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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
36
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.
“Come
in,
Noaks,”
said
the
Duke.
“You
have
been
to
a
lecture?”
“Aristotle’s
Politics,”
nodded
Noaks.
“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.
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