + Then she sat down in the arm-chair. For some minutes she wept there. Then, + having no more, tears, she went out on tip-toe, closing the door very + quietly. + </p> + <p> + As she descended the last flight of stairs, her daughter had just shut the + front-door, and was coming along the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mr. Noaks—he’s gone,” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + “Has he?” said Katie listlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes he has, you heartless girl. What’s that you’ve got in your hand? Why, + if it isn’t the black-leading! And what have you been doing with that?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone, mother, do,” said poor Katie. She had done her lowly task. + She had expressed her mourning, as best she could, there where she had + been wont to express her love. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI + </h2> + <p> + And Zuleika? She had done a wise thing, and was where it was best that she + should be. + </p> + <p> + Her face lay upturned on the water’s surface, and round it were the masses + of her dark hair, half floating, half submerged. Her eyes were closed, and + her lips were parted. Not Ophelia in the brook could have seemed more at + peace. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Like a creature native and indued + Unto that element,” + tranquil Zuleika lay. +</pre> + <p> + Gently to and fro her tresses drifted on the water, or under the water + went ever ravelling and unravelling. Nothing else of her stirred. + </p> + <p> + What to her now the loves that she had inspired and played on? the lives + lost for her? Little thought had she now of them. Aloof she lay. + </p> + <p> + Steadily rising from the water was a thick vapour that turned to dew on + the window-pane. The air was heavy with scent of violets. These are the + flowers of mourning; but their scent here and now signified nothing; for + Eau de Violettes was the bath-essence that Zuleika always had. + </p> + <p> + The bath-room was not of the white-gleaming kind to which she was + accustomed. The walls were papered, not tiled, and the bath itself was of + japanned tin, framed in mahogany. These things, on the evening of her + arrival at the Warden’s, had rather distressed her. But she was the better + able to bear them because of that well-remembered past when a bath-room + was in itself a luxury pined for—days when a not-large and not-full + can of not-hot water, slammed down at her bedroom door by a + governess-resenting housemaid, was as much as the gods allowed her. And + there was, to dulcify for her the bath of this evening, the yet sharper + contrast with the plight she had just come home in, sopped, shivering, + clung to by her clothes. Because this bath was not a mere luxury, but a + necessary precaution, a sure means of salvation from chill, she did the + more gratefully bask in it, till Melisande came back to her, laden with + warmed towels. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes before eight o’clock she was fully ready to go down to + dinner, with even more than the usual glow of health, and hungry beyond + her wont. + </p> + <p> + Yet, as she went down, her heart somewhat misgave her. Indeed, by force of + the wide experience she had had as a governess, she never did feel quite + at her ease when she was staying in a private house: the fear of not + giving satisfaction haunted her; she was always on her guard; the shadow + of dismissal absurdly hovered. And to-night she could not tell herself, as + she usually did, not to be so silly. If her grandfather knew already the + motive by which those young men had been actuated, dinner with him might + be a rather strained affair. He might tell her, in so many words, that he + wished he had not invited her to Oxford. + </p> + <p> + Through the open door of the drawing room she saw him, standing majestic, + draped in a voluminous black gown. Her instinct was to run away; but this + she conquered. She went straight in, remembering not to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ah,” said the Warden, shaking a forefinger at her with old-world + playfulness. “And what have you to say for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Relieved, she was also a trifle shocked. Was it possible that he, a + responsible old man, could take things so lightly? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, grand-papa,” she answered, hanging her head, “what CAN I say? It is—it + is too, too, dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “There, there, my dear. I was but jesting. If you have had an agreeable + time, you are forgiven for playing truant. Where have you been all day?” + </p> + <p> + She saw that she had misjudged him. “I have just come from the river,” she + said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes? And did the College make its fourth bump to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know, grand-papa. There was so much happening. It—I + will tell you all about it at dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but to-night,” he said, indicating his gown, “I cannot be with you. + The bump-supper, you know. I have to preside in Hall.” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika had forgotten there was to be a bump-supper, and, though she was + not very sure what a bump-supper was, she felt it would be a mockery + to-night. + </p> + <p> + “But grand-papa—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I cannot dissociate myself from the life of the College. And, + alas,” he said, looking at the clock, “I must leave you now. As soon as + you have finished dinner, you might, if you would care to, come and peep + down at us from the gallery. There is apt to be some measure of noise and + racket, but all of it good-humoured and—boys will be boys—pardonable. + Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, grand-papa,” she said awkwardly. Left alone, she hardly knew + whether to laugh or cry. In a moment, the butler came to her rescue, + telling her that dinner was served. + </p> + <p> + As the figure of the Warden emerged from Salt Cellar into the Front + Quadrangle, a hush fell on the group of gowned Fellows outside the Hall. + Most of them had only just been told the news, and (such is the force of + routine in an University) were still sceptical of it. And in face of these + doubts the three or four dons who had been down at the river were now half + ready to believe that there must, after all, be some mistake, and that in + this world of illusions they had to-night been specially tricked. To rebut + this theory, there was the notable absence of undergraduates. Or was this + an illusion, too? Men of thought, agile on the plane of ideas, devils of + fellows among books, they groped feebly in this matter of actual life and + death. The sight of their Warden heartened them. After all, he was the + responsible person. He was father of the flock that had strayed, and + grandfather of the beautiful Miss Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + Like her, they remembered not to smile in greeting him. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “The storm seems to have passed.” + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of “Yes, Warden.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did our boat acquit itself?” + </p> + <p> + There was a shuffling pause. Every one looked at the Sub-Warden: it was + manifestly for him to break the news, or to report the hallucination. He + was nudged forward—a large man, with a large beard at which he + plucked nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, really, Warden,” he said, “we—we hardly know,” * and he ended + with what can only be described as a giggle. He fell low in the esteem of + his fellows. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + *Those of my readers who are interested in athletic sports will + remember the long controversy that raged as to whether Judas had + actually bumped Magdalen; and they will not need to be minded that + it was mainly through the evidence of Mr. E. T. A. Cook, who had + been on the towing-path at the time, that the O. U. B. C. decided + the point in Judas’ favour, and fixed the order of the boats for + the following year accordingly. +</pre> + <p> + Thinking of that past Sub-Warden whose fame was linked with the sun-dial, + the Warden eyed this one keenly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” he presently said, “our young men seem to be already at + table. Shall we follow their example?” And he led the way up the steps. + </p> + <p> + Already at table? The dons’ dubiety toyed with this hypothesis. But the + aspect of the Hall’s interior was hard to explain away. Here were the + three long tables, stretching white towards the dais, and laden with the + usual crockery and cutlery, and with pots of flowers in honour of the + occasion. And here, ranged along either wall, was the usual array of + scouts, motionless, with napkins across their arms. But that was all. + </p> + <p> + It became clear to the Warden that some organised prank or protest was + afoot. Dignity required that he should take no heed whatsoever. Looking + neither to the right nor to the left, stately he approached the dais, his + Fellows to heel. + </p> + <p> + In Judas, as in other Colleges, grace before meat is read by the Senior + Scholar. The Judas grace (composed, they say, by Christopher Whitrid + himself) is noted for its length and for the excellence of its Latinity. + Who was to read it to-night? The Warden, having searched his mind vainly + for a precedent, was driven to create one. + </p> + <p> + “The Junior Fellow,” he said, “will read grace.” + </p> + <p> + Blushing to the roots of his hair, and with crablike gait, Mr. Pedby, the + Junior Fellow, went and unhooked from the wall that little shield of wood + on which the words of the grace are carven. Mr. Pedby was—Mr. Pedby + is—a mathematician. His treatise on the Higher Theory of Short + Division by Decimals had already won for him an European reputation. Judas + was—Judas is—proud of Pedby. Nor is it denied that in + undertaking the duty thrust on him he quickly controlled his nerves and + read the Latin out in ringing accents. Better for him had he not done so. + The false quantities he made were so excruciating and so many that, while + the very scouts exchanged glances, the dons at the high table lost all + command of their features, and made horrible noises in the effort to + contain themselves. The very Warden dared not look from his plate. + </p> + <p> + In every breast around the high table, behind every shirt-front or black + silk waistcoat, glowed the recognition of a new birth. Suddenly, + unheralded, a thing of highest destiny had fallen into their academic + midst. The stock of Common Room talk had to-night been re-inforced and + enriched for all time. Summers and winters would come and go, old faces + would vanish, giving place to new, but the story of Pedby’s grace would be + told always. Here was a tradition that generations of dons yet unborn + would cherish and chuckle over. Something akin to awe mingled itself with + the subsiding merriment. And the dons, having finished their soup, sipped + in silence the dry brown sherry. + </p> + <p> + Those who sat opposite to the Warden, with their backs to the void, were + oblivious of the matter that had so recently teased them. They were + conscious only of an agreeable hush, in which they peered down the vistas + of the future, watching the tradition of Pedby’s grace as it rolled + brighter and ever brighter down to eternity. + </p> + <p> + The pop of a champagne cork startled them to remembrance that this was a + bump-supper, and a bump-supper of a peculiar kind. The turbot that came + after the soup, the champagne that succeeded the sherry, helped to quicken + in these men of thought the power to grapple with a reality. The aforesaid + three or four who had been down at the river recovered their lost belief + in the evidence of their eyes and ears. In the rest was a spirit of + receptivity which, as the meal went on, mounted to conviction. The + Sub-Warden made a second and more determined attempt to enlighten the + Warden; but the Warden’s eye met his with a suspicion so cruelly pointed + that he again floundered and gave in. + </p> + <p> + All adown those empty other tables gleamed the undisturbed cutlery, and + the flowers in the pots innocently bloomed. And all adown either wall, + unneeded but undisbanded, the scouts remained. Some of the elder ones + stood with closed eyes and heads sunk forward, now and again jerking + themselves erect, and blinking around, wondering, remembering. + </p> + <p> + And for a while this scene was looked down on by a not disinterested + stranger. For a while, her chin propped on her hands, Zuleika leaned over + the rail of the gallery, just as she had lately leaned over the barge’s + rail, staring down and along. But there was no spark of triumph now in her + eyes; only a deep melancholy; and in her mouth a taste as of dust and + ashes. She thought of last night, and of all the buoyant life that this + Hall had held. Of the Duke she thought, and of the whole vivid and eager + throng of his fellows in love. Her will, their will, had been done. But, + there rose to her lips the old, old question that withers victory—“To + what end?” Her eyes ranged along the tables, and an appalling sense of + loneliness swept over her. She turned away, wrapping the folds of her + cloak closer across her breast. Not in this College only, but through and + through Oxford, there was no heart that beat for her—no, not one, + she told herself, with that instinct for self-torture which comes to souls + in torment. She was utterly alone to-night in the midst of a vast + indifference. She! She! Was it possible? Were the gods so merciless? Ah + no, surely... + </p> + <p> + Down at the high table the feast drew to its close, and very different was + the mood of the feasters from that of the young woman whose glance had for + a moment rested on their unromantic heads. Generations of undergraduates + had said that Oxford would be all very well but for the dons. Do you + suppose that the dons had had no answering sentiment? Youth is a very good + thing to possess, no doubt; but it is a tiresome setting for maturity. + Youth all around prancing, vociferating, mocking; callow and alien youth, + having to be looked after and studied and taught, as though nothing but it + mattered, term after term—and now, all of a sudden, in mid-term, + peace, ataraxy, a profound and leisured stillness. No lectures to deliver + to-morrow; no “essays” to hear and criticise; time for the unvexed pursuit + of pure learning... + </p> + <p> + As the Fellows passed out on their way to Common Room, there to tackle + with a fresh appetite Pedby’s grace, they paused, as was their wont, on + the steps of the Hall, looking up at the sky, envisaging the weather. The + wind had dropped. There was even a glimpse of the moon riding behind the + clouds. And now, a solemn and plangent token of Oxford’s perpetuity, the + first stroke of Great Tom sounded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII + </h2> + <p> + Stroke by stroke, the great familiar monody of that incomparable curfew + rose and fell in the stillness. + </p> + <p> + Nothing of Oxford lingers more surely than it in the memory of Oxford men; + and to one revisiting these groves nothing is more eloquent of that + scrupulous historic economy whereby his own particular past is utilised as + the general present and future. “All’s as it was, all’s as it will be,” + says Great Tom; and that is what he stubbornly said on the evening I here + record. + </p> + <p> + Stroke by measured and leisured stroke, the old euphonious clangour + pervaded Oxford, spreading out over the meadows, along the river, audible + in Iffley. But to the dim groups gathering and dispersing on either bank, + and to the silent workers in the boats, the bell’s message came softened, + equivocal; came as a requiem for these dead. + </p> + <p> + Over the closed gates of Iffley lock, the water gushed down, eager for the + sacrament of the sea. Among the supine in the field hard by, there was one + whose breast bore a faint-gleaming star. And bending over him, looking + down at him with much love and pity in her eyes, was the shade of Nellie + O’Mora, that “fairest witch,” to whose memory he had to-day atoned. + </p> + <p> + And yonder, “sitting upon the river-bank o’ergrown,” with questioning + eyes, was another shade, more habituated to these haunts—the shade + known so well to bathers “in the abandoned lasher,” and to dancers “around + the Fyfield elm in May.” At the bell’s final stroke, the Scholar Gipsy + rose, letting fall on the water his gathered wild-flowers, and passed + towards Cumnor. + </p> + <p> + And now, duly, throughout Oxford, the gates of the Colleges were closed, + and closed were the doors of the lodging-houses. Every night, for many + years, at this hour precisely, Mrs. Batch had come out from her kitchen, + to turn the key in the front-door. The function had long ago become + automatic. To-night, however, it was the cue for further tears. These did + not cease at her return to the kitchen, where she had gathered about her + some sympathetic neighbours—women of her own age and kind, capacious + of tragedy; women who might be relied on; founts of ejaculation, wells of + surmise, downpours of remembered premonitions. + </p> + <p> + With his elbows on the kitchen table, and his knuckles to his brow, sat + Clarence, intent on belated “prep.” Even an eye-witness of disaster may + pall if he repeat his story too often. Clarence had noted in the last + recital that he was losing his hold on his audience. So now he sat + committing to memory the names of the cantons of Switzerland, and waving + aside with a harsh gesture such questions as were still put to him by the + women. + </p> + <p> + Katie had sought refuge in the need for “putting the gentlemen’s rooms + straight,” against the arrival of the two families to-morrow. Duster in + hand, and by the light of a single candle that barely survived the draught + from the open window, she moved to and fro about the Duke’s room, a wan + and listless figure, casting queerest shadows on the ceiling. There were + other candles that she might have lit, but this ambiguous gloom suited her + sullen humour. Yes, I am sorry to say, Katie was sullen. She had not + ceased to mourn the Duke; but it was even more anger than grief that she + felt at his dying. She was as sure as ever that he had not loved Miss + Dobson; but this only made it the more outrageous that he had died because + of her. What was there in this woman that men should so demean themselves + for her? Katie, as you know, had at first been unaffected by the death of + the undergraduates at large. But, because they too had died for Zuleika, + she was bitterly incensed against them now. What could they have admired + in such a woman? She didn’t even look like a lady. Katie caught the dim + reflection of herself in the mirror. She took the candle from the table, + and examined the reflection closely. She was sure she was just as pretty + as Miss Dobson. It was only the clothes that made the difference—the + clothes and the behaviour. Katie threw back her head, and smiled + brilliantly, hand on hip. She nodded reassuringly at herself; and the + black pearl and the pink danced a duet. She put the candle down, and undid + her hair, roughly parting it on one side, and letting it sweep down over + the further eyebrow. She fixed it in that fashion, and posed accordingly. + Now! But gradually her smile relaxed, and a mist came to her eyes. For she + had to admit that even so, after all, she hadn’t just that something which + somehow Miss Dobson had. She put away from her the hasty dream she had had + of a whole future generation of undergraduates drowning themselves, every + one, in honour of her. She went wearily on with her work. + </p> + <p> + Presently, after a last look round, she went up the creaking stairs, to do + Mr. Noaks’ room. + </p> + <p> + She found on the table that screed which her mother had recited so often + this evening. She put it in the waste-paper basket. + </p> + <p> + Also on the table were a lexicon, a Thucydides, and some note-books. These + she took and shelved without a tear for the closed labours they bore + witness to. + </p> + <p> + The next disorder that met her eye was one that gave her pause—seemed, + indeed, to transfix her. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Noaks had never, since he came to lodge here, possessed more than one + pair of boots. This fact had been for her a lasting source of annoyance; + for it meant that she had to polish Mr. Noaks’ boots always in the early + morning, when there were so many other things to be done, instead of + choosing her own time. Her annoyance had been all the keener because Mr. + Noaks’ boots more than made up in size for what they lacked in number. + Either of them singly took more time and polish than any other pair + imaginable. She would have recognised them, at a glance, anywhere. Even so + now, it was at a glance that she recognised the toes of them protruding + from beneath the window-curtain. She dismissed the theory that Mr. Noaks + might have gone utterly unshod to the river. She scouted the hypothesis + that his ghost could be shod thus. By process of elimination she arrived + at the truth. “Mr. Noaks,” she said quietly, “come out of there.” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight quiver of the curtain; no more. Katie repeated her + words. There was a pause, then a convulsion of the curtain. Noaks stood + forth. + </p> + <p> + Always, in polishing his boots, Katie had found herself thinking of him as + a man of prodigious stature, well though she knew him to be quite tiny. + Even so now, at recognition of his boots, she had fixed her eyes to meet + his, when he should emerge, a full yard too high. With a sharp drop she + focussed him. + </p> + <p> + “By what right,” he asked, “do you come prying about my room?” + </p> + <p> + This was a stroke so unexpected that it left Katie mute. It equally + surprised Noaks, who had been about to throw himself on his knees and + implore this girl not to betray him. He was quick, though, to clinch his + advantage. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he said, “is the first time I have caught you. Let it be the + last.” + </p> + <p> + Was this the little man she had so long despised, and so superciliously + served? His very smallness gave him an air of concentrated force. She + remembered having read that all the greatest men in history had been of + less than the middle height. And—oh, her heart leapt—here was + the one man who had scorned to die for Miss Dobson. He alone had held out + against the folly of his fellows. Sole and splendid survivor he stood, + rock-footed, before her. And impulsively she abased herself, kneeling at + his feet as at the great double altar of some dark new faith. + </p> + <p> + “You are great, sir, you are wonderful,” she said, gazing up to him, rapt. + It was the first time she had ever called him “sir.” + </p> + <p> + It is easier, as Michelet suggested, for a woman to change her opinion of + a man than for him to change his opinion of himself. Noaks, despite the + presence of mind he had shown a few moments ago, still saw himself as he + had seen himself during the past hours: that is, as an arrant little + coward—one who by his fear to die had put himself outside the pale + of decent manhood. He had meant to escape from the house at dead of night + and, under an assumed name, work his passage out to Australia—a land + which had always made strong appeal to his imagination. No one, he had + reflected, would suppose because his body was not retrieved from the water + that he had not perished with the rest. And he had looked to Australia to + make a man of him yet: in Encounter Bay, perhaps, or in the Gulf of + Carpentaria, he might yet end nobly. + </p> + <p> + Thus Katie’s behaviour was as much an embarrassment as a relief; and he + asked her in what way he was great and wonderful. + </p> + <p> + “Modest, like all heroes!” she cried, and, still kneeling, proceeded to + sing his praises with a so infectious fervour that Noaks did begin to feel + he had done a fine thing in not dying. After all, was it not moral + cowardice as much as love that had tempted him to die? He had wrestled + with it, thrown it. “Yes,” said he, when her rhapsody was over, “perhaps I + am modest.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is why you hid yourself just now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he gladly said. “I hid myself for the same reason,” he added, “when + I heard your mother’s footstep.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” she faltered, with a sudden doubt, “that bit of writing which + Mother found on the table—” + </p> + <p> + “That? Oh, that was only a general reflection, copied out of a book.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, won’t poor Mother be glad when she knows!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want her to know,” said Noaks, with a return of nervousness. “You + mustn’t tell any one. I—the fact is—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is so like you!” the girl said tenderly. “I suppose it was your + modesty that all this while blinded me. Please, sir, I have a confession + to make to you. Never till to-night have I loved you.” + </p> + <p> + Exquisite was the shock of these words to one who, not without reason, had + always assumed that no woman would ever love him. Before he knew what he + was doing, he had bent down and kissed the sweet upturned face. It was the + first kiss he had ever given outside his family circle. It was an artless + and a resounding kiss. + </p> + <p> + He started back, dazed. What manner of man, he wondered, was he? A coward, + piling profligacy on poltroonery? Or a hero, claiming exemption from moral + law? What was done could not be undone; but it could be righted. He drew + off from the little finger of his left hand that iron ring which, after a + twinge of rheumatism, he had to-day resumed. + </p> + <p> + “Wear it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—?” She leapt to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “That we are engaged. I hope you don’t think we have any choice?” + </p> + <p> + She clapped her hands, like the child she was, and adjusted the ring. + </p> + <p> + “It is very pretty,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It is very simple,” he answered lightly. “But,” he added, with a change + of tone, “it is very durable. And that is the important thing. For I shall + not be in a position to marry before I am forty.” + </p> + <p> + A shadow of disappointment hovered over Katie’s clear young brow, but was + instantly chased away by the thought that to be engaged was almost as + splendid as to be married. + </p> + <p> + “Recently,” said her lover, “I meditated leaving Oxford for Australia. But + now that you have come into my life, I am compelled to drop that notion, + and to carve out the career I had first set for myself. A year hence, if I + get a Second in Greats—and I SHALL” he said, with a fierce look that + entranced her—“I shall have a very good chance of an + assistant-mastership in a good private school. In eighteen years, if I am + careful—and, with you waiting for me, I SHALL be careful—my + savings will enable me to start a small school of my own, and to take a + wife. Even then it would be more prudent to wait another five years, no + doubt. But there was always a streak of madness in the Noakses. I say + ‘Prudence to the winds!’” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t say that!” exclaimed Katie, laying a hand on his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “You are right. Never hesitate to curb me. And,” he said, touching the + ring, “an idea has just occurred to me. When the time comes, let this be + the wedding-ring. Gold is gaudy—not at all the thing for a + schoolmaster’s bride. It is a pity,” he muttered, examining her through + his spectacles, “that your hair is so golden. A schoolmaster’s bride + should—Good heavens! Those ear-rings! Where did you get THEM?” + </p> + <p> + “They were given to me to-day,” Katie faltered. “The Duke gave me them.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, he gave me them as a memento.” + </p> + <p> + “And that memento shall immediately be handed over to his executors.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so!” was on the tip of Noaks’ tongue, but suddenly he + ceased to see the pearls as trinkets finite and inapposite—saw them, + in a flash, as things transmutable by sale hereafter into desks, forms, + black-boards, maps, lockers, cubicles, gravel soil, diet unlimited, and + special attention to backward pupils. Simultaneously, he saw how mean had + been his motive for repudiating the gift. What more despicable than + jealousy of a man deceased? What sillier than to cast pearls before + executors? Sped by nothing but the pulse of his hot youth, he had wooed + and won this girl. Why flinch from her unsought dowry? + </p> + <p> + He told her his vision. Her eyes opened wide to it. “And oh,” she cried, + “then we can be married as soon as you take your degree!” + </p> + <p> + He bade her not be so foolish. Who ever heard of a head-master aged + three-and-twenty? What parent or guardian would trust a stripling? The + engagement must run its course. “And,” he said, fidgeting, “do you know + that I have hardly done any reading to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “You want to read NOW—TO-NIGHT?” + </p> + <p> + “I must put in a good two hours. Where are the books that were on my + table?” + </p> + <p> + Reverently—he was indeed a king of men—she took the books down + from the shelf, and placed them where she had found them. And she knew not + which thrilled her the more—the kiss he gave her at parting, or the + tone in which he told her that the one thing he could not and would not + stand was having his books disturbed. + </p> + <p> + Still less than before attuned to the lugubrious session downstairs, she + went straight up to her attic, and did a little dance there in the dark. + She threw open the lattice of the dormer-window, and leaned out, smiling, + throbbing. + </p> + <p> + The Emperors, gazing up, saw her happy, and wondered; saw Noaks’ ring on + her finger, and would fain have shaken their grey heads. + </p> + <p> + Presently she was aware of a protrusion from the window beneath hers. The + head of her beloved! Fondly she watched it, wished she could reach down to + stroke it. She loved him for having, after all, left his books. It was + sweet to be his excuse. Should she call softly to him? No, it might shame + him to be caught truant. He had already chidden her for prying. So she did + but gaze down on his head silently, wondering whether in eighteen years it + would be bald, wondering whether her own hair would still have the fault + of being golden. Most of all, she wondered whether he loved her half so + much as she loved him. + </p> + <p> + This happened to be precisely what he himself was wondering. Not that he + wished himself free. He was one of those in whom the will does not, except + under very great pressure, oppose the conscience. What pressure here? Miss + Batch was a superior girl; she would grace any station in life. He had + always been rather in awe of her. It was a fine thing to be suddenly loved + by her, to be in a position to over-rule her every whim. Plighting his + troth, he had feared she would be an encumbrance, only to find she was a + lever. But—was he deeply in love with her? How was it that he could + not at this moment recall her features, or the tone of her voice, while of + deplorable Miss Dobson, every lineament, every accent, so vividly haunted + him? Try as he would to beat off these memories, he failed, and—some + very great pressure here!—was glad he failed; glad though he found + himself relapsing to the self-contempt from which Miss Batch had raised + him. He scorned himself for being alive. And again, he scorned himself for + his infidelity. Yet he was glad he could not forget that face, that voice—that + queen. She had smiled at him when she borrowed the ring. She had said + “Thank you.” Oh, and now, at this very moment, sleeping or waking, + actually she was somewhere—she! herself! This was an incredible, an + indubitable, an all-magical fact for the little fellow. + </p> + <p> + From the street below came a faint cry that was as the cry of his own + heart, uttered by her own lips. Quaking, he peered down, and dimly saw, + over the way, a cloaked woman. + </p> + <p> + She—yes, it was she herself—came gliding to the middle of the + road, gazing up at him. + </p> + <p> + “At last!” he heard her say. His instinct was to hide himself from the + queen he had not died for. Yet he could not move. + </p> + <p> + “Or,” she quavered, “are you a phantom sent to mock me? Speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” he said huskily. + </p> + <p> + “I knew,” she murmured, “I knew the gods were not so cruel. Oh man of my + need,” she cried, stretching out her arms to him, “oh heaven-sent, I see + you only as a dark outline against the light of your room. But I know you. + Your name is Noaks, isn’t it? Dobson is mine. I am your Warden’s + grand-daughter. I am faint and foot-sore. I have ranged this desert city + in search of—of YOU. Let me hear from your own lips that you love + me. Tell me in your own words—” She broke off with a little scream, + and did not stand with forefinger pointed at him, gazing, gasping. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Miss Dobson,” he stammered, writhing under what he took to be the + lash of her irony. “Give me time to explain. You see me here—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” she cried, “man of my greater, my deeper and nobler need! Oh hush, + ideal which not consciously I was out for to-night—ideal vouchsafed + to me by a crowning mercy! I sought a lover, I find a master. I sought but + a live youth, was blind to what his survival would betoken. Oh master, you + think me light and wicked. You stare coldly down at me through your + spectacles, whose glint I faintly discern now that the moon peeps forth. + You would be readier to forgive me the havoc I have wrought if you could + for the life of you understand what charm your friends found in me. You + marvel, as at the skull of Helen of Troy. No, you don’t think me hideous: + you simply think me plain. There was a time when I thought YOU plain—you + whose face, now that the moon shines full on it, is seen to be of a beauty + that is flawless without being insipid. Oh that I were a glove upon that + hand, that I might touch that cheek! You shudder at the notion of such + contact. My voice grates on you. You try to silence me with frantic though + exquisite gestures, and with noises inarticulate but divine. I bow to your + will, master. Chasten me with your tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not what you think me,” gibbered Noaks. “I was not afraid to die for + you. I love you. I was on my way to the river this afternoon, but I—I + tripped and sprained my ankle, and—and jarred my spine. They carried + me back here. I am still very weak. I can’t put my foot to the ground. As + soon as I can—” + </p> + <p> + Just then Zuleika heard a little sharp sound which, for the fraction of an + instant, before she knew it to be a clink of metal on the pavement, she + thought was the breaking of the heart within her. Looking quickly down, + she heard a shrill girlish laugh aloft. Looking quickly up, she descried + at the unlit window above her lover’s a face which she remembered as that + of the land-lady’s daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Find it, Miss Dobson,” laughed the girl. “Crawl for it. It can’t have + rolled far, and it’s the only engagement-ring you’ll get from HIM,” she + said, pointing to the livid face twisted painfully up at her from the + lower window. “Grovel for it, Miss Dobson. Ask him to step down and help + you. Oh, he can! That was all lies about his spine and ankle. Afraid, + that’s what he was—I see it all now—afraid of the water. I + wish you’d found him as I did—skulking behind the curtain. Oh, + you’re welcome to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t listen,” Noaks cried down. “Don’t listen to that person. I admit I + have trifled with her affections. This is her revenge—these wicked + untruths—these—these—” + </p> + <p> + Zuleika silenced him with a gesture. “Your tone to me,” she said up to + Katie, “is not without offence; but the stamp of truth is on what you tell + me. We have both been deceived in this man, and are, in some sort, + sisters.” + </p> + <p> + “Sisters?” cried Katie. “Your sisters are the snake and the spider, though + neither of them wishes it known. I loathe you. And the Duke loathed you, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” gasped Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t he tell you? He told me. And I warrant he told you, too.” + </p> + <p> + “He died for love of me: d’you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you’d like people to think so, wouldn’t you? Does a man who loves a + woman give away the keepsake she gave him? Look!” Katie leaned forward, + pointing to her ear-rings. “He loved ME,” she cried. “He put them in with + his own hands—told me to wear them always. And he kissed me—kissed + me good-bye in the street, where every one could see. He kissed me,” she + sobbed. “No other man shall ever do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that he did!” said a voice level with Zuleika. It was the voice of + Mrs. Batch, who a few moments ago had opened the door for her departing + guests. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that he did!” echoed the guests. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind them, Miss Dobson,” cried Noaks, and at the sound of his voice + Mrs. Batch rushed into the middle of the road, to gaze up. “<i>I</i> love + you. Think what you will of me. I—” + </p> + <p> + “You!” flashed Zuleika. “As for you, little Sir Lily Liver, leaning out + there, and, I frankly tell you, looking like nothing so much as a gargoyle + hewn by a drunken stone-mason for the adornment of a Methodist Chapel in + one of the vilest suburbs of Leeds or Wigan, I do but felicitate the + river-god and his nymphs that their water was saved to-day by your + cowardice from the contamination of your plunge.” + </p> + <p> + “Shame on you, Mr. Noaks,” said Mrs. Batch, “making believe you were dead—” + </p> + <p> + “Shame!” screamed Clarence, who had darted out into the fray. + </p> + <p> + “I found him hiding behind the curtain,” chimed in Katie. + </p> + <p> + “And I a mother to him!” said Mrs. Batch, shaking her fist. “‘What is life + without love?’ indeed! Oh, the cowardly, underhand—” + </p> + <p> + “Wretch,” prompted her cronies. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s kick him out of the house!” suggested Clarence, dancing for joy. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika, smiling brilliantly down at the boy, said “Just you run up and + fight him!” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” he answered, with a look of knightly devotion, and darted + back into the house. + </p> + <p> + “No escape!” she cried up to Noaks. “You’ve got to fight him now. He and + you are just about evenly matched, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + But, grimly enough, Zuleika’s estimate was never put to the test. Is it + harder for a coward to fight with his fists than to kill himself? Or + again, is it easier for him to die than to endure a prolonged cross-fire + of women’s wrath and scorn? This I know: that in the life of even the + least and meanest of us there is somewhere one fine moment—one high + chance not missed. I like to think it was by operation of this law that + Noaks had now clambered out upon the window-sill, silencing, sickening, + scattering like chaff the women beneath him. + </p> + <p> + He was already not there when Clarence bounded into the room. “Come on!” + yelled the boy, first thrusting his head behind the door, then diving + beneath the table, then plucking aside either window-curtain, vowing + vengeance. + </p> + <p> + Vengeance was not his. Down on the road without, not yet looked at but by + the steadfast eyes of the Emperors, the last of the undergraduates lay + dead; and fleet-footed Zuleika, with her fingers still pressed to her + ears, had taken full toll now. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII + </h2> + <p> + Twisting and turning in her flight, with wild eyes that fearfully retained + the image of that small man gathering himself to spring, Zuleika found + herself suddenly where she could no further go. + </p> + <p> + She was in that grim ravine by which you approach New College. At sight of + the great shut gate before her, she halted, and swerved to the wall. She + set her brow and the palms of her hands against the cold stones. She threw + back her head, and beat the stones with her fists. + </p> + <p> + It was not only what she had seen, it was what she had barely saved + herself from seeing, and what she had not quite saved herself from + hearing, that she strove so piteously to forget. She was sorrier for + herself, angrier, than she had been last night when the Duke laid hands on + her. Why should every day have a horrible ending? Last night she had + avenged herself. To-night’s outrage was all the more foul and mean because + of its certain immunity. And the fact that she had in some measure brought + it on herself did but whip her rage. What a fool she had been to taunt the + man! Yet no, how could she have foreseen that he would—do THAT? How + could she have guessed that he, who had not dared seemly death for her in + the gentle river, would dare—THAT? + </p> + <p> + She shuddered the more as she now remembered that this very day, in that + very house, she had invited for her very self a similar fate. What if the + Duke had taken her word? Strange! she wouldn’t have flinched then. She had + felt no horror at the notion of such a death. And thus she now saw Noaks’ + conduct in a new light—saw that he had but wished to prove his love, + not at all to affront her. This understanding quickly steadied her nerves. + She did not need now to forget what she had seen; and, not needing to + forget it—thus are our brains fashioned—she was able to forget + it. + </p> + <p> + But by removal of one load her soul was but bared for a more grievous + other. Her memory harked back to what had preceded the crisis. She + recalled those moments of doomed rapture in which her heart had soared up + to the apocalyptic window—recalled how, all the while she was + speaking to the man there, she had been chafed by the inadequacy of + language. Oh, how much more she had meant than she could express! Oh, the + ecstasy of that self-surrender! And the brevity of it! the sudden odious + awakening! Thrice in this Oxford she had been duped. Thrice all that was + fine and sweet in her had leapt forth, only to be scourged back into + hiding. Poor heart inhibited! She gazed about her. The stone alley she had + come into, the terrible shut gate, were for her a visible symbol of the + destiny she had to put up with. Wringing her hands, she hastened along the + way she had come. She vowed she would never again set foot in Oxford. She + wished herself out of the hateful little city to-night. She even wished + herself dead. + </p> + <p> + She deserved to suffer, you say? Maybe. I merely state that she did + suffer. + </p> + <p> + Emerging into Catherine Street, she knew whereabouts she was, and made + straight for Judas, turning away her eyes as she skirted the Broad, that + place of mocked hopes and shattered ideals. + </p> + <p> + Coming into Judas Street, she remembered the scene of yesterday—the + happy man with her, the noise of the vast happy crowd. She suffered in a + worse form what she had suffered in the gallery of the Hall. For now—did + I not say she was not without imagination?—her self-pity was + sharpened by remorse for the hundreds of homes robbed. She realised the + truth of what the poor Duke had once said to her: she was a danger in the + world... Aye, and all the more dire now. What if the youth of all Europe + were moved by Oxford’s example? That was a horribly possible thing. It + must be reckoned with. It must be averted. She must not show herself to + men. She must find some hiding-place, and there abide. Were this a + hardship? she asked herself. Was she not sickened for ever of men’s + homage? And was it not clear now that the absorbing need in her soul, the + need to love, would never—except for a brief while, now and then, + and by an unfortunate misunderstanding—be fulfilled? + </p> + <p> + So long ago that you may not remember, I compared her favourably with the + shepherdess Marcella, and pleaded her capacity for passion as an excuse + for her remaining at large. I hope you will now, despite your rather + evident animus against her, set this to her credit: that she did, so soon + as she realised the hopelessness of her case, make just that decision + which I blamed Marcella for not making at the outset. It was as she stood + on the Warden’s door-step that she decided to take the veil. + </p> + <p> + With something of a conventual hush in her voice, she said to the butler, + “Please tell my maid that we are leaving by a very early train to-morrow, + and that she must pack my things to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Miss,” said the butler. “The Warden,” he added, “is in the + study, Miss, and was asking for you.” + </p> + <p> + She could face her grandfather without a tremour—now. She would hear + meekly whatever reproaches he might have for her, but their sting was + already drawn by the surprise she had in store for him. + </p> + <p> + It was he who seemed a trifle nervous. In his + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you come and peep down from the gallery?” there was a distinct + tremour. + </p> + <p> + Throwing aside her cloak, she went quickly to him, and laid a hand on the + lapel of his coat. “Poor grand-papa!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, my dear child,” he replied, disengaging himself. “I didn’t give + it a thought. If the young men chose to be so silly as to stay away, I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “Grand-papa, haven’t you been told YET?” + </p> + <p> + “Told? I am a Gallio for such follies. I didn’t inquire.” + </p> + <p> + “But (forgive me, grand-papa, if I seem to you, for the moment, pert) you + are Warden here. It is your duty, even your privilege, to GUARD. Is it + not? Well, I grant you the adage that it is useless to bolt the stable + door when the horse has been stolen. But what shall be said of the ostler + who doesn’t know—won’t even ‘inquire’ whether—the horse HAS + been stolen, grand-papa?” + </p> + <p> + “You speak in riddles, Zuleika.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish with all my heart I need not tell you the answers. I think I have + a very real grievance against your staff—or whatever it is you call + your subordinates here. I go so far as to dub them dodderers. And I shall + the better justify that term by not shirking the duty they have left + undone. The reason why there were no undergraduates in your Hall to-night + is that they were all dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” he gasped. “Dead? It is disgraceful that I was not told. What did + they die of?” + </p> + <p> + “Of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am an epidemic, grand-papa, a scourge, such as the world has not + known. Those young men drowned themselves for love of me.” + </p> + <p> + He came towards her. “Do you realise, girl, what this means to me? I am an + old man. For more than half a century I have known this College. To it, + when my wife died, I gave all that there was of heart left in me. For + thirty years I have been Warden; and in that charge has been all my pride. + I have had no thought but for this great College, its honour and + prosperity. More than once lately have I asked myself whether my eyes were + growing dim, my hand less steady. ‘No’ was my answer, and again ‘No.’ And + thus it is that I have lingered on to let Judas be struck down from its + high eminence, shamed in the eyes of England—a College for ever + tainted, and of evil omen.” He raised his head. “The disgrace to myself is + nothing. I care not how parents shall rage against me, and the Heads of + other Colleges make merry over my decrepitude. It is because you have + wrought the downfall of Judas that I am about to lay my undying curse on + you.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t do that!” she cried. “It would be a sort of sacrilege. I am + going to be a nun. Besides, why should you? I can quite well understand + your feeling for Judas. But how is Judas more disgraced than any other + College? If it were only the Judas undergraduates who had—” + </p> + <p> + “There were others?” cried the Warden. “How many?” + </p> + <p> + “All. All the boys from all the Colleges.” + </p> + <p> + The Warden heaved a deep sigh. “Of course,” he said, “this changes the + aspect of the whole matter. I wish you had made it clear at once. You gave + me a very great shock,” he said sinking into his arm-chair, “and I have + not yet recovered. You must study the art of exposition.” + </p> + <p> + “That will depend on the rules of the convent.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I forgot that you were going into a convent. Anglican, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + Anglican, she supposed. + </p> + <p> + “As a young man,” he said, “I saw much of dear old Dr. Pusey. It might + have somewhat reconciled him to my marriage if he had known that my + grand-daughter would take the veil.” He adjusted his glasses, and looked + at her. “Are you sure you have a vocation?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I want to be out of the world. I want to do no more harm.” + </p> + <p> + He eyed her musingly. “That,” he said, “is rather a revulsion than a + vocation. I remember that I ventured to point out to Dr. Pusey the + difference between those two things, when he was almost persuading me to + enter a Brotherhood founded by one of his friends. It may be that the + world would be well rid of you, my dear child. But it is not the world + only that we must consider. Would you grace the recesses of the Church?” + </p> + <p> + “I could but try,” said Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “‘You could but try’ are the very words Dr. Pusey used to me. I ventured + to say that in such a matter effort itself was a stigma of unfitness. For + all my moods of revulsion, I knew that my place was in the world. I stayed + there.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose, grand-papa”—and, seeing in fancy the vast agitated + flotilla of crinolines, she could not forbear a smile—“suppose all + the young ladies of that period had drowned themselves for love of you?” + </p> + <p> + Her smile seemed to nettle the Warden. “I was greatly admired,” he said. + “Greatly,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “And you liked that, grand-papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear. Yes, I am afraid I did. But I never encouraged it.” + </p> + <p> + “Your own heart was never touched?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, until I met Laura Frith.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was she?” + </p> + <p> + “She was my future wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And how was it you singled her out from the rest? Was she very + beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It cannot be said that she was beautiful. Indeed, she was accounted + plain. I think it was her great dignity that attracted me. She did not + smile archly at me, nor shake her ringlets. In those days it was the + fashion for young ladies to embroider slippers for such men in holy orders + as best pleased their fancy. I received hundreds—thousands—of + such slippers. But never a pair from Laura Frith.” + </p> + <p> + “She did not love you?” asked Zuleika, who had seated herself on the floor + at her grandfather’s feet. + </p> + <p> + I concluded that she did not. It interested me very greatly. It fired me. + </p> + <p> + “Was she incapable of love?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it was notorious in her circle that she had loved often, but loved in + vain.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did she marry you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she was fatigued by my importunities. She was not very strong. + But it may be that she married me out of pique. She never told me. I did + not inquire.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you were very happy with her?” + </p> + <p> + “While she lived, I was ideally happy.” + </p> + <p> + The young woman stretched out a hand, and laid it on the clasped hands of + the old man. He sat gazing into the past. She was silent for a while; and + in her eyes, still fixed intently on his face, there were tears. + </p> + <p> + “Grand-papa dear”—but there were tears in her voice, too. + </p> + <p> + “My child, you don’t understand. If I had needed pity—” + </p> + <p> + “I do understand—so well. I wasn’t pitying you, dear, I was envying + you a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Me?—an old man with only the remembrance of happiness?” + </p> + <p> + “You, who have had happiness granted to you. That isn’t what made me cry, + though. I cried because I was glad. You and I, with all this great span of + years between us, and yet—so wonderfully alike! I had always thought + of myself as a creature utterly apart.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is how all young people think of themselves. It wears off. Tell + me about this wonderful resemblance of ours.” + </p> + <p> + He sat attentive while she described her heart to him. But when, at the + close of her confidences, she said, “So you see it’s a case of sheer + heredity, grand-papa,” the word “Fiddlesticks!” would out. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “I was very much + interested. But I do believe young people are even more staggered by + themselves than they were in my day. And then, all these grand theories + they fall back on! Heredity... as if there were something to baffle us in + the fact of a young woman liking to be admired! And as if it were passing + strange of her to reserve her heart for a man she can respect and look up + to! And as if a man’s indifference to her were not of all things the + likeliest to give her a sense of inferiority to him! You and I, my dear, + may in some respects be very queer people, but in the matter of the + affections we are ordinary enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh grand-papa, do you really mean that?” she cried eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “At my age, a man husbands his resources. He says nothing that he does not + really mean. The indifference between you and other young women is that + which lay also between me and other young men: a special attractiveness... + Thousands of slippers, did I say? Tens of thousands. I had hoarded them + with a fatuous pride. On the evening of my betrothal I made a bonfire of + them, visible from three counties. I danced round it all night.” And from + his old eyes darted even now the reflections of those flames. + </p> + <p> + “Glorious!” whispered Zuleika. “But ah,” she said, rising to her feet, + “tell me no more of it—poor me! You see, it isn’t a mere special + attractiveness that <i>I</i> have. <i>I</i> am irresistible.” + </p> + <p> + “A daring statement, my child—very hard to prove.” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn’t it been proved up to the hilt to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “To-day?... Ah, and so they did really all drown themselves for you?... + Dear, dear!... The Duke—he, too?” + </p> + <p> + “He set the example.” + </p> + <p> + “No! You don’t say so! He was a greatly-gifted young man—a true + ornament to the College. But he always seemed to me rather—what + shall I say?—inhuman... I remember now that he did seem rather + excited when he came to the concert last night and you weren’t yet + there... You are quite sure you were the cause of his death?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” said Zuleika, marvelling at the lie—or fib, rather: he had + been GOING to die for her. But why not have told the truth? Was it + possible, she wondered, that her wretched vanity had survived her + renunciation of the world? Why had she so resented just now the doubt cast + on that irresistibility which had blighted and cranked her whole life? + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” said the Warden, “I confess that I am amazed—astounded.” + Again he adjusted his glasses, and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + She found herself moving slowly around the study, with the gait of a + mannequin in a dress-maker’s show-room. She tried to stop this; but her + body seemed to be quite beyond control of her mind. It had the insolence + to go ambling on its own account. “Little space you’ll have in a convent + cell,” snarled her mind vindictively. Her body paid no heed whatever. + </p> + <p> + Her grandfather, leaning back in his chair, gazed at the ceiling, and + meditatively tapped the finger-tips of one hand against those of the + other. “Sister Zuleika,” he presently said to the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “Well? and what is there so—so ridiculous in”—but the rest was + lost in trill after trill of laughter; and these were then lost in sobs. + </p> + <p> + The Warden had risen from his chair. “My dear,” he said, “I wasn’t + laughing. I was only—trying to imagine. If you really want to retire + from—” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” moaned Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t,” she wailed. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you don’t, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, you are tired, my poor child. That is very natural after this + wonderful, this historic day. Come dry your eyes. There, that’s better. + To-morrow—” + </p> + <p> + “I do believe you’re a little proud of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forgive me, I believe I am. A grandfather’s heart—But there, + good night, my dear. Let me light your candle.” + </p> + <p> + She took her cloak, and followed him out to the hall table. There she + mentioned that she was going away early to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + “To the convent?” he slyly asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, don’t tease me, grand-papa.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am sorry you are going away, my dear. But perhaps, in the + circumstances, it is best. You must come and stay here again, later on,” + he said, handing her the lit candle. “Not in term-time, though,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she echoed, “not in term-time.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV + </h2> + <p> + From the shifting gloom of the stair-case to the soft radiance cast + through the open door of her bedroom was for poor Zuleika an almost + heartening transition. She stood awhile on the threshold, watching + Melisande dart to and fro like a shuttle across a loom. Already the main + part of the packing seemed to have been accomplished. The wardrobe was a + yawning void, the carpet was here and there visible, many of the trunks + were already brimming and foaming over... Once more on the road! Somewhat + as, when beneath the stars the great tent had been struck, and the lions + were growling in their vans, and the horses were pawing the stamped grass + and whinnying, and the elephants trumpeting, Zuleika’s mother may often + have felt within her a wan exhilaration, so now did the heart of that + mother’s child rise and flutter amidst the familiar bustle of “being off.” + Weary she was of the world, and angry she was at not being, after all, + good enough for something better. And yet—well, at least, good-bye + to Oxford! + </p> + <p> + She envied Melisande, so nimbly and cheerfully laborious till the day + should come when her betrothed had saved enough to start a little cafe of + his own and make her his bride and dame de comptoir. Oh, to have a + purpose, a prospect, a stake in the world, as this faithful soul had! + </p> + <p> + “Can I help you at all, Melisande?” she asked, picking her way across the + strewn floor. + </p> + <p> + Melisande, patting down a pile of chiffon, seemed to be amused at such a + notion. “Mademoiselle has her own art. Do I mix myself in that?” she + cried, waving one hand towards the great malachite casket. + </p> + <p> + Zuleika looked at the casket, and then very gratefully at the maid. Her + art—how had she forgotten that? Here was solace, purpose. She would + work as she had never worked yet. She KNEW that she had it in her to do + better than she had ever done. She confessed to herself that she had too + often been slack in the matter of practice and rehearsal, trusting her + personal magnetism to carry her through. Only last night she had badly + fumbled, more than once. Her bravura business with the Demon Egg-Cup had + been simply vile. The audience hadn’t noticed it, perhaps, but she had. + Now she would perfect herself. Barely a fortnight now before her + engagement at the Folies Bergeres! What if—no, she must not think of + that! But the thought insisted. What if she essayed for Paris that which + again and again she had meant to graft on to her repertory—the + Provoking Thimble? + </p> + <p> + She flushed at the possibility. What if her whole present repertory were + but a passing phase in her art—a mere beginning—an earlier + manner? She remembered how marvellously last night she had manipulated the + ear-rings and the studs. Then lo! the light died out of her eyes, and her + face grew rigid. That memory had brought other memories in its wake. + </p> + <p> + For her, when she fled the Broad, Noaks’ window had blotted out all else. + Now she saw again that higher window, saw that girl flaunting her + ear-rings, gibing down at her. “He put them in with his own hands!”—the + words rang again in her ears, making her cheeks tingle. Oh, he had thought + it a very clever thing to do, no doubt—a splendid little revenge, + something after his own heart! “And he kissed me in the open street”—excellent, + excellent! She ground her teeth. And these doings must have been fresh in + his mind when she overtook him and walked with him to the house-boat! + Infamous! And she had then been wearing his studs! She drew his attention + to them when— + </p> + <p> + Her jewel-box stood open, to receive the jewels she wore to-night. She + went very calmly to it. There, in a corner of the topmost tray, rested the + two great white pearls—the pearls which, in one way and another, had + meant so much to her. + </p> + <p> + “Melisande!” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “When we go to Paris, would you like to make a little present to your + fiance?” + </p> + <p> + “Je voudrais bien, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you shall give him these,” said Zuleika, holding out the two studs. + </p> + <p> + “Mais jamais de la vie! Chez Tourtel tout le monde le dirait millionaire. + Un garcon de cafe qui porte au plastron des perles pareilles—merci!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him he may tell every one that they were given to me by the late + Duke of Dorset, and given by me to you, and by you to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mais—” The protest died on Melisande’s lips. Suddenly she had + ceased to see the pearls as trinkets finite and inapposite—saw them + as things presently transmutable into little marble tables, bocks, + dominos, absinthes au sucre, shiny black portfolios with weekly journals + in them, yellow staves with daily journals flapping from them, vermouths + secs, vermouths cassis... + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle is too amiable,” she said, taking the pearls. + </p> + <p> + And certainly, just then, Zuleika was looking very amiable indeed. The + look was transient. Nothing, she reflected, could undo what the Duke had + done. That hateful, impudent girl would take good care that every one + should know. “He put them in with his own hands.” HER ear-rings! “He + kissed me in the public street. He loved me”... Well, he had called out + “Zuleika!” and every one around had heard him. That was something. But how + glad all the old women in the world would be to shake their heads and say + “Oh, no, my dear, believe me! It wasn’t anything to do with HER. I’m told + on the very best authority,” and so forth, and so on. She knew he had told + any number of undergraduates he was going to die for her. But they, poor + fellows, could not bear witness. And good heavens! If there were a doubt + as to the Duke’s motive, why not doubts as to theirs?... But many of them + had called out “Zuleika!” too. And of course any really impartial person + who knew anything at all about the matter at first hand would be sure in + his own mind that it was perfectly absurd to pretend that the whole thing + wasn’t entirely and absolutely for her... And of course some of the men + must have left written evidence of their intention. She remembered that at + The MacQuern’s to-day was a Mr. Craddock, who had made a will in her + favour and wanted to read it aloud to her in the middle of luncheon. Oh, + there would be proof positive as to many of the men. But of the others it + would be said that they died in trying to rescue their comrades. There + would be all sorts of silly far-fetched theories, and downright lies that + couldn’t be disproved... + </p> + <p> + “Melisande, that crackling of tissue paper is driving me mad! Do leave + off! Can’t you see that I am waiting to be undressed?” + </p> + <p> + The maid hastened to her side, and with quick light fingers began to + undress her. “Mademoiselle va bien dormir—ca se voit,” she purred. + </p> + <p> + “I shan’t,” said Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, it was soothing to be undressed, and yet more soothing anon + to sit merely night-gowned before the mirror, while, slowly and gently, + strongly and strand by strand, Melisande brushed her hair. + </p> + <p> + After all, it didn’t so much matter what the world thought. Let the world + whisper and insinuate what it would. To slur and sully, to belittle and + drag down—that was what the world always tried to do. But great + things were still great, and fair things still fair. With no thought for + the world’s opinion had these men gone down to the water to-day. Their + deed was for her and themselves alone. It had sufficed them. Should it not + suffice her? It did, oh it did. She was a wretch to have repined. + </p> + <p> + At a gesture from her, Melisande brought to a close the rhythmical + ministrations, and—using no tissue paper this time—did what + was yet to be done among the trunks. + </p> + <p> + “WE know, you and I,” Zuleika whispered to the adorable creature in the + mirror; and the adorable creature gave back her nod and smile. + </p> + <p> + THEY knew, these two. + </p> + <p> + Yet, in their happiness, rose and floated a shadow between them. It was + the ghost of that one man who—THEY knew—had died irrelevantly, + with a cold heart. + </p> + <p> + Came also the horrid little ghost of one who had died late and unseemly. + </p> + <p> + And now, thick and fast, swept a whole multitude of other ghosts, the + ghosts of all them who, being dead, could not die again; the poor ghosts + of them who had done what they could, and could do no more. + </p> + <p> + No more? Was it not enough? The lady in the mirror gazed at the lady in + the room, reproachfully at first, then—for were they not sisters?—relentingly, + then pityingly. Each of the two covered her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + And there recurred, as by stealth, to the lady in the room a thought that + had assailed her not long ago in Judas Street... a thought about the power + of example... + </p> + <p> + And now, with pent breath and fast-beating heart, she stood staring at the + lady of the mirror, without seeing her; and now she wheeled round and + swiftly glided to that little table on which stood her two books. She + snatched Bradshaw. + </p> + <p> + We always intervene between Bradshaw and any one whom we see consulting + him. “Mademoiselle will permit me to find that which she seeks?” asked + Melisande. + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet,” said Zuleika. We always repulse, at first, any one who + intervenes between us and Bradshaw. + </p> + <p> + We always end by accepting the intervention. “See if it is possible to go + direct from here to Cambridge,” said Zuleika, handing the book on. “If it + isn’t, then—well, see how to get there.” + </p> + <p> + We never have any confidence in the intervener. Nor is the intervener, + when it comes to the point, sanguine. With mistrust mounting to + exasperation Zuleika sat watching the faint and frantic researches of her + maid. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” she said suddenly. “I have a much better idea. Go down very early + to the station. See the station-master. Order me a special train. For ten + o’clock, say.” + </p> + <p> + Rising, she stretched her arms above her head. Her lips parted in a yawn, + met in a smile. With both hands she pushed back her hair from her + shoulders, and twisted it into a loose knot. Very lightly she slipped up + into bed, and very soon she was asleep. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Zuleika Dobson, by Max Beerbohm + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZULEIKA DOBSON *** + +***** This file should be named 1845-h.htm or 1845-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/1845/ + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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