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SONS AND LOVERS
where he had been. But the day after was Monday. He slept till
four o’clock. Then he lay and thought. He was coming nearer to himself – he could see himself, real, somewhere in front.
She would go a walk with him in the afternoon. Afternoon!
It seemed years ahead.
Slowly the hours crawled. His father got up; he heard
him pottering about. Then the miner set off to the pit, his
heavy boots scraping the yard. Cocks were still crowing. A
cart went down the road. His mother got up. She knocked the
fire. Presently she called him softly. He answered as if he were
asleep. This shell of himself did well.
He was walking to the station – another mile! The train
was near Nottingham. Would it stop before the tunnels? But it
did not matter; it would get there before dinner – time. He was
at Jordan’s. She would come in half an hour. At any rate, she
would be near. He had done the letters. She would be there.
Perhaps she had not come. He ran downstairs. Ah! he saw
her through the glass door. Her shoulders stooping a little to
her work made him feel he could not go forward; he could not
stand. He went in. He was pale, nervous, awkward, and quite
cold. Would she misunderstand him? He could not write his
real self with this shell.
“And this afternoon,” he struggled to say. “You will come?”
“I think so, “ she replied, murmuring.
He stood before her, unable to say a word. She hid
her face from him. Again came over him the feeling that he
would lose consciousness. He set his teeth and went upstairs.
He had done everything correctly yet, and he would do so.
All the morning things seemed a long way off, as they do
to a man under chloroform. He himself seemed under a
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
tight band of constraint. Then there was his other self, in
the distance, doing things, entering stuff in a ledger, and
he watched that far – off him carefully to see he made no
mistake.
But the ache and strain of it could not go on much longer.
He worked incessantly. Still it was only twelve o’clock. As
if he had nailed his clothing against the desk, he stood there
and worked, forcing every stroke out of himself. It was a quarter to one; he could clear away. Then he ran downstairs.
“You will meet me at the Fountain at two o’clock, he said. “I
can’t be there till half – past.
“Yes! he said.
She saw his dark, mad eyes. “I will try at a quarter past.
And he had to be content. He went and got some dinner. All
the time he was still under chloroform, and every minute
was stretched out indefinitely. He walked miles of streets.
Then he thought he would be late at the meeting – place.
He was at the Fountain at five past two. The torture of the
next quarter of an hour was refined beyond expression. It
was the anguish of combining the living self with the shell.
Then he saw her. She came! And he was there.
“You are late, he said.
“Only five minutes, she answered.
“I’d never have done it to you, he laughed.
She was in a dark blue costume. He looked at her beautiful
figure. “You want some flowers, he said, going to the nearest
florist’s.
She followed him in silence. He bought her a bunch of
scarlet, brick red carnations. She put them in her coat, flushing.
“That’s a fine colour! he said.
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SONS AND LOVERS
‘Td rather have had something softer, “ she said. He
laughed.
“Do you feel like a blot of vermilion walking down the
street? “ he said.
She hung her head, afraid of the people they met. He
looked sideways at her as they walked. There was a wonderful close down on her face near the ear that he wanted to
touch. And a certain heaviness, the heaviness of a very full
ear of corn that dips slightly in the wind, that there was
about her, made his brain spin. He seemed to be spinning
down the street, everything going round.
As they sat in the tramcar, she leaned her heavy shoulder against him, and he took her hand. He felt himself coming round from the anaesthetic, beginning to breathe. Her
ear, half – hidden among her blonde hair, was near to him.
The temptation to kiss it was almost too great. But there
were other people on top of the car. It still remained to him
to kiss it. After alt he was not himself, he was some attribute
of hers, like the sunshine that fell on her.
He looked quickly away. It had been raining. The big
bluff of the Castle rock was streaked with rain, as it reared
above the flat of the town. They crossed the wide, black
space of the Midland Railway, and passed the cattle enclosure that stood out white. Then they ran down sordid
Wilford Road.
She rocked slightly to the tram’s motion, and as she
leaned against him, rocked upon him. He was a vigorous,
slender man, with exhaustless energy. His face was rough,
with rough – hewn features, like the common people’s; but
his eyes under the deep brows were so full of life that they
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
fascinated her. They seemed to dance, and yet they were still
trembling on the finest balance of laughter. His mouth the
same was just going to spring into a laugh of triumph, yet
did not. There was a sharp suspense about him. She bit her
lip moodily. His hand was hard clenched over hers.
They paid their two halfpennies at the turnstile and
crossed the bridge. The Trent was very full. It swept silent
and insidious under the bridge, travelling in a soft body.
There had been a great deal of rain. On the river levels were
flat gleams of flood water. The sky was grey, with glisten of
silver here and there. In Wilford churchyard the dahlias were
sodden with rain – wet black – crimson balls. No one was
on the path that went along the green river meadow, along
the elm – tree colonnade.
There was the faintest haze over the silvery – dark water
and the green meadow – bank, and the elm – trees that
were spangled with gold. The river slid by in a body, utterly
silent and swift, intertwining among itself like some subtle,
complex creature. Clara walked moodily beside him.
“Why, “ she asked at length, in rather a jarring tone, “did
you leave Miriam?”
He frowned.
“Because I WANTED to leave her, “ he said. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to go on with her. And I didn’t
want to marry.
She was silent for a moment. They picked their way down
the muddy path. Drops of water fell from the elm – trees.
“You didn’t want to marry Miriam, or you didn’t want to
marry at all?” she asked.
“Both, “ he answered – “both! “
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SONS AND LOVERS
They had to manoeuvre to get to the stile, because of
the pools of water.
“And what did she say? “ Clara asked.
“Miriam? She said I was a baby of four, and that I always HAD battled her off. “
Clara pondered over this for a time.
“But you have really been going with her for some time?”
she asked. “Yes.”
“And now you don’t want any more of her? “ “No. I know
it’s no good. “
She pondered again.
“Don’t you think you’ve treated her rather badly?” she
asked.
“Yes; I ought to have dropped it years back. But it would
have been no good going on. Two wrongs don’t make a right. “
“How old ARE you?” Clara asked. “Twenty – five. “
“And I am thirty, “ she said. “I know you are. “
“I shall be thirty – one – or AM I thirty – one?”
“I neither know nor care. What does it matter! “
They were at the entrance to the Grove. The wet, red
track, already sticky with fallen leaves, went up the steep
bank between the grass. On either side stood the elm –
trees like pillars along a great aisle, arching over and making high up a roof from which the dead leaves fell. All was
empty and silent and wet. She stood on top of the stile, and
he held both her hands. Laughing, she looked down into
his eyes. Then she leaped. Her breast came against his; he
held her, and covered her face with kisses.
They went on up the slippery, steep red path. Presently
she released his hand and put it round her waist.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
“You press the vein in my arm, holding it so tightly, “ she
said.
They walked along. His finger – tips felt the rocking of
her breast. All was silent and deserted. On the left the red wet
plough – land showed through the doorways between the
elm – boles and their branches. On the right, looking down,
they could see the tree – tops of elms growing far beneath
them, hear occasionally the gurgle of the river.
Sometimes there below they caught glimpses of the full,
soft – sliding Trent, and of water – meadows dotted with
small cattle.
“It has scarcely altered since little Kirke White used to
come, he said.
But he was watching her throat below the ear, where
the flush was fusing into the honey – white, and her mouth
that pouted disconsolate. She stirred against him as she
walked, and his body was like a taut string.
Halfway up the big colonnade of elms, where the Grove
rose highest above the river, their forward movement faltered to an end. He led her across to the grass, under the
trees at the edge of the path. The cliff of red earth sloped
swiftly down, through trees and bushes, to the river that
glimmered and was dark between the foliage. The far below
water – meadows were very green. He and she stood leaning
against one another, silent, afraid, their bodies touching all
along. There came a quick gurgle from the river below.
“Why, he asked at length, “did you hate Baxter Dawes?
She turned to him with a splendid movement. Her mouth
was offered him, and her throat; her eyes were half – shut; her
breast was tilted as if it asked for him. He flashed with a small
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SONS AND LOVERS
laugh, shut his eyes, and met her in a long, whole kiss. Her
mouth fused with his; their bodies were sealed and annealed.
It was some minutes before they withdrew. They were standing
beside the public path.
“Will you go down to the river? he asked.
She looked at him, leaving herself in his hands. He went
over the brim of the declivity and began to climb down.
“It is slippery, “ he said. “Never mind,” she replied.
The red clay went down almost sheer. He slid, went from
one tuft of grass to the next, hanging on to the bushes, making
for a little platform at the foot of a tree. There he waited for her,
laughing with excitement. Her shoes were clogged with red
earth. It was hard for her. He frowned. At last he caught her
hand, and she stood beside him. The cliff rose above them and
fell away below. Her colour was up, her eyes flashed. He looked
at the big drop below them.
“It’s risky,” he said; “or messy, at any rate. Shall we go
back?” “Not for my sake,” she said quickly.
“All right. You see, I can’t help you; I should only hinder.
Give me that little parcel and your gloves. Your poor shoes!
“
They stood perched on the face of the declivity, under the
trees. “Well, I’ll go again, “ he said.
Away he went, slipping, staggering, sliding to the next
tree, into which he fell with a slam that nearly shook the
breath out of him. She came after cautiously, hanging on to
the twigs and grasses. So they descended, stage by stage, to
the river’s brink. There, to his disgust, the flood had eaten
away the path, and the red decline ran straight into the
water. He dug in his heels and brought himself up violently.
The string of the parcel broke with a snap; the brown parcel
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
bounded down, leaped into the water, and sailed smoothly
away. He hung on to his tree.
“Well, I’ll be damned! “he cried crossly. Then he laughed.
She was coming perilously down.
“Mind!” he warned her. He stood with his back to the
tree, waiting. “Come now, “ he called, opening his arms.
She let herself run. He caught her, and together they
stood watching the dark water scoop at the raw edge of the
bank. The parcel had sailed out of sight.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said.
He held her close and kissed her. There was only room
for their four feet.
“It’s a swindle!” he said. “But there’s a rut where a man has
been, so if we go on I guess we shall find the path again.”
The river slid and twined its great volume. On the other
bank cattle were feeding on the desolate flats. The cliff rose
high above Paul and Clara on their right hand. They stood
against the tree in the watery silence.
“Let us try going forward, “ he said; and they struggled in
the red clay along the groove a man’s nailed boots had made.
They were hot and flushed. Their barkled shoes hung heavy
on their steps. At last they found the broken path. It was
littered with rubble from the water, but at any rate it was
easier. They cleaned their boots with twigs. His heart was beating thick and fast.
Suddenly, coming on to the little level, he saw two
figures of men standing silent at the water’s edge. His heart
leaped. They were fishing. He turned and put his hand up
warningly to Clara. She hesitated, buttoned her coat. The two
went on together.
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SONS AND LOVERS
The fishermen turned curiously to watch the two intruders on their privacy and solitude. They had had a fire,
but it was nearly out. All kept perfectly still. The men turned
again to their fishing, stood over the grey glinting river
like statues. Clara went with bowed head, flushing; he was
laughing to himself. Directly they passed out of sight behind
the willows.
“Now they ought to be drowned,” said Paul softly.
Clara did not answer. They toiled forward along a tiny
path on the river’s lip. Suddenly it vanished. The bank was
sheer red solid clay in front of them, sloping straight into
the river. He stood and cursed beneath his breath, setting
his teeth.
“It’s impossible! “ said Clara.
He stood erect, looking round. Just ahead were two islets
in the stream, covered with osiers. But they were unattainable. The cliff came down like a sloping wall from far above
their heads. Behind, not far back, were the fishermen. Across
the river the distant cattle fed silently in the desolate afternoon. He cursed again deeply under his breath. He gazed up
the great steep bank. Was there no hope but to scale back to
the public path?
“Stop a minute, “ he said, and, digging his heels sideways
into the steep bank of red clay, he began nimbly to mount. He
looked across at every tree – foot. At last he found what he
wanted. Two beech – trees side by side on the hill held a
little level on the upper face between their roots. It was
littered with damp leaves, but it would do. The fishermen
were perhaps sufficiently out of sight. He threw down his
rainproof and waved to her to come.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
She toiled to his side. Arriving there, she looked at him
heavily, dumbly, and laid her head on his shoulder. He held
her fast as he looked round. They were safe enough from all
but the small, lonely cows over the river. He sunk his mouth
on her throat, where he felt her heavy pulse beat under his
lips. Everything was perfectly still. There was nothing in the
afternoon but themselves.
When she arose, he, looking on the ground all the
time, saw suddenly sprinkled on the black wet beech – roots
many scarlet carnation petals, like splashed drops of blood;
and red, small splashes fell from her bosom, streaming down
her dress to her feet.
“Your flowers are smashed, “ he said.
She looked at him heavily as she put back her hair. Suddenly he put his finger – tips on her cheek.
“Why dost look so heavy? “ he reproached her.
She smiled sadly, as if she felt alone in herself. He caressed
her cheek with his fingers, and kissed her.
“Nay!” he said. “Never thee bother!”
She gripped his fingers tight, and laughed shakily. Then
she dropped her hand. He put the hair back from her
brows, stroking her temples, kissing them lightly.
“But tha shouldna worrit! “ he said softly, pleading.
“No, I don’t worry!” she laughed tenderly and resigned.
“Yea, tha does! Dunna thee worrit,” he implored, caressing.
“No! “ she consoled him, kissing him.
They had a stiff climb to get to the top again. It took them
a quarter of an hour. When he got on to the level grass, he
threw off his cap, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and
sighed.
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