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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
171
He
threw
wide
his
arms
in
welcome
of
the
great
adorable
day,
and
of
all
the
great
adorable
days
that
were
to
be
his.
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.
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.
XIV
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.
Long
after
the
Duke
was
in
bed
and
asleep,
his
peal
of
laughter
echoed
in
the
ears
of
the
Emperors.
Why
had
he
laughed?
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.”
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