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Updated: May 16, 2025
He was himself deficient in the physical gifts of a great speaker; powerful as was his frame, his voice was thin and weak. He had nothing of the actor in him; he could not command the deep voice, the solemn tones, the imposing gestures, the Olympian mien by which men like Waldeck and Radowitz and Gagern dominated and controlled their audience.
One of the ablest essays sent in, however, was a paper by Falloden on the "Sentimentalisms of Democracy" in which a reasoned and fierce contempt for the popular voice, and a brilliant glorification of war and of a military aristocracy, made very lively reading. On the later occasion, when Sorell and Constance met during the week, he found Radowitz in the Hoopers' drawing-room.
Radowitz in his misery and pain Falloden on the Cherwell path, defending himself by those passionate retorts upon her of which she could not but admit the partial justice by these images she was perpetually haunted. Certainly she had no reason to look back with pleasure or self-approval on her Oxford experiences.
Falloden stood on the hearth, looking down on the huddled figure in the chair; himself broad and tall and curly-haired, like the divine Odysseus, when Athene had breathed ambrosial youth upon him. But he was pale, and his eyes frowned perpetually under his splendid brows. "Some nonsense of that sort!" said Radowitz. "Don't let's talk about it."
The effect of his violence and cruelty towards Radowitz had been indeed to make her shudder away from him. It seemed to her still that it would be impossible to forgive herself should she ever make friends with Douglas Falloden again. She would be an accomplice in his hardness of heart and deed. Yet she recognised guiltily her own share in that hardness.
She had played with and goaded him; she had used Radowitz to punish him; her championship of the boy had become in the end mere pique with Falloden; and she was partly responsible for what had happened.
When he returned, Radowitz was sitting over the fire with sheets of scribbled music-paper on a small table before him. His eyes shone, his cheeks were feverishly bright. He turned with forced gaiety at the sight of Falloden "Well, did you meet them on the road?" "Lady Constance, and her friend? Yes. I had a few words with them. How are you now? What did the doctor say to you?"
By the way, Sorell told me Radowitz had absolutely refused to let anybody in college know any of the dons and had forbidden Sorell himself to say a word." "Well of course that's more damaging to us than any other line of action," said Falloden drily. "I don't know that I shall accept it for myself. The facts had better be known." "Well, you'd better think of the rest of us," said Meyrick.
"If we hadn't been beastly drunk we should never have done it," said Meyrick; "but that's no excuse. How are you? What does Fanning say?" They both looked so exceedingly miserable that Radowitz, surveying them with mollified astonishment, suddenly went into a fit of hysterical laughter. The others watched him in alarm.
Sorell says everybody likes him in college except Mr. Falloden's horrid set, who think themselves the lords of creation. They say that Otto Radowitz made such an amusing speech last week in the college debating society attacking 'the bloods. Of course they didn't hear it, because they have their own club, and turn up their nose at the college society.
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