Women in Love
m Cromford. In front, it looked over a lawn, over a few trees, down to a string of fish-ponds in the hollow of the silent p
Valley, outside the show scenery. Silent and forsaken, the golden stucco showed
absent, abroad, she was either alone in the house, with her visitors, of whom there were always several, or she had with her her brother, a bachelor, and a Liberal member
ross the dip, where the fish-ponds lay in silence, at the pillared front of the house, sunny and small like an English drawing of the old school, on the brow of the gree
tint.' She spoke with some resentment in her voice, as if she we
ve it?' as
in its way, I think
ide door. A parlour-maid appeared, and then Hermione, coming forward with her pale face li
udrun-'so glad to see you-' she kissed Ursula and r
l tired,'
tired,
, thanks,'
were embarrassed because she would not move into the house, but must h
un's dress more. It was of green poplin, with a loose coat above it, of broad, dark-green and dark-brown stripes. The hat was of a pale, greenish straw, the colour of new hay, and it had a plaited ri
with coral beads and coral coloured stockings. But h
ooms now, wouldn't you! Yes.
ade such a stress on one. She stood so near to one, pressing herself near upon one, in
n woman, slight and fashionable, a young, athletic-looking Miss Bradley, a learned, dry Baronet of fifty, who was always making witticisms and l
able by the cedar tree, the scent of new sunshine, the little vision of the leafy park, with far-off deer feeding peacefully. There seemed a m
sness that was only emphasised by the continual crackling of a witticism, the continual spatter of verbal jest, designed to give
g persistence, to wish to ridicule him and make him look ignominious in the eyes of everybody. And it was surprising how she seemed to succeed, how helpless he seemed against her. He looked completely insignificant. U
y wished. Fraulein departed into the house, Hermione took up her embroidery, the little Contessa took a book, Miss Bradley was weaving a basket out of
nd of the brakes and the s
g-song. And laying down her work, she rose slowly, and sl
it?' ask
brother-at least, I suppose
fting her head for a moment from her book, and speaking as if
at once a host, with an easy, offhand hospitality that he had learned for Hermione's friends. He had just come down from London, from the House. At once the atmosphere of the House of Com
. Gerald was presented to everybody, was kept by Hermione for a few moments in full vi
er for Education had resigned owing to adverse cr
ion, except the joy and beauty of knowledge in itself.' She seemed to rumble and ruminate with subterranean t
ssion, sniffed the air with d
ly like gymnastics, isn't the end of education the pr
thy body, ready for anything,' cr
at her in si
knowing is so great, so WONDERFUL-nothing has meant so much t
r example, Hermione
ted her face
tars, when I really understood something about th
d at her in
ded for?' he said sarcastically.
recoiled
ling,' said Gerald. 'It's like getting on
murmured the Italian, lifting her
iayn,' said Gerald, whi
dust to settle, and th
ng in life-to KNOW. It is re
course, liberty,
. Immediately Gudrun saw the famous sociologist as a flat bottle, containing tabloids of co
, Rupert?' sang Herm
of things concluded, in the past. It's like bottling t
ronet, pointedly. 'Could we call our knowledge of the l
said
ly piped the little Italian woman. 'It says the man
mpany. Miss Bradley went and looked
aid the
nd threw his eyes hurriedly
rtling of which was the Baronet's, which r
ok?' asked Alex
e foreigner, pronouncing every syllable distinc
can edition,'
Alexander, with a fine declamatory voice. 'Baza
ightly round
he "hurriedly" w
began t
the maid came hurrying with a large tea-t
were all gathe
of them, one by one. And they all said yes, feeling somehow
ome for a w
Hermi
re you
here was a seco
ood run sharp, to be thwarted in even so trifling a mat
ike trooping off i
at for a moment. Then she sai
a little boy behin
while she insulted him. B
only turning to wave her handkerchief to him
good-bye, l
dent hag,' he s
urely voice at intervals. And they had all to come this way. The daffodils were pretty, but who could see them? Ursula was stiff all o
xert some kind of power over him. They trailed home by the fish-ponds, and Hermione told them about the quarrel of two male swans, who had striven
e stood on the lawn and sang out, in a stran
lable was high and slow, the se
no answer. A
raying voice of Hermione. But under the strayi
's in his r
s
airs, along the corridor, sing
ert! Ru-
r, and tapped, stil
ded his voi
re you
n was mild
swer. Then he o
d Hermione. 'The daffo
aid, 'I've
er long, slow, impassive
his conflict with him, when he was like a sulky boy, helpless, and she had him safe at Breadalby.
er, and she made her way, almost unconsciously into his room. He had taken a Chinese
the table, and looking down at his work. 'Yes. How be
ellous drawi
cause I've always been fond of it.
w,' he
asked, casual and sing-song. '
e gets more of China, copying this p
at do y
ts from him. She MUST know. It was a dreadful tyranny, an obsession in her, to know al
se in the flux of cold water and mud-the curious bitter stinging heat of a goose's blood, entering th
He stared back at her, devilish and unchanging. With another strange, sick convulsion, she turned away, as if she were sick, could feel dissolution setting-in in her b
as she might, she could not recover. She suffered the ghastliness of dissolution, broken and gone in a horrible corruption. And he stood and looked at her unmoved. She strayed out, palli
that fitted tight and made her look tall and rather terrible, ghastly. In the gay light of the drawing-room she was uncanny and oppressive. But seated in the half-
ull silver veiling, Miss Bradley was of grey, crimson and jet, Fraulein Marz wore pale blue. It gave Hermione a sudden convulsive sensation of pleasure, to see these rich colours under the candle-light. She was aware of the talk going on, ceaselessly, Joshua's voice dominating; of the ceaseless pitter-pa
without any attention to ceremony. Fraulein handed the coffee, everybody smoked
dsome young Englishman, Alexander tall and the handsome politician, democratic and lucid, Hermione strange like a long Cassandra, and the women lurid with colour, all
seemed to be thrown into the melting pot, and it seemed to Ursula they were all witches, helping the pot to bubble. There was an elation and a satisfaction in it all, but it was cruel
of Hermione. There was a lull in the talk, as it wa
ly. 'Won't somebody dance? Gudrun, you will dance, won't you? I wish you
the mantel, clinging to it for a moment, then releasing it suddenly.
d shawls and scarves, mostly oriental, things that Hermione, with
will dance toge
?' asked Alexande
cchette,' said th
o languid,'
Naomi and Ruth and Orpah. Ursula was Naomi, Gudrun was Ruth, the Contessa was Orpah. The i
y to dance the death of her husband. Then Ruth came, and they wept together, and lamented, then Naomi came to comfort them. It wa
ubtle widow, would go back to the former life, a repetition. The interplay between the women was real and rather frightening. It was strange to see how Gudrun clung with heavy, desperate passion to U
alism, Gudrun's ultimate but treacherous cleaving to the woman in her sister, Urs
in her soul, knowing what she could not know. She cried out for more dancing, a
Gudrun's lifted, offered, cleaving, reckless, yet withal mocking weight. And Birkin, watching like a hermit crab from its hole, had seen the brilliant frustration and helple
yet escape from the waltz and the two-step, but feeling his force stir along his limbs and his body, out of captivity. He did not know yet how to dance their convulsive, rag-time sort of dancing, but he
atching his purely gay motion, which he had
uddered, knowing that only a foreigne
Palestra?' she
alian. 'He is not a man, he is a
r to escape, to exist, other than she did, because he was not consistent, not a man, less than a man. She hated him in a despair that shattered her and broke her down, so t
onstraint came over Ursula in the big, strange bedroom. Hermione seemed to be bearing down on her, awful and inchoate, making some appeal. They were looking at some Indian silk shirts, gorgeous and sensual in themselves, their shape, their almost corrupt gorgeousness. And Hermione came near, and her bosom
ould dare to put those tw
and Ursula, overcome with dread, esc
e had danced he was happy. But Gerald would talk to him. Gerald, in ev
two Brangwens
ve in Be
r! Who are
n the Gramm
was a
ald at length. 'I thought
ints you?'
-but how is it Herm
ger one, the one with the darker hair-she'
in the Grammar School
mistress, Ursula
t's the
nstructor in
all
iers are br
y under the slightly je
raft instructor in a school!
it lay there laughing and bitter and indiffe
of Gudrun, at least. She is a restless bird,
will
to Damascus or San Francisco; she's a bird of paradise. God knows wh
ered for a
now her so we
ssum and Libidnikov and the rest-even if she doesn't know them personally. She was nev
, apart from her tea
can sell her models. Sh
much
a, ten g
ey good? Wh
is hers, those two wagtails in Hermione's boudoir-yo
was savage c
l people in everyday dress, really rather wonderful when they come of
l-known artist one
-she must never be too serious, she feels she might give herself away. And she won't give herself away-she's always on the defensive
onable, and I only just saved myself from jumpi
was s
a pure servant, washing the feet of Christ, or else he is making obscene drawings of Jesus-action and reaction-and between the two, nothing. He is really
' said Gerald. 'Does he love h
g to throw himself into the filth of her. Then he gets up and calls on the name of the lily of purity, the b
, 'that he does insult the Pussum so very
n. 'I always felt fond of her. I never had any
r would have turned me over. There's a certain smell about the skin of those
d, rather fretfully, 'But go to bed
ose off the bed, and went to his room. But
bed again. 'We finished up rather stormily,
t what she wants from Halliday o
I'd rather give her her du
oesn't
the account is left open, and
the side of the bed in his shirt. They were white-skinned, full, muscular legs, handsome an
the account,' said Gerald,
r one way or anot
Gerald, a little puzzled, looking down at
oes it,' s
a decent so
n, turning aside. It seemed to him Gerald was talking for the sake
ald, looking down all the time at the face of the other ma
d, and he laid his hand affectionately on
d Birkin move, he called out: 'I still th
f-fact. Close the account in your own soul,
you know
wing
tated for s
hing to do, you know, with
he right thing for wives: live under the same roof wi
to be nasty about
not interested in
re whether you
formed, how final all the things of the past were-the lovely accomplished past-this house, so still and golden, the park slumbering its centuries of peace. And then, what a snare and a delusion, this beauty of static things-what a horrible, dead prison Breadalby really was, what a
rested in,' came Gerald's voice from the lower room. '
u can, Gerald. Only I'm not i
at all, then?' ca
e. What am I
in could feel Geral
now,' came the go
hing but the Pussum, part of you wants the mines, the business
hing else,' said Gerald, in
Birkin, rat
ped you could tel
silence fo
my own way, let alone yours. Yo
ussum?' as
kin. And he rose an
'But you haven't even tried it on y
kin. 'Still, I s
gh mar
in answered
Gerald. 'No, n
always kept a gap, a distance between them, they wanted always to be free e
inus,' said Ger
t?' sai
erald, 'if it really works
n,' sai
' said
she felt she had missed her life. She seemed to grip the hours by the throat, to force her life from them. She was rather pale and ghastly, as if le
e, and said, in he
id you sleep wel
irkin, who knew her well, saw that sh
slightly suggesting disapprobation. 'I hope the things aren't cold. Oh no!
e hall of kings in some Egyptian tomb, where the dead all sat immemorial and tremendous. How utterly he knew Joshua Mattheson, who was talking in his harsh, yet rather mincing voice, endlessly, endlessly, always with a strong mentality working, always interesting, and yet always known, everything he said known beforehand, however novel it was, and clever. Alexander the up-to-date host, so bloodlessly free-and-easy, Fraulein so prettily chiming in just as she should, the little Italian Countess taking notice of everybody, only playing her little game, objective and cold, lik
teady, large, hostile eyes; the game fascinated her, and she loathed it. There was Ursula, with a sli
kin got up a
he said to hims
over her. Only her indomitable will remained static and mechanical, she sat at the table making her musing, stray remarks. But the darkness had covered her, she was
rning?' she said, sudde
Joshua. 'It is a
eautiful,' s
athe,' said th
athing suits,
'I must go to church and read
sked the Italian Countes
not. But I believe in keepi
utiful,' said Fr
re,' cried
he church bells were ringing a little way off, not a cloud was in the sky, the swans were like lilies on the water below, the peacocks walke
s gloves cheerily, and he disappeared b
rmione, 'shall
t,' sai
' said Hermione, lo
t want to,'
' said
my suit?'
h an odd, amused intonation. 'Will a
l do,' sa
then,' san
p in surprise. Then out ran Miss Bradley, like a large, soft plum in her dark-blue suit. Then Gerald came, a scarlet silk kerchief round his loins, his towels over his arms. He seemed to flaunt himself a little in the sun, lingering and laughing, strolling easily, looking white but natural in his nakedness. Then came Sir Joshua, in an overcoat, and lastly Hermione, st
. The water ran over a little stone wall, over small rocks, splashing down from one pond to the level below
ttle Countess was swimming like a rat, to join him. They both sat in the sun, laughing and crossing their arms on their breasts. Sir Joshua swam u
saurian? They are just like great lizards. Did you ever see anything like Sir Joshua? B
is eyes, his neck set into thick, crude shoulders. He was talking to Miss Bradley, who, seated on the bank above, plump a
figure so full and laughing. Hermione, in her large, stiff, sinister grace, leaned near him, frightening, as if she were not responsible for what she might do.
nconscious in the water, large and slow and powerful. Palestra was quick and silent as a water rat, Gerald wav
red a moment to
ike the wate
le look, as he stood before her negligently,
very much,'
cting some sort
you s
, I
o in then. He could feel something ironic in h
r again, later, when he was once more
before answering, opp
't like the cro
him. He wanted to come up to her standards, fulfil her expectations. He knew that her criterion was the only one that mattered. The others were all outsiders, instin
lk. There had been some discussion, on the whole quite intellectual and artificial, about a new state, a ne
ittle bit of a task-let him do that, and then please himself. The unifying principle was the work in hand. Only work, the business of produ
g but Herr Obermeister and Herr Untermeister. I can imagine it-"I am Mrs Colliery-Manager Cr
uch better, Miss Art-Teac
ager Crich? The relation betw
the Italian. 'That which i
ial,' said Birki
and a woman, the social question d
note on it,
woman is a social being?
r as society is concerned. But for her own private self,
ifficult to arrange the t
y arrange themselves naturall
santly till you're out o
is brows in mome
aughing?
all equal in the spirit, all brothers there-the rest wouldn't matter, there would be no
ly the party rose from the table. But when the others had
hirst, two eyes, one nose and two legs. We're all the same in point of number. But spiritually, there is pure difference and neither equality nor inequality counts. It is upon these two bits of knowledge that you must found a state. Your democracy is an absolute lie-y
er, not because they are equal, but because they are intrinsically OTHER, that there is no term of comparison. The minute you begin to compare, one man is seen to be far better than another, all the inequality you can imagine is there by nature. I want
of all he said, coming out of her. It was dynamic hatred and loathing, coming strong and black out of the unconsci
lomania, Rupert,' sa
er, grunting sound.
e gone out of his voice, that had been so insi
poor Hermione. He wanted to recompense her, to make it up. He had hurt h
her table writing letters. She lifted her face abstractedly when he entered, wa
mind was a chaos, darkness breaking in upon it, and herself struggling to gain control with her will, as a swimmer struggles with the swirling water. But in spite of her efforts she wa
t die most fearfully, walled up in horror. And he was the wall. She must break down the wall-she must break him down befor
struck her down. She was aware of him sitting silently there, an unthinkable evil obstruction. Only th
ve her consummation of voluptuous ecstasy at last. It was coming! In utmost terror and agony, she knew it was upon her now, in extremity of bliss. Her hand closed on a blue, beautiful ball of lapis lazuli that stood on her desk for a paper-weight. She rolle
dened the blow. Nevertheless, down went his head on the table on which his book lay, the stone slid aside and over his ear, it was one convulsion of pure bliss for her, lit up by the crushed pain of her fingers. But it was not somehow complete. She lifted her arm high
sed, the hand clasping the ball of lapis lazuli. It was her left hand, he realised again with horror that she was left-handed. Hurriedly, with a bu
from her. He was like a flask that is smashed to atoms, he seemed to himself that he was all fragments,
e,' he said in a low v
livid and attentive, the ston
me go,' he said, d
way, watching him all the time without chang
n he had gone past her. 'It is
in. While he was on his guard, she dared not move. And he was on h
hat she had done, but it seemed to her, she had only hit him, as any woman might do, because he tortured her. She was perfectly right. She knew that, spiritually, she was r
ain were falling. He wandered on to a wild valley-side, where were thickets of hazel, many flowers, tufts of heather, and little clumps of young firtrees, budding with soft paws. It was rather wet every
touch of them all. He took off his clothes, and sat down naked among the primroses, moving his feet softly among the primroses, his legs, his knees, his arms right up to t
d soft. To lie down and roll in the sticky, cool young hyacinths, to lie on one's belly and cover one's back with handfuls of fine wet grass, soft as a breath, soft and more delicate and more beautiful than the touch of any woman; and then to sting one's thigh against the living dark bristles of the fir-boughs; and then to feel the light whip of the hazel on one's shoulders, stinging, and then to clasp the silvery bir
e matter altogether? There was this perfect cool loneliness, so lovely and fresh and unexplored. Really, what a mistake he had made, thinking he wanted people, thinking he wanted a woman. He did not want a woman-n
pretend to have anything to do with human beings at all? Here was his world, he wanted nobod
d not matter, so one knew where one belonged. He knew now where he bel
anity. He rejoiced in his own madness, he was free. He did not want that old sanity of the world, which was becom
dhere to humanity. But he was weary of the old ethic, of the human being, and of humanity. He loved now the soft, delicate vegetatio
. He was walking now along the road to the nearest station. It was raining and he
mankind, of other people! It amounted almost to horror, to a sort of dream terror-his horror of being observed by some other people. If he were on an island, like Alexander Selkirk, with on
t trouble about him, and he did not want the on
right-I don't want you to mind having biffed me, in the least. Tell the others it is just one of
and he was sick. He dragged himself from the station into a cab, feeling
e was a complete estrangement between them. She became rapt, abstracted in her conviction of exclusi