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SONS AND LOVERS
“Now we’re back at the ordinary level,” he said.
She sat down, panting, on the tussocky grass. Her cheeks
were flushed pink. He kissed her, and she gave way to joy.
“And now I’ll clean thy boots and make thee fit for respectable folk,” he said.
He kneeled at her feet, worked away with a stick and
tufts of grass. She put her fingers in his hair, drew his head to
her, and kissed it.
“What am I supposed to be doing, “ he said, looking at
her laughing; “cleaning shoes or dibbling with love? Answer
me that!”
“Just whichever I please, “ she replied.
“I’m your boot – boy for the time being, and nothing
else! “ But they remained looking into each other’s eyes and
laughing. Then they kissed with little nibbling kisses.
– t – t – t! “ he went with his tongue, like his mother. “I
“T
tell you, nothing gets done when there’s a woman about. “
And he returned to his boot – cleaning, singing softly.
She touched his thick hair, and he kissed her fingers. He
worked away at her shoes. At last they were quite presentable.
“There you are, you see! “ he said. “Aren’t I a great hand at
restoring you to respectability? Stand up! There, you look as
irreproachable as Britannia herself! “
He cleaned his own boots a little, washed his hands in a
puddle, and sang. They went on into Clifton village. He was
madly in love with her; every movement she made, every
crease in her garments, sent a hot flash through him and
seemed adorable.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
The old lady at whose house they had tea was roused
into gaiety by them.
“I could wish you’d had something of a better day, “ she
said, hovering round.
“Nay!” he laughed. “We’ve been saying how nice it is.”
The old lady looked at him curiously. There was a peculiar
glow and charm about him. His eyes were dark and laughing. He rubbed his moustache with a glad movement.
“Have you been saying SO! “ she exclaimed, a light rousing in her old eyes.
“Truly! “ he laughed.
“Then I’m sure the day’s good enough,” said the old lady.
She fussed about, and did not want to leave them.
“I don’t know whether you’d like some radishes as well,”
she said to Clara; “but I’ve got some in the garden – AND a
cucumber.”
Clara flushed. She looked very handsome.
“I should like some radishes, “ she answered. And the old
lady pottered off gleefully.
“If she knew!” said Clara quietly to him.
“Well, she doesn’t know; and it shows we’re nice in ourselves,
at any rate. You look quite enough to satisfy an archangel, and
I’m sure I feel harmless – so – if it makes you look nice, and
makes folk happy when they have us, and makes us happy –
why, we’re not cheating them out of much! “
They went on with the meal. When they were going
away, the old lady came timidly with three tiny dahlias in
full blow, neat as bees, and speckled scarlet and white. She
stood before Clara, pleased with herself, saying:
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SONS AND LOVERS
“I don’t know whether – ” and holding the flowers forward in her old hand.
“Oh, how pretty! “ cried Clara, accepting the flowers.
“Shall she have them all? “ asked Paul reproachfully
of the old woman.
“Yes, she shall have them all,” she replied, beaming with
joy. “You have got enough for your share. “
“Ah, but I shall ask her to give me one! “ he teased.
“Then she does as she pleases, “ said the old lady, smiling.
And she bobbed a little curtsey of delight.
Clara was rather quiet and uncomfortable. As they walked
along, he said:
“You don’t feel criminal, do you?”
She looked at him with startled grey eyes. “Criminal!” she
said. “No.”
“But you seem to feel you have done a wrong?” “No,” she
said. “I only think, ‘If they knew! “’
“If they knew, they’d cease to understand. As it is, they do
understand, and they like it. What do they matter? Here, with
only the trees and me, you don’t feel not the least bit wrong, do
you?
He took her by the arm, held her facing him, holding
her eyes with his. Something fretted him.
“Not sinners, are we?” he said, with an uneasy little frown.
“No, she replied.
He kissed her, laughing.
“You like your little bit of guiltiness, I believe, he said. “I
believe Eve enjoyed it, when she went cowering out of Paradise. “
But there was a certain glow and quietness about her that
made him glad. When he was alone in the railway – carriage,
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
he found himself tumultuously happy, and the people exceedingly nice, and the night lovely, and everything good.
Mrs. Morel was sitting reading when he got home. Her
health was not good now, and there had come that ivory
pallor into her face which he never noticed, and which afterwards he never forgot. She did not mention her own ill –
health to him. After all, she thought, it was not much.
“You are late! “ she said, looking at him.
His eyes were shining; his face seemed to glow. He smiled
to her. “Yes; I’ve been down Clifton Grove with Clara.”
His mother looked at him again. “But won’t people talk?”
she said.
“Why? They know she’s a suffragette, and so on. And
what if they do talk!”
“Of course, there may be nothing wrong in it, “ said his
mother. “But you know what folks are, and if once she gets
talked about – ”
“Well, I can’t help it. Their jaw isn’t so almighty important,
after all.” “I think you ought to consider HER. “
“So I DO! What can people say? – that we take a walk
together. I believe you’re jealous. “
“You know I should be GLAD if she weren’t a married
woman. “ “Well, my dear, she lives separate from her husband, and talks on platforms; so she’s already singled out
from the sheep, and, as far as I can see, hasn’t much to lose. No;
her life’s nothing to her, so what’s the worth of nothing? She
goes with me – it becomes something. Then she must pay –
we both must pay! Folk are so frightened of paying; they’d
rather starve and die. “
“Very well, my son. We’ll see how it will end.” “Very well,
my mother. I’ll abide by the end.” “We’ll see! “
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SONS AND LOVERS
“And she’s – she’s AWFULLY nice, mother; she is really!
You don’t know!”
“That’s not the same as marrying her. “ “It’s perhaps better.”
There was silence for a while. He wanted to ask his
mother something, but was afraid.
“Should you like to know her? “ He hesitated.
“Yes, “ said Mrs. Morel coolly. “I should like to know
what she’s like.
“But she’s nice, mother, she is! And not a bit common!
“I never suggested she was.
“But you seem to think she’s – not as good as – She’s
better than ninety – nine folk out of a hundred, I tell you!
She’s BETTER, she is! She’s fair, she’s honest, she’s straight!
There isn’t anything underhand or superior about her. Don’t
be mean about her!”
Mrs. Morel flushed.
“I am sure I am not mean about her. She may be quite as
you say, but – ”
“You don’t approve, he finished.
“And do you expect me to? she answered coldly.
“Yes! – yes! – if you’d anything about you, you’d be glad!
Do you WANT to see her?
“I said I did. “
“Then I’ll bring her – shall I bring her here?” “You please
yourself. “
“Then I WILL bring her here – one Sunday – to tea. If
you think a horrid thing about her, I shan’t forgive you.”
His mother laughed.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
“As if it would make any difference! “ she said. He knew
he had won.
“Oh, but it feels so fine, when she’s there! She’s such a
queen in her way.”
Occasionally he still walked a little way from chapel
with Miriam and Edgar. He did not go up to the farm.
She, however, was very much the same with him, and he
did not feel embarrassed in her presence. One evening she
was alone when he accompanied her. They began by talking
books: it was their unfailing topic. Mrs. Morel had said that
his and Miriam’s affair was like a fire fed on books – if there
were no more volumes it would die out. Miriam, for her
part, boasted that she could read him like a book, could
place her finger any minute on the chapter and the line. He,
easily taken in, believed that Miriam knew more about him
than anyone else. So it pleased him to talk to her about
himself, like the simplest egoist. Very soon the conversation
drifted to his own doings. It flattered him immensely that he
was of such supreme interest.
“And what have you been doing lately?”
“I – oh, not much! I made a sketch of Bestwood from the garden, that is nearly right at last. It’s the hundredth try. “
So they went on. Then she said: “You’ve not been out,
then, lately?”
“Yes; I went up Clifton Grove on Monday afternoon with
Clara. “
“It was not very nice weather,” said Miriam, “was it?”
“But I wanted to go out, and it was all right. The Trent IS
full. “ “And did you go to Barton?” she asked.
“No; we had tea in Clifton. “ “DID you! That would be nice. “
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SONS AND LOVERS
“It was! The jolliest old woman! She gave us several
pompom dahlias, as pretty as you like. “
Miriam bowed her head and brooded. He was quite unconscious of concealing anything from her.
“What made her give them you?” she asked. He laughed.
“Because she liked us – because we were jolly, I should
think.”
Miriam put her finger in her mouth. “Were you late
home?” she asked. At last he resented her tone.
“I caught the seven – thirty. “ “Ha!”
They walked on in silence, and he was angry. “And how IS
Clara?” asked Miriam.
“Quite all right, I think. “
“That’s good! “ she said, with a tinge of irony. “By the way,
what of her husband? One never hears anything of him. “
“He’s got some other woman, and is also quite all right, “ he
replied. “At least, so I think. “
“I see – you don’t know for certain. Don’t you think a
position like that is hard on a woman?”
“Rottenly hard! “
“It’s so unjust! “ said Miriam. “The man does as he likes – ”
“Then let the woman also, “ he said.
“How can she? And if she does, look at her position! “
“What of it? “
“Why, it’s impossible! You don’t understand what a
woman forfeits – ”
“No, I don’t. But if a woman’s got nothing but her fair
fame to feed on, why, it’s thin tack, and a donkey would die
of it! “
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
So she understood his moral attitude, at least, and she
knew he would act accordingly.
She never asked him anything direct, but she got to know
enough. Another day, when he saw Miriam, the conversation turned to marriage, then to Clara’s marriage with
Dawes.
“You see, “ he said, “she never knew the fearful importance of marriage. She thought it was all in the day’s
march – it would have to come – and Dawes – well, a good
many women would have given their souls to get him; so why
not him? Then she developed into the femme incomprise, and
treated him badly, I’ll bet my boots. “
“And she left him because he didn’t understand her? “
“I suppose so. I suppose she had to. It isn’t altogether a
question of understanding; it’s a question of living. With him,
she was only half alive; the rest was dormant, deadened. And
the dormant woman was the femme incomprise, and she HAD
to be awakened. “
“And what about him. “
“I don’t know. I rather think he loves her as much as he
can, but he’s a fool. “
“It was something like your mother and father, “ said Miriam.
“Yes; but my mother, I believe, got real joy and satisfaction
out of my father at first. I believe she had a passion for him;
that’s why she stayed with him. After all, they were bound
to each other.”
“Yes, “ said Miriam.
“That’s what one MUST HAVE, I think,” he continued – ”the real, real flame of feeling through another person – once, only once, if it only lasts three months. See, my
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mother looks as if she’d HAD everything that was necessary
for her living and developing. There’s not a tiny bit of feeling of
sterility about her. “
“No, “ said Miriam.
“And with my father, at first, I’m sure she had the real
thing. She knows; she has been there. You can feet it about her,
and about him, and about hundreds of people you meet every
day; and, once it has happened to you, you can go on with anything and ripen.”
“What happened, exactly? “ asked Miriam.
“It’s so hard to say, but the something big and intense
that changes you when you really come together with
somebody else. It almost seems to fertilise your soul and
make it that you can go on and mature.”
“And you think your mother had it with your father? “
“Yes; and at the bottom she feels grateful to him for
giving it her, even now, though they are miles apart. “
“And you think Clara never had it?” “I’m sure.”
Miriam pondered this. She saw what he was seeking – a
sort of baptism of fire in passion, it seemed to her. She realised that he would never be satisfied till he had it. Perhaps it was essential to him, as to some men, to sow wild oats;
and afterwards, when he was satisfied, he would not rage with
restlessness any more, but could settle down and give her his
life into her hands. Well, then, if he must go, let him go and
have his fill – something big and intense, he called it. At any
rate, when he had got it, he would not want it – that he said
himself; he would want the other thing that she could give
him. He would want to be owned, so that he could work. It
seemed to her a bitter thing that he must go, but she could let
him go into an inn for a glass of whisky, so she could let him go
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
to Clara, so long as it was something that would satisfy a need
in him, and leave him free for herself to possess.
“Have you told your mother about Clara? she asked.
She knew this would be a test of the seriousness of his
feeling for the other woman: she knew he was going to Clara
for something vital, not as a man goes for pleasure to a prostitute, if he told his mother.
“Yes, he said, “and she is coming to tea on Sunday.
“To your house?
“Yes; I want mater to see her.
“Ah!ll
There was a silence. Things had gone quicker than she
thought. She felt a sudden bitterness that he could leave her
so soon and so entirely. And was Clara to be accepted by his
people, who had been so hostile to herself?
“I may call in as I go to chapel, she said. “It is a long time
since I saw Clara.
“Very well, he said, astonished, and unconsciously angry.
On the Sunday afternoon he went to Keston to meet
Clara at the station. As he stood on the platform he was
trying to examine in himself if he had a premonition.
“Do I FEEL as if she’d come? he said to himself, and he tried
to find out. His heart felt queer and contracted. That seemed
like foreboding. Then he HAD a foreboding she would not
come! Then she would not come, and instead of taking her over
the fields home, as he had imagined, he would have to go alone.
The train was late; the afternoon would be wasted, and the
evening. He hated her for not coming. Why had she promised,
then, if she could not keep her promise? Perhaps she had missed
her train – he himself was always missing trains – but that
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