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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
80
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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