Bildungsromans; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Illegitimate children -- Fiction
“Oh, I don’t know,” she half whispered. “But let’s go away together in
the summer and not even take a piano.”
CHAPTER V
YOUTH’S DOMINATION
On May Morning, when the choir boys of St. Mary’s hymned the rising
sun, Michael was able for the first time to behold the visible
expression of his own mental image of Oxford’s completeness, to pierce
in one dazzling moment of realization the cloudy and elusive concepts
which had restlessly gathered and resolved themselves in beautiful
obscurity about his mind. He was granted on that occasion to hold the
city, as it were, imprisoned in a crystal globe, and by the intensity
of his evocation to recognize perfectly that uncapturable quintessence
of human desire and human vision so supremely displayed through the
merely outward glory of its repository.
All night Michael and a large party of freshmen, now scarcely to be
called freshmen so much did they feel they possessed of the right to
live, had sustained themselves with dressed crab and sleepy
bridge-fours. During the gray hour of hinted dawn they wandered round
the college, rousing from sleep such lazy contemporaries as had vowed
that not all the joys and triumph of May Morning on the tower should
make them keep awake, during the vigil. Even so with what it contained
of ability to vex other people that last hour hung a little heavily
upon the enthusiasts. Slowly, however, the sky lightened: slowly the
cold hues and blushes of the sun’s youth, that stood as symbol for so
much here in St. Mary’s, made of the east one great shell of lucent
color. The gray stones of the college lost the mysterious outlines of
dawn and sharpened slowly to a rose-warmed vitality. The choir boys
gathered like twittering birds at the base of the tower: energetic
visitors came half shyly through the portal that was to give such a
sense of time’s rejuvenation as never before had they deemed possible:
dons came hurrying like great black birds in the gathering light: and
at last the tired revelers, Michael and Wedderburn, Maurice Avery and
Lonsdale and Grainger and Cuffe and Castleton and a score besides
equipped in cap and gown went scrambling and laughing up the winding
stairs to the top.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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