Добавил:
ivanov666
Опубликованный материал нарушает ваши авторские права? Сообщите нам.
Вуз:
Предмет:
Файл:The White Peacock
.pdf
THE WHITE PEACOCK
We turned and swung down the slope between the last sullied cornfi elds towards Basford, where the swollen gasometers
stood like toadstools. As we neared the mouth of the street,
Meg rose excitedly, pulling George’s arm, crying:
“Oh, look, the poor little thing!”
On the causeway stood two small boys lifting their faces and
weeping to the heedless heavens, while before them, upside
down, lay a baby strapped to a shut-up baby-chair. The gimcrack carpet-seated thing had collapsed as the boys were dismounting the kerb-stone with it. It had fallen backwards, and
they were unable to right it. There lay the infant strapped head
downwards to its silly cart, in imminent danger of suffocation.
Meg leaped out, and dragged the child from the wretched chair.
The two boys, drenched with tears, howled on. Meg crouched
on the road, the baby on her knee, its tiny feet dangling against
her skirt. She soothed the pitiful tear-wet mite. She hugged it to
her, and kissed it, and hugged it, and rocked it in an abandonment of pity. When at last the childish trio were silent, the boys
shaken only by the last ebbing sobs, Meg calmed also from her
frenzy of pity for the little thing. She murmured to it tenderly,
and wiped its wet little cheeks with her handkerchief, soothing, kissing, fondling the bewildered mite, smoothing the wet
strands of brown hair under the scrap of cotton bonnet, twitching the inevitable baby cape into order. It was a pretty baby,
with wisps of brown-gold silken hair and large blue eyes.
“Is it a girl?” I asked one of the boys – “How old is she?”
“I don’t know,” he answered awkwardly. “We’ve ‘ad ‘er
about a three week.”
“Why, isn’t she your sister?”
361
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
“No – my mother keeps ‘er” – they were very reluctant to
tell us anything.
“Poor little lamb!” cried Meg, in another access of pity,
clasping the baby to her bosom with one hand, holding its
winsome slippered feet in the other. She remained thus, stung
through with acute pity, crouching, folding herself over the
mite. At last she raised her head, and said, in a voice diffi cult
with emotion:
“But you love her – don’t you?”
“Yes – she’s – she’s all right. But we ‘ave to mind ‘er,” replied the boy in great confusion.
“Surely,” said Meg, “surely you don’t begrudge that. Poor
little thing – so little, she is – surely you don’t grumble at
minding her a bit – ?”
The boys would not answer.
“Oh, poor little lamb, poor little lamb!” murmured Meg
over the child, condemning with bitterness the boys and the
whole world of men.
I taught one of the lads how to fold and unfold the wretched chair. Meg very reluctantly seated the unfortunate baby
therein, gently fastening her with the strap.
“Wheer’s ‘er dummy?” asked one of the boys in muffl ed,
self-conscious tones. The infant began to cry thinly. Meg
crouched over it. The “dummy” was found in the gutter and
wiped on the boy’s coat, then plugged into the baby’s mouth.
Meg released the tiny clasping hand from over her fi nger, and
mounted the dog-cart, saying sternly to the boys:
362
THE WHITE PEACOCK
“Mind you look after her well, poor little baby with no
mother. God’s watching to see what you do to her – so you be
careful, mind.”
They stood very shamefaced. George clicked to the mare,
and as we started threw coppers to the boys. While we drove
away I watched the little group diminish down the road.
“It’s such a shame,” she said, and the tears were in her voice,
“ – A sweet little thing like that –”
“Ay,” said George softly, “there’s all sorts of things in
towns.”
Meg paid no attention to him, but sat woman-like, thinking of the forlorn baby, and condemning the hard world. He,
full of tenderness and protectiveness towards her, having
watched her with softening eyes, felt a little bit rebuffed that
she ignored him, and sat alone in her fi erce womanhood. So he
busied himself with the reins, and the two sat each alone until
Meg was roused by the bustle of the town. The mare sidled past
the electric cars nervously, and jumped when a traction engine
came upon us. Meg, rather frightened, clung to George again.
She was very glad when we had passed the cemetery with its
white population of tombstones, and drew up in a quiet street.
But when we had dismounted, and given the horse’s head
to a loafer, she became confused and bashful and timid to the
last degree. He took her on his arm; he took the whole charge
of her, and laughing, bore her away towards the steps of the
offi ce. She left herself entirely in his hands; she was all confusion, so he took the charge of her.
363
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
When, after a short time, they came out, she began to chatter with blushful animation. He was very quiet, and seemed to
be taking his breath.
“Wasn’t he a funny little man? Did I do it all proper? –
I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sure they were laughing
at me – do you think they were? Oh, just look at my frock –
what a sight! What would they think – !” The baby had slightly
soiled the front of her dress.
George drove up the long hill into the town. As we came
down between the shops on Mansfi eld Road he recovered his
spirits.
“Where are we going – where are you taking us?” asked
Meg.
“We may as well make a day of it while we are here,” he
answered, smiling and fl icking the mare. They both felt that
they were launched forth on an adventure. He put up at the
Spread Eagle, and we walked towards the market-place for
Meg’s gloves. When he had bought her these and a large lace
scarf to give her a more clothed appearance, he wanted dinner.
“We’ll go,” he said, “to an hotel.”
His eyes dilated as he said it, and she shrank away with
delighted fear. Neither of them had ever been to an hotel. She
was really afraid. She begged him to go to an eating-house,
to a cafe. He was obdurate. His one idea was to do the thing
that he was half afraid to do. His passion – and it was almost
intoxication – was to dare to play with life. He was afraid of
the town. He was afraid to venture into the foreign places of
life, and all was foreign save the valley of Nethermere. So he
crossed the borders fl auntingly, and marched towards the
364
THE WHITE PEACOCK
heart of the unknown. We went to the Victoria Hotel – the
most imposing he could think of – and we had luncheon according to the menu. They were like two children, very much
afraid, yet delighting in the adventure. He dared not, however, give the orders. He dared not address anybody, waiters or
otherwise. I did that for him, and he watched me, absorbing,
learning, wondering that things were so easy and so delightful. I murmured them injunctions across the table and they
blushed and laughed with each other nervously. It would be
hard to say whether they enjoyed that luncheon. I think Meg
did not – even though she was with him. But of George I am
doubtful. He suffered exquisitely from self-consciousness and
nervous embarrassment, but he felt also the intoxication of
the adventure, he felt as a man who has lived in a small island
when he fi rst sets foot on a vast continent. This was the fi rst
step into a new life, and he mused delightedly upon it over his
brandy. Yet he was nervous. He could not get over the feeling
that he was trespassing.
“Where shall we go this afternoon?” he asked.
Several things were proposed, but Meg pleaded warmly for
Colwick.
“Let’s go on a steamer to Colwick Park. There’ll be entertainments there this afternoon. It’ll be lovely.”
In a few moments we were on the top of the car swinging
down to the Trent Bridges. It was dinner-time, and crowds of
people from shops and warehouses were hurrying in the sunshine along the pavements. Sun-blinds cast their shadows on
the shop-fronts, and in the shade streamed the people dressed
brightly for summer. As our car stood in the great space of the
365
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
market-place we could smell the mingled scent of fruit, oranges, and small apricots, and pears piled in their vividly coloured sections on the stalls. Then away we sailed through the
shadows of the dark streets and the open pools of sunshine.
The castle on its high rock stood in the dazzling dry sunlight;
the fountain stood shadowy in the green glimmer of the lime
trees that surrounded the alms-houses.
There were many people at the Trent. We stood a while on
the bridge to watch the bright river swirling in a silent dance
to the sea, while the light pleasure-boats lay asleep along the
banks. We went on board the little paddle-steamer and paid
our “sixpence return”. After much waiting we set off, with
great excitement, for our mile-long voyage. Two banjos were
tumming somewhere below, and the passengers hummed and
sang to their tunes. A few boats dabbled on the water. Soon the
river meadows with their high thorn hedges lay green on our
right, while the scarp of red rock rose on our left, covered with
the dark trees of summer.
We landed at Colwick Park. It was early, and few people
were there. Dead glass fairy-lamps were slung about the trees.
The grass in places was worn threadbare. We walked through
the avenues and small glades of the park till we came to the
boundary where the race-course stretched its level green, its
winding white barriers running low into the distance. They
sat in the shade for some time while I wandered about. Then
many people began to arrive. It became noisy, even rowdy.
We listened for some time to an open-air concert, given by
the pierrots. It was rather vulgar, and very tiresome. It took
me back to Cowes, to Yarmouth. There were the same fool-
366
THE WHITE PEACOCK
ish over-eyebrowed faces, the same perpetual jingle from an
outof-tune piano, the restless jigging to the songs, the same
choruses, the same escapading. Meg was well pleased. The vulgarity passed by her. She laughed, and sang the choruses half
audibly, daring, but not bold. She was immensely pleased. “Oh,
it’s Ben’s turn now. I like him, he’s got such a wicked twinkle in
his eye. Look at Joey trying to be funny! – He can’t to save his
life. Doesn’t he look soft – !” She began to giggle in George’s
shoulder. He saw the funny side of things for the time and
laughed with her.
During tea, which we took on the green veranda of the degraded hall, she was constantly breaking forth into some chorus, and he would light up as she looked at him and sing with
her, sotto voce. He was not embarrassed at Colwick. There he
had on his best careless, superior air. He moved about with
a certain scornfulness, and ordered lobster for tea off-handedly. This also was a new walk of life. Here he was not hesitating
or tremulously strung; he was patronising. Both Meg and he
thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
When we got back into Nottingham she entreated him not
to go to the hotel as he had proposed, and he readily yielded.
Instead they went to the Castle. We stood on the high rock
in the cool of the day, and watched the sun sloping over the
great river-fl ats where the menial town spread out, and ended,
while the river and the meadows continued into the distance.
In the picture-galleries there was a fi ne collection of Arthur
Melville’s paintings. Meg thought them very ridiculous. I began to expound them, but she was manifestly bored, and he
was half-hearted. Outside in the grounds was a military band
367
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
playing. Meg longed to be there. The townspeople were dancing on the grass. She longed to join them, but she could not
dance. So they sat a while looking on.
We were to go to the theatre in the evening. The Carl
Rosa Company was giving “Carmen” at the Royal. We went
into the dress circle “like giddy dukes”, as I said to him, so that
I could see his eyes dilate with adventure again as he laughed.
In the theatre, among the people in evening dress, he became
once more childish and timorous. He had always the air of one
who does something forbidden, and is charmed, yet fearful,
like a trespassing child. He had begun to trespass that day outside his own estates of Nethermere.
“Carmen” fascinated them both. The gaudy, careless
Southern life amazed them. The bold free way in which Carmen played with life startled them with hints of freedom. They
stared on the stage fascinated. Between the acts they held each
other’s hands, and looked full into each other’s wide bright
eyes, and, laughing with excitement, talked about the opera.
The theatre surged and roared dimly like a hoarse shell. Then
the music rose like a storm, and swept and rattled at their
feet. On the stage the strange storm of life clashed in music
towards tragedy and futile death. The two were shaken with
a tumult of wild feeling. When it was all over they rose bewildered, stunned, she with tears in her eyes, he with a strange
wild beating of his heart.
They were both in a tumult of confused emotion. Their
ears were full of the roaring passion of life, and their eyes were
blinded by a spray of tears and that strange quivering laughter
which burns with real pain. They hurried along the pavement
368
THE WHITE PEACOCK
to the Spread Eagle, Meg clinging to him, running, clasping
her lace scarf over her white frock, like a scared white butterfl y
shaken through the night. We hardly spoke as the horse was
being harnessed and the lamps lighted. In the little smokeroom he drank several whiskies, she sipping out of his glass,
standing all the time ready to go. He pushed into his pocket
great pieces of bread and cheese, to eat on the way home. He
seemed now to be thinking with much acuteness. His few orders were given sharp and terse. He hired an extra light rug in
which to wrap Meg, and then we were ready.
“Who drives?” said I.
He looked at me and smiled faintly.
“You,” he answered.
Meg, like an impatient white fl ame, stood waiting in
the light of the lamps. He covered her, extinguished her in
the dark rug.
CHAPTER II
PUFFS OF WIND IN THE SAIL
The year burst into glory to usher us forth out of the valley of Nethermere. The cherry trees had been gorgeous with
heavy out-reaching boughs of red and gold. Immense vegetable marrows lay prostrate in the bottom garden, their great
tentacles clutching the pond bank. Against the wall the globed
crimson plums hung close together, and dropped occasionally
with a satisfi ed plunge into the rhubarb leaves. The crop of
oats was very heavy. The stalks of corn were like strong reeds
of bamboo; the heads of grain swept heavily over like tresses
weighted with drops of gold.
George spent his time between the Mill and the Ram. The
grandmother had received them with much grumbling but
with real gladness. Meg was re-installed, and George slept at
the Ram. He was extraordinarily bright, almost gay. The fact
was that his new life interested and pleased him keenly. He often talked to me about Meg, how quaint and naïve she was,
how she amused him and delighted him. He rejoiced in having
a place of his own, a home, and a beautiful wife who adored
him. Then the public house was full of strangeness and interest. No hour was ever dull. If he wanted company he could go
into the smoke-room, if he wanted quiet he could sit with Meg,
370
Соседние файлы в предмете [НЕСОРТИРОВАННОЕ]