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SONS AND LOVERS
thought of death, the after – life, seem so sweet and consoling?
He spent the week with Miriam, and wore her out with
his passion before it was gone. He had always, almost wilfully,
to put her out of count, and act from the brute strength of
his own feelings. And he could not do it often, and there
remained afterwards always the sense of failure and of death.
If he were really with her, he had to put aside himself and his
desire. If he would have her, he had to put her aside.
“When I come to you, “ he asked her, his eyes dark with
pain and shame, “you don’t really want me, do you?”
“Ah, yes!” she replied quickly. He looked at her.
“Nay, “ he said.
She began to tremble.
“You see, “ she said, taking his face and shutting it out
against her shoulder – ”you see – as we are – how can I get
used to you? It would come all right if we were married. “
He lifted her head, and looked at her.
“You mean, now, it is always too much shock? “ “Yes – and – ”
“You are always clenched against me. “
She was trembling with agitation.
“You see,” she said, ‘Tm not used to the thought – ” “You are
lately, “ he said.
“But all my life. Mother said to me: ‘There is one thing in
marriage that is always dreadful, but you have to bear it. ‘ And
I believed it. “
“And still believe it, “ he said.
“No! “ she cried hastily. “I believe, as you do, that loving,
even in THAT way, is the high – water mark of living. “
“That doesn’t alter the fact that you never want it.”
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
“No, “ she said, taking his head in her arms and rocking in
despair. “Don’t say so! You don’t understand.” She rocked with
pain. “Don’t I want your children?”
“But not me. “
“How can you say so? But we must be married to have
children – ” “Shall we be married, then? I want you to have
my children. “
He kissed her hand reverently. She pondered sadly, watching him. “We are too young,” she said at length.
“Twenty – four and twenty – three – ”
“Not yet,” she pleaded, as she rocked herself in distress.
“When you will, “ he said.
She bowed her head gravely. The tone of hopelessness in
which he said these things grieved her deeply. It had always
been a failure between them. Tacitly, she acquiesced in what
he felt.
And after a week of love he said to his mother suddenly one
Sunday night, just as they were going to bed:
“I shan’t go so much to Miriam’s, mother.”
She was surprised, but she would not ask him anything.
“You please yourself, “ she said.
So he went to bed. But there was a new quietness about
him which she had wondered at. She almost guessed. She
would leave him alone, however. Precipitation might spoil
things. She watched him in his loneliness, wondering where
he would end. He was sick, and much too quiet for him.
There was a perpetual little knitting of his brows, such as
she had seen when he was a small baby, and which had
been gone for many years. Now it was the same again. And
she could do nothing for him. He had to go on alone, make
his own way.
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SONS AND LOVERS
He continued faithful to Miriam. For one day he had loved
her utterly. But it never came again. The sense of failure grew
stronger. At first it was only a sadness. Then he began to feel
he could not go on. He wanted to run, to go abroad, anything.
Gradually he ceased to ask her to have him. Instead of drawing them together, it put them apart. And then he realised,
consciously, that it was no good. It was useless trying: it would
never be a success between them.
For some months he had seen very little of Clara. They
had occasionally walked out for half an hour at dinner –
time. But he always reserved himself for Miriam. With Clara,
however, his brow cleared, and he was gay again. She treated
him indulgently, as if he were a child. He thought he did not
mind. But deep below the surface it piqued him.
Sometimes Miriam said:
“What about Clara? I hear nothing of her lately.
“I walked with her about twenty minutes yesterday, he
replied. “And what did she talk about? “I don’t know. I suppose I did all the jawing – I usually do. I think I was telling
her about the strike, and how the women took it.
“Yes.
So he gave the account of himself.
But insidiously, without his knowing it, the warmth he
felt for Clara drew him away from Miriam, for whom he felt
responsible, and to whom he felt he belonged. He thought
he was being quite faithful to her. It was not easy to estimate exactly the strength and warmth of one’s feelings for a
woman till they have run away with one.
He began to give more time to his men friends. There was
Jessop, at the art school; Swain, who was chemistry demonstra-
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
tor at the university; Newton, who was a teacher; besides Edgar
and Miriam’s younger brothers. Pleading work, he sketched
and studied with Jessop. He called in the university for
Swain, and the two went “down town” together. Having come
home in the train with Newton, he called and had a game of
billiards with him in the Moon and Stars. If he gave to Miriam
the excuse of his men friends, he felt quite justified. His mother
began to be relieved. He always told her where he had been.
During the summer Clara wore sometimes a dress of soft
cotton stuff with loose sleeves. When she lifted her hands,
her sleeves fell back, and her beautiful strong arms shone
out.
“Half a minute, “ he cried. “Hold your arm still. “
He made sketches of her hand and arm, and the drawings
contained some of the fascination the real thing had for
him. Miriam, who always went scrupulously through his
books and papers, saw the drawings.
“I think Clara has such beautiful arms, “ he said. “Yes!
When did you draw them?”
“On Tuesday, in the work – room. You know, I’ve got a corner where I can work. Often I can do every single thing they
need in the department, before dinner. Then I work for myself
in the afternoon, and just see to things at night. “
“Yes, “ she said, turning the leaves of his sketch – book.
Frequently he hated Miriam. He hated her as she bent
forward and pored over his things. He hated her way of patiently casting him up, as if he were an endless psychological
account. When he was with her, he hated her for having
got him, and yet not got him, and he tortured her. She took
all and gave nothing, he said. At least, she gave no living
warmth. She was never alive, and giving off life. Looking for
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her was like looking for something which did not exist. She
was only his conscience, not his mate. He hated her violently, and was more cruel to her. They dragged on till the
next summer. He saw more and more of Clara.
At last he spoke. He had been sitting working at home
one evening. There was between him and his mother a peculiar condition of people frankly finding fault with each
other. Mrs. Morel was strong on her feet again. He was not
going to stick to Miriam. Very well; then she would stand
aloof till he said something. It had been coming a long time,
this bursting of the storm in him, when he would come back
to her. This evening there was between them a peculiarcondition of suspense. He worked feverishly and mechanically,
so that he could escape from himself. It grew late. Through
the open door, stealthily, came the scent of madonna lilies,
almost as if it were prowling abroad. Suddenly he got up
and went out of doors.
The beauty of the night made him want to shout. A
half – moon, dusky gold, was sinking behind the black sycamore at the end of the garden, making the sky dull purple
with its glow. Nearer, a dim white fence of lilies went
across the garden, and the air all round seemed to stir with
scent, as if it were alive. He went across the bed of pinks,
whose keen perfume came sharply across the rocking, heavy
scent of the lilies, and stood alongside the white barrier of
flowers. They flagged all loose, as if they were panting. The
scent made him drunk. He went down to the field to watch
the moon sink under.
A corncrake in the hay – close called insistently. The
moon slid quite quickly downwards, growing more flushed.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
Behind him the great flowers leaned as if they were calling.
And then, like a shock, he caught another perfume, something raw and coarse. Hunting round, he found the purple
iris, touched their fleshy throats and their dark, grasping
hands. At any rate, he had found something. They stood
stiff in the darkness. Their scent was brutal. The moon was
melting down upon the crest of the hill. It was gone; all was
dark. The corncrake called still.
Breaking off a pink, he suddenly went indoors.
“Come, my boy, “ said his mother. ‘’I’m sure it’s time you
went to bed.”
He stood with the pink against his lips.
“I shall break off with Miriam, mother, “ he answered
calmly.
She looked up at him over her spectacles. He was staring
back at her, unswerving. She met his eyes for a moment,
then took off her glasses. He was white. The male was up in
him, dominant. She did not want to see him too clearly.
“But I thought – ” she began.
“Well,” he answered, “I don’t love her. I don’t want to
marry her so I shall have done.”
“But, “ exclaimed his mother, amazed, “I thought lately you
had made up your mind to have her, and so I said nothing. “
“I had – 1 wanted to – but now I don’t want. It’s no good.
I shall break off on Sunday. I ought to, oughtn’t I?”
“You know best. You know I said so long ago. “
“I can’t help that now. I shall break off on Sunday.”
“Well, “ said his mother, “I think it will be best. But lately
I decided you had made up your mind to have her, so I said
nothing, and should have said nothing. But I say as I have
always said, I DON’T think she is suited to you. “
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SONS AND LOVERS
“On Sunday I break off, “ he said, smelling the pink.
He put the flower in his mouth. Unthinking, he bared his
teeth, closed them on the blossom slowly, and had a mouthful of petals. These he spat into the fire, kissed his mother,
and went to bed.
On Sunday he went up to the farm in the early afternoon. He had written Miriam that they would walk over the
fields to Hucknall. His mother was very tender with him. He
said nothing. But she saw the effort it was costing. The peculiar set look on his face stilled her.
“Never mind, my son,” she said. “You will be so much
better when it is all over. “
Paul glanced swiftly at his mother in surprise and resentment. He did not want sympathy.
Miriam met him at the lane – end. She was wearing a new
dress of figured muslin that had short sleeves. Those short
sleeves, and Miriam’s brown – skinned arms beneath them –
such pitiful, resigned arms – gave him so much pain that they
helped to make him cruel. She had made herself look so
beautiful and fresh for him. She seemed to blossom for him
alone. Every time he looked at her – a mature young woman
now, and beautiful in her new dress – it hurt so much that his
heart seemed almost to be bursting with the restraint he put
on it. But he had decided, and it was irrevocable.
On the hills they sat down, and he lay with his head in
her lap, whilst she fingered his hair. She knew that “he was
not there, “ as she put it. Often, when she had him with
her, she looked for him, and could not find him. But this
afternoon she was not prepared.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
It was nearly five o’clock when he told her. They were sitting on the bank of a stream, where the lip of turf hung over
a hollow bank of yellow earth, and he was hacking away with
a stick, as he did when he was perturbed and cruel.
“I have been thinking, “ he said, “we ought to break off. “
“Why? “ she cried in surprise.
“Because it’s no good going on. “ “Why is it no good?”
“It isn’t. I don’t want to marry. I don’t want ever to marry.
And if we’re not going to marry, it’s no good going on.”
“But why do you say this now? “ “Because I’ve made up my
mind. “
“And what about these last months, and the things you
told me then?”
“I can’t help it! I don’t want to go on.” “You don’t want any
more of me?”
“I want us to break off – you be free of me, I free of you.” “And
what about these last months? “
“I don’t know. I’ve not told you anything but what I
thought was true.”
“Then why are you different now? “
“I’m not – I’m the same – only I know it’s no good going on.”
“You haven’t told me why it’s no good. “
“Because I don’t want to go on – and I don’t want to marry.”
“How many times have you offered to marry me, and I
wouldn’t?” “I know; but I want us to break off. “
There was silence for a moment or two, while he dug viciously at the earth. She bent her head, pondering. He was
an unreasonable child. He was like an infant which, when
it has drunk its fill, throws away and smashes the cup. She
looked at him, feeling she could get hold of him and WRING
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some consistency out of him. But she was helpless. Then she
cried:
“I have said you were only fourteen – you are only FOUR! “
He still dug at the earth viciously. He heard.
“You are a child of four, “ she repeated in her anger.
He did not answer, but said in his heart: “All right; if I’m a
child of four, what do you want me for? I don’t want another
mother. “But he said nothing to her, and there was silence.
“And have you told your people?” she asked. “I have told
my mother. “
There was another long interval of silence. “Then what do
you WANT? “ she asked.
“Why, I want us to separate. We have lived on each other
all these years; now let us stop. I will go my own way without
you, and you will go your way without me. You will have an
independent life of your own then. “
There was in it some truth that, in spite of her bitterness, she could not help registering. She knew she felt in a
sort of bondage to him, which she hated because she could
not control it. She hated her love for him from the moment
it grew too strong for her. And, deep down, she had hated
him because she loved him and he dominated her. She had
resisted his domination. She had fought to keep herself free
of him in the last issue. And she was free of him, even more
than he of her.
“And,” he continued, “we shall always be more or less
each other’s work. You have done a lot for me, I for you. Now
let us start and live by ourselves. “
“What do you want to do?” she asked. “Nothing – only to
be free,” he answered.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
She, however, knew in her heart that Clara’s influence
was over him to liberate him. But she said nothing.
“And what have I to tell my mother? “ she asked.
“I told my mother, “ he answered, “that I was breaking
off – clean and altogether. “
“I shall not tell them at home, “ she said. Frowning, “You
please yourself, “ he said.
He knew he had landed her in a nasty hole, and was
leaving her in the lurch. It angered him.
“Tell them you wouldn’t and won’t marry me, and have
broken off, “ he said. “It’s true enough. “
She bit her finger moodily. She thought over their whole
affair. She had known it would come to this; she had seen it
all along. It chimed with her bitter expectation.
“Always – it has always been so! “ she cried. “It has been
one long battle between us – you fighting away from me.”
It came from her unawares, like a flash of lightning. The
man’s heart stood still. Was this how she saw it?
“But we’ve had SOME perfect hours, SOME perfect times,
when we were together! “ he pleaded.
“Never! “she cried; “never! It has always been you fighting me
off.” “Not always – not at first!” he pleaded.
“Always, from the very beginning – always the same!”
She had finished, but she had done enough. He sat
aghast. He had wanted to say: “It has been good, but it is at
an end.” And she – she whose love he had believed in when
he had despised himself denied that their love had ever
been love. “He had always fought away from her? “ Then it
had been monstrous. There had never been anything really
between them; all the time he had been imagining some-
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