A 1911 novel by means of Max Beerbohm, a satire of undergraduate lifestyles at Oxford in the course of the Edwardian period. Zuleika is a tender femme fatale who enthralls the total undergraduate university at Oxford. each younger guy who sees her falls in love and she or he completely enjoys their realization. This satire contains the recognized line "Death cancels all engagements" and offers a corrosive view of Oxford at the moment.
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Additional resources for Zuleika Dobson, Or An Oxford Love Story (International Collectors Library)
Negative as a military with banners,'" provided his host - quite testily, for he used to be writing a letter. it all started "My expensive Father. by the point you obtain this I shall have taken a step which. . . " truly it used to be useless to hunt distraction in my previous university. I floated out into the untenanted meadows. Over them used to be the standard coverlet of white vapour, trailed from the Isis correct as much as Merton Wall. The odor of those meadows' moisture is the odor of Oxford. Even in most well liked midday, one feels that the solar has now not dried THEM. regularly there's moisture drifting throughout them, drifting into the universities. It, one suspects, should have had a lot to do with the evocation of what's referred to as the Oxford spirit - that gentlest spirit, so lingering and looking out, so pricey to them who as youths have been introduced into ken of it, so exasperating to them who weren't. sure, definitely, it truly is this light, miasmal air, a minimum of the gray good looks and gravity of the structures, that has helped Oxford to supply, and foster endlessly, her odd race of artist-scholars, scholar-artists. The undergraduate, in his short classes of place of abode, is just too buoyant to be mastered by way of the spirit of where. He does yet salute it, and capture the style. it really is on him who remains to spend his adulthood right here that the spirit will in its fulness progressively descend. The structures and their traditions hold astir in his brain whatever is gracious; the weather, enfolding and enfeebling him, lulling him, retains him careless of the pointy, harsh, exigent realities of the outer global. Careless? no longer completely. those realities could be visible through him. He might examine them, be amused or touched by way of them. yet they can not fireplace him. Oxford is simply too damp for that. The "movements" made there were not more than protests opposed to the mobility of others. they've been with out the dynamic caliber implied of their identify. they've been not more than the sighs of fellows observing at what different males had left in the back of them; faint, most unlikely appeals to the god of retrogression, uttered for his or her personal sake and formality, instead of with any purpose that they need to be heard. Oxford, that lotus-land, saps the will-power, the facility of motion. yet, in doing so, it clarifies the brain, makes greater the imaginative and prescient, supplies, especially, that playful and caressing suavity of demeanour which comes of a conviction that not anything concerns, other than principles, and that now not even principles are worthy death for, inasmuch because the ghosts of them slain appear important of but extra piously complicated homage than will be given to them of their heyday. If the schools should be transferred to the dry and bracing most sensible of a few hill, no doubt they'd be extra obviously helpful to the kingdom. yet allow us to be completely happy there is not any engineer or enchanter to compass that activity. Egomet, i might liefer have the remainder of England subside into the ocean than have Oxford set on a salubrious point. For there's not anything in England to be matched with what lurks within the vapours of those meadows, and within the shadows of those spires - that mysterious, inenubilable spirit, spirit of Oxford.