XIX
And now he had passed under the little arch between the eighth and theninth 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 todismiss from his mind.
In the quadrangle of the Old Schools he glanced round at the familiarlabels, blue and gold, over the iron-studded doors,--Schola Theologiaeet Antiquae Philosophiae; Museum Arundelianum; Schola Musicae. AndBibliotheca Bodleiana--he paused there, to feel for the last time thevague thrill he had always felt at sight of the small and devious portalthat had lured to itself, and would always lure, so many scholars fromthe ends of the earth, scholars famous and scholars obscure, scholarspolyglot and of the most diverse bents, but none of them not stirred inheart somewhat on the found threshold of the treasure-house. "Howdeep, how perfect, the effect made here by refusal to make any effectwhatsoever!" thought the Duke. Perhaps, after all... but no: one couldlay down no general rule. He flung his mantle a little wider from hisbreast, and proceeded into Radcliffe Square.
Another farewell look he gave to the old vast horse-chestnut that iscalled Bishop Heber's tree. Certainly, no: there was no general rule.With its towering and bulging masses of verdure tricked out all over intheir annual finery of catkins, Bishop Heber's tree stood for the verytype of ingenuous ostentation. And who should dare cavil? who not begladdened? Yet awful, more than gladdening, was the effect that the treemade to-day. Strangely pale was the verdure against the black sky; andthe multitudinous catkins had a look almost ghostly. The Duke rememberedthe legend that every one of these fair white spires of blossom isthe spirit of some dead man who, having loved Oxford much and well, issuffered thus to revisit her, for a brief while, year by year. Andit pleased him to doubt not that on one of the topmost branches, nextSpring, his own spirit would be.
"Oh, look!" cried a young lady emerging with her brother and her auntthrough the gate of Brasenose.
"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 towalk 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 ofDorset... 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 lookround..."
Poor fellow! However fond an undergraduate be of his womenfolk, atOxford they keep him in a painful state of tension: at any moment theymay somehow disgrace him. And if throughout the long day he shall havehad the added strain of guarding them from the knowledge that he isabout to commit suicide, a certain measure of irritability must becondoned.
Poor Jessie and Aunt Mabel! They were destined to remember that Haroldhad been "very peculiar" all day. They had arrived in the morning, happyand eager despite the menace of the sky, and--well, they were destinedto reproach themselves for having felt that Harold was "really ratherimpossible." Oh, if he had only confided in them! They could havereasoned with him, saved him--surely they could have saved him! When hetold 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 themthat it was always very rowdy, and that ladies were not supposed to bethere--oh, why had they not guessed and clung to him, and kept him awayfrom the river?
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 alonecould 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... Shefollowed the example of Lot's wife; and Jessie followed hers.
"Very well," said Harold. "That settles it. I go alone." And he was gonelike an arrow, across the High, down Oriel Street.
The two women stood staring ruefully at each other.
"Pardon me," said the Duke, with a sweep of his plumed hat. "I observeyou are stranded; and, if I read your thoughts aright, you are impugningthe courtesy of that young runagate. Neither of you, I am very sure, isas one of those ladies who in Imperial Rome took a saucy pleasure in thespectacle of death. Neither of you can have been warned by your escortthat you were on the way to see him die, of his own accord, in companywith many hundreds of other lads, myself included. Therefore, regard hisflight 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, bothof you, to the place whence you came."
"Thank you SO much," said Aunt Mabel, with what she took to be greatpresence 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.
Something in her manner of fixing him with her eye had made the Dukesuspect what was in her mind. Well, she would find out her mistake soonenough, poor woman. He desired, however, that her mistake should be madeby no one else. He would give no more warnings.
Tragic it was for him, in Merton Street, to see among the crowdconverging 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 thebrows of their escorts. He knew not whether it was for their escorts orfor them that he felt the greater pity; and an added load for his heartwas the sense of his partial responsibility for what impended. Buthis lips were sealed now. Why should he not enjoy the effect he wascreating?
It was with a measured tread, as yesterday with Zuleika, that he enteredthe avenue of elms. The throng streamed past from behind him, partingwide, and marvelling as it streamed. Under the pall of this evil eveninghis splendour was the more inspiring. And, just as yesterday no man hadquestioned his right to be with Zuleika, so to-day there was none todeem him caparisoned too much. All the men felt at a glance thathe, coming to meet death thus, did no more than the right homage toZuleika--aye, and that he made them all partakers in his own glory,casting his great mantle over all commorients. Reverence forbade them todo more than glance. But the women with them were impelled by wonder tostare hard, uttering sharp little cries that mingled with the cawing ofthe rooks overhead. Thus did scores of men find themselves shamed likeour friend Harold. But this, you say, was no more than a just return fortheir behaviour yesterday, when, in this very avenue, so many women werealmost crushed to death by them in their insensate eagerness to see MissDobson.
To-day by scores of women it was calculated not only that the velvet ofthe Duke's mantle could not have cost less than four guineas a yard, butalso that there must be quite twenty-five yards of it. Some of the fairmathematicians had, in the course of the past fortnight, visited theRoyal Academy and seen there Mr. Sargent's portrait of the wearer, sothat their estimate now was but the endorsement of an estimate alreadymade. 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 theywent by; and those of them who had heard the rumour that he was in lovewith that frightfully flashy-looking creature, Zuleika Dobson, were morethan ever sure there wasn't a word of truth in it.
As he neared the end of the avenue, the Duke was conscious of a thinningin the procession on either side of him, and anon he was aware that notone undergraduate was therein. And he knew at once--did not need to lookback to know--why this was. SHE was coming.
Yes, she had come into the avenue, her magnetism speeding before her,insomuch that all along the way the men immediately ahead of her lookedround, beheld her, stood aside for her. With her walked The MacQuern,and a little bodyguard of other blest acquaintances; and behind herswayed the dense mass of the disorganised procession. And now the lastrank between her and the Duke was broken, and at the revealed visionof him she faltered midway in some raillery she was addressing to TheMacQuern. Her eyes were fixed, her lips were parted, her tread hadbecome stealthy. With a brusque gesture of dismissal to the men besideher, she darted forward, and lightly overtook the Duke just as he wasturning towards the barges.<
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"May I?" she whispered, smiling round into his face.
His shoulder-knots just perceptibly rose.
"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, Iwon't be so impertinent as to praise you. Only let me be with you. Willyou?"
The shoulder-knots repeated their answer.
"You needn't listen to me; needn't look at me--unless you care to use myeyes as mirrors. Only let me be seen with you. That's what I want. Notthat your society isn't a boon in itself, John. Oh, I've been so boredsince 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 thethought that they were going to die for me, I simply couldn't standthem. Poor boys! it was as much as I could do not to tell them I wishedthem dead already. Indeed, when they brought me down for the firstraces, I did suggest that they might as well die now as later. Only theylooked very solemn and said it couldn't possibly be done till after thefinal races. And oh, the tea with them! What have YOU been doing all theafternoon? Oh John, after THEM, I could almost love you again. Why can'tone fall in love with a man's clothes? To think that all those splendidthings you have on are going to be spoilt--all for me. Nominally forme, that is. It is very wonderful, John. I do appreciate it, really andtruly, though I know you think I don't. John, if it weren't mere spiteyou feel for me--but it's no good talking about that. Come, let us be ascheerful as we may be. Is this the Judas house-boat?"
"The Judas barge," said the Duke, irritated by a mistake which butyesterday had rather charmed him.
As he followed his companion across the plank, there came dully from thehills the first low growl of the pent storm. The sound struck for him astrange contrast with the prattle he had perforce been listening to.
"Thunder," said Zuleika over her shoulder.
"Evidently," he answered.
Half-way up the stairs to the roof, she looked round. "Aren't youcoming?" she asked.
He shook his head, and pointed to the raft in front of the barge. Shequickly descended.
"Forgive me," he said, "my gesture was not a summons. The raft is formen."
"What do you want to do on it?"
"To wait there till the races are over."
"But--what do you mean? Aren't you coming up on to the roof at all?Yesterday--"
"Oh, I see," said the Duke, unable to repress a smile. "But to-day I amnot dressed for a flying-leap."
Zuleika put a finger to her lips. "Don't talk so loud. Those women upthere will hear you. No one must ever know I knew what was going tohappen. What evidence should I have that I tried to prevent it? Only myown unsupported word--and the world is always against a woman. So do becareful. 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, itdoesn't really matter. I had it fixed in my mind that you--but no, ofcourse, in that mantle you couldn't. But why not come up on the roofwith me meanwhile, and then afterwards make some excuse and--" The restof her whisper was lost in another growl of thunder.
"I would rather make my excuses forthwith," said the Duke. "And, as theraces must be almost due now, I advise you to go straight up and securea place against the railing."
"It will look very odd, my going all alone into a crowd of people whom Idon't know. I'm an unmarried girl. I do think you might--"
"Good-bye," said the Duke.
Again Zuleika raised a warning finger.
"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."
"Yes."
"And," she added, after a pause, "remember this. I have loved but twicein my life; and none but you have I loved. This, too: if you hadn'tforced me to kill my love, I would have died with you. And you know itis true."
"Yes." It was true enough.
Courteously he watched her up the stairs.
As she reached the roof, she cried down to him from the throng, "Thenyou will wait down there to take me home afterwards?"
He bowed silently.
The raft was even more crowded than yesterday, but way was made for himby Judasians past and present. He took his place in the centre of thefront row.
At his feet flowed the fateful river. From the various barges the lastpunt-loads had been ferried across to the towing-path, and the lastof the men who were to follow the boats in their course had vanishedtowards the starting-point. There remained, however, a fringe of lesserenthusiasts. Their figures stood outlined sharply in that strange darkclearness which immediately precedes a storm.
The thunder rumbled around the hills, and now and again there was afaint glare on the horizon.
Would Judas bump Magdalen? Opinion on the raft seemed to be divided. Butthe sanguine spirits were in a majority.
"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 thelaity, "I'd bet two to one we bump."
"You demean your cloth, sir," the Duke would have said, "withoutcheating its disabilities," had not his mouth been stopped by a loud andprolonged thunder-clap.
In the hush thereafter, came the puny sound of a gunshot. The boats werestarting. Would Judas bump Magdalen? Would Judas be head of the river?
Strange, thought the Duke, that for him, standing as he did on the peakof dandyism, on the brink of eternity, this trivial question of boatscould have importance. And yet, and yet, for this it was that his heartwas beating. A few minutes hence, an end to victors and vanquishedalike; and yet...
A sudden white vertical streak slid down the sky. Then there wasa consonance to split the drums of the world's ears, followed bya horrific rattling as of actual artillery--tens of thousands ofgun-carriages simultaneously at the gallop, colliding, crashing, heelingover in the blackness.
Then, and yet more awful, silence; the little earth cowering voicelessunder 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.
And there was another faint sound that came to the Duke's ears. It heunderstood when, a moment later, he saw the surface of the river alivewith infinitesimal fountains.
Rain!
His very mantle was aspersed. In another minute he would stand sodden,inglorious, a mock. He didn't hesitate.
"Zuleika!" he cried in a loud voice. Then he took a deep breath, and,burying his face in his mantle, plunged.
Full on the river lay the mantle outspread. Then it, too, went under. Agreat roll of water marked the spot. The plumed hat floated.
There was a confusion of shouts from the raft, of screams from the roof.Many youths--all the youths there--cried "Zuleika!" and leapt emulouslyheadlong into the water. "Brave fellows!" shouted the elder men,supposing rescue-work. The rain pelted, the thunder pealed. Here andthere was a glimpse of a young head above water--for an instant only.
Shouts and screams now from the infected barges on either side. A scoreof fresh plunges. "Splendid fellows!"
Meanwhile, what of the Duke? I am glad to say that he was alive and (butfor the cold he had caught last night) well. Indeed, his mind had neverworked more clearly than in this swift dim underworld. His mantle, thecords of it having come untied, had drifted off him, leaving his armsfree. With breath well-pent, he steadily swam, scarcely less amused thanannoyed that the gods had, after all, dictated the exact time at whichhe should seek death.
I am loth to interrupt my narrative at this rather exciting moment--amoment when the quick, tense style, exemplified in the last paragraphbut one, is so very desirable. But in justice to the gods I must pauseto put in a word of excuse for them. They had imagined that it wasin mere irony that the Duke had said he could not die till after thebumping-races; and not until it seemed that he stood ready to make anend of himself had the signal been given by Zeus for the rain to fall.One is taught to refrain from irony, because mankind does ten
d to takeit literally. In the hearing of the gods, who hear all, it is converselyunsafe to make a simple and direct statement. So what is one to do? Thedilemma needs a whole volume to itself.
But to return to the Duke. He had now been under water for a fullminute, swimming down stream; and he calculated that he had yet anotherfull minute of consciousness. Already the whole of his past lifehad vividly presented itself to him--myriads of tiny incidents, longforgotten, now standing out sharply in their due sequence. He hadmastered this conspectus in a flash of time, and was already tired ofit. How smooth and yielding were the weeds against his face! He wonderedif Mrs. Batch had been in time to cash the cheque. If not, of course hisexecutors would pay the amount, but there would be delays, long delays,Mrs. Batch in meshes of red tape. Red tape for her, green weeds forhim--he smiled at this poor conceit, classifying it as a fair sample ofmerman's wit. He swam on through the quiet cool darkness, less quicklynow. Not many more strokes now, he told himself; a few, only a few; thensleep. How was he come here? Some woman had sent him. Ever so many yearsago, some woman. He forgave her. There was nothing to forgive her. Itwas the gods who had sent him--too soon, too soon. He let his arms risein the water, and he floated up. There was air in that over-world, andsomething he needed to know there before he came down again to sleep.
He gasped the air into his lungs, and he remembered what it was that heneeded to know.
Had he risen in mid-stream, the keel of the Magdalen boat might havekilled him. The oars of Magdalen did all but graze his face. The eyes ofthe Magdalen cox met his. The cords of the Magdalen rudder slipped fromthe hands that held them; whereupon the Magdalen man who rowed "bow"missed his stroke.
An instant later, just where the line of barges begins, Judas had bumpedMagdalen.
A crash of thunder deadened the din of the stamping and dancing crowd onthe towing-path. The rain was a deluge making land and water as one.
And the conquered crew, and the conquering, both now had seen the faceof the Duke. A white smiling face, anon it was gone. Dorset was gonedown to his last sleep.
Victory and defeat alike forgotten, the crews staggered erect and flungthemselves into the river, the slender boats capsizing and spinningfutile around in a melley of oars.
From the towing-path--no more din there now, but great single criesof "Zuleika!"--leapt figures innumerable through rain to river. Thearrested boats of the other crews drifted zigzag hither and thither. Thedropped oars rocked and clashed, sank and rebounded, as the men plungedacross them into the swirling stream.
And over all this confusion and concussion of men and man-made thingscrashed the vaster discords of the heavens; and the waters of theheavens fell ever denser and denser, as though to the aid of waters thatcould not in themselves envelop so many hundreds of struggling humanforms.
All along the soaked towing-path lay strewn the horns, the rattles, themotor-hooters, that the youths had flung aside before they leapt. Hereand there among these relics stood dazed elder men, staring through thestorm. There was one of them--a grey-beard--who stripped off his blazer,plunged, grabbed at some live man, grappled him, was dragged under. Hecame up again further along stream, swam choking to the bank, clung tothe grasses. He whimpered as he sought foot-hold in the slime. It wasill to be down in that abominable sink of death.
Abominable, yes, to them who discerned there death only; but sacramentaland sweet enough to the men who were dying there for love. Any face thatrose was smiling.
The thunder receded; the rain was less vehement: the boats and the oarshad drifted against the banks. And always the patient river bore itsawful burden towards Iffley.
As on the towing-path, so on the youth-bereft rafts of the barges,yonder, stood many stupefied elders, staring at the river, staring backfrom the river into one another's faces.
Dispeopled now were the roofs of the barges. Under the first drops ofthe rain most of the women had come huddling down for shelter inside;panic had presently driven down the rest. Yet on one roof one womanstill was. A strange, drenched figure, she stood bright-eyed in thedimness; alone, as it was well she should be in her great hour; drainingthe lees of such homage as had come to no woman in history recorded.
Zuleika Dobson Or, An Oxford Love Story Page 19
