CHAPTER XIV.
WATER-PARTY
Every year Mr Crich gave a more or less public water-party on the lake.There was a little pleasure-launch on Willey Water and several rowingboats, and guests could take tea either in the marquee that was set upin the grounds of the house, or they could picnic in the shade of thegreat walnut tree at the boat-house by the lake. This year the staff ofthe Grammar-School was invited, along with the chief officials of thefirm. Gerald and the younger Criches did not care for this party, butit had become customary now, and it pleased the father, as being theonly occasion when he could gather some people of the district togetherin festivity with him. For he loved to give pleasures to his dependentsand to those poorer than himself. But his children preferred thecompany of their own equals in wealth. They hated their inferiors'humility or gratitude or awkwardness.
Nevertheless they were willing to attend at this festival, as they haddone almost since they were children, the more so, as they all felt alittle guilty now, and unwilling to thwart their father any more, sincehe was so ill in health. Therefore, quite cheerfully Laura prepared totake her mother's place as hostess, and Gerald assumed responsibilityfor the amusements on the water.
Birkin had written to Ursula saying he expected to see her at theparty, and Gudrun, although she scorned the patronage of the Criches,would nevertheless accompany her mother and father if the weather werefine.
The day came blue and full of sunshine, with little wafts of wind. Thesisters both wore dresses of white crepe, and hats of soft grass. ButGudrun had a sash of brilliant black and pink and yellow colour woundbroadly round her waist, and she had pink silk stockings, and black andpink and yellow decoration on the brim of her hat, weighing it down alittle. She carried also a yellow silk coat over her arm, so that shelooked remarkable, like a painting from the Salon. Her appearance was asore trial to her father, who said angrily:
'Don't you think you might as well get yourself up for a Christmascracker, an'ha' done with it?'
But Gudrun looked handsome and brilliant, and she wore her clothes inpure defiance. When people stared at her, and giggled after her, shemade a point of saying loudly, to Ursula:
'Regarde, regarde ces gens-la! Ne sont-ils pas des hiboux incroyables?'And with the words of French in her mouth, she would look over hershoulder at the giggling party.
'No, really, it's impossible!' Ursula would reply distinctly. And sothe two girls took it out of their universal enemy. But their fatherbecame more and more enraged.
Ursula was all snowy white, save that her hat was pink, and entirelywithout trimming, and her shoes were dark red, and she carried anorange-coloured coat. And in this guise they were walking all the wayto Shortlands, their father and mother going in front.
They were laughing at their mother, who, dressed in a summer materialof black and purple stripes, and wearing a hat of purple straw, wassetting forth with much more of the shyness and trepidation of a younggirl than her daughters ever felt, walking demurely beside her husband,who, as usual, looked rather crumpled in his best suit, as if he werethe father of a young family and had been holding the baby whilst hiswife got dressed.
'Look at the young couple in front,' said Gudrun calmly. Ursula lookedat her mother and father, and was suddenly seized with uncontrollablelaughter. The two girls stood in the road and laughed till the tearsran down their faces, as they caught sight again of the shy, unworldlycouple of their parents going on ahead.
'We are roaring at you, mother,' called Ursula, helplessly followingafter her parents.
Mrs Brangwen turned round with a slightly puzzled, exasperated look.'Oh indeed!' she said. 'What is there so very funny about ME, I shouldlike to know?'
She could not understand that there could be anything amiss with herappearance. She had a perfect calm sufficiency, an easy indifference toany criticism whatsoever, as if she were beyond it. Her clothes werealways rather odd, and as a rule slip-shod, yet she wore them with aperfect ease and satisfaction. Whatever she had on, so long as she wasbarely tidy, she was right, beyond remark; such an aristocrat she wasby instinct.
'You look so stately, like a country Baroness,' said Ursula, laughingwith a little tenderness at her mother's naive puzzled air.
'JUST like a country Baroness!' chimed in Gudrun. Now the mother'snatural hauteur became self-conscious, and the girls shrieked again.
'Go home, you pair of idiots, great giggling idiots!' cried the fatherinflamed with irritation.
'Mm-m-er!' booed Ursula, pulling a face at his crossness.
The yellow lights danced in his eyes, he leaned forward in real rage.
'Don't be so silly as to take any notice of the great gabies,' said MrsBrangwen, turning on her way.
'I'll see if I'm going to be followed by a pair of giggling yellingjackanapes--' he cried vengefully.
The girls stood still, laughing helplessly at his fury, upon the pathbeside the hedge.
'Why you're as silly as they are, to take any notice,' said MrsBrangwen also becoming angry now he was really enraged.
'There are some people coming, father,' cried Ursula, with mockingwarning. He glanced round quickly, and went on to join his wife,walking stiff with rage. And the girls followed, weak with laughter.
When the people had passed by, Brangwen cried in a loud, stupid voice:
'I'm going back home if there's any more of this. I'm damned if I'mgoing to be made a fool of in this fashion, in the public road.'
He was really out of temper. At the sound of his blind, vindictivevoice, the laughter suddenly left the girls, and their heartscontracted with contempt. They hated his words 'in the public road.'What did they care for the public road? But Gudrun was conciliatory.
'But we weren't laughing to HURT you,' she cried, with an uncouthgentleness which made her parents uncomfortable. 'We were laughingbecause we're fond of you.'
'We'll walk on in front, if they are SO touchy,' said Ursula, angry.And in this wise they arrived at Willey Water. The lake was blue andfair, the meadows sloped down in sunshine on one side, the thick darkwoods dropped steeply on the other. The little pleasure-launch wasfussing out from the shore, twanging its music, crowded with people,flapping its paddles. Near the boat-house was a throng of gaily-dressedpersons, small in the distance. And on the high-road, some of thecommon people were standing along the hedge, looking at the festivitybeyond, enviously, like souls not admitted to paradise.
'My eye!' said Gudrun, sotto voce, looking at the motley of guests,'there's a pretty crowd if you like! Imagine yourself in the midst ofthat, my dear.'
Gudrun's apprehensive horror of people in the mass unnerved Ursula. 'Itlooks rather awful,' she said anxiously.
'And imagine what they'll be like--IMAGINE!' said Gudrun, still in thatunnerving, subdued voice. Yet she advanced determinedly.
'I suppose we can get away from them,' said Ursula anxiously.
'We're in a pretty fix if we can't,' said Gudrun. Her extreme ironicloathing and apprehension was very trying to Ursula.
'We needn't stay,' she said.
'I certainly shan't stay five minutes among that little lot,' saidGudrun. They advanced nearer, till they saw policemen at the gates.
'Policemen to keep you in, too!' said Gudrun. 'My word, this is abeautiful affair.'
'We'd better look after father and mother,' said Ursula anxiously.
'Mother's PERFECTLY capable of getting through this littlecelebration,' said Gudrun with some contempt.
But Ursula knew that her father felt uncouth and angry and unhappy, soshe was far from her ease. They waited outside the gate till theirparents came up. The tall, thin man in his crumpled clothes wasunnerved and irritable as a boy, finding himself on the brink of thissocial function. He did not feel a gentleman, he did not feel anythingexcept pure exasperation.
Ursula took her place at his side, they gave their tickets to thepoliceman, and passed in on to the grass, four abreast; the tall, hot,ruddy-dark man with his narrow boyish brow drawn with irritation, thefresh-faced, easy woman, perfectly collected though her hair wasslipping on one side, then Gudrun, her eyes round and dark and staring,her full soft face impassive, almost sulky, so that she seemed to bebacking away in antagonism even whilst she was advancing; and thenUrsula, with the odd, brilliant, dazzled look on her face, that alwayscame when she was in some false situation.
Birkin was the good angel. He came smiling to them with his affectedsocial grace, that somehow was never QUITE right. But he took off hishat and smiled at them with a real smile in his eyes, so that Brangwencried out heartily in relief:
'How do you do? You're better, are you?'
'Yes, I'm better. How do you do, Mrs Brangwen? I know Gudrun and Ursulavery well.'
His eyes smiled full of natural warmth. He had a soft, flatteringmanner with women, particularly with women who were not young.
'Yes,' said Mrs Brangwen, cool but yet gratified. 'I have heard themspeak of you often enough.'
He laughed. Gudrun looked aside, feeling she was being belittled.People were standing about in groups, some women were sitting in theshade of the walnut tree, with cups of tea in their hands, a waiter inevening dress was hurrying round, some girls were simpering withparasols, some young men, who had just come in from rowing, weresitting cross-legged on the grass, coatless, their shirt-sleeves rolledup in manly fashion, their hands resting on their white flanneltrousers, their gaudy ties floating about, as they laughed and tried tobe witty with the young damsels.
'Why,' thought Gudrun churlishly, 'don't they have the manners to puttheir coats on, and not to assume such intimacy in their appearance.'
She abhorred the ordinary young man, with his hair plastered back, andhis easy-going chumminess.
Hermione Roddice came up, in a handsome gown of white lace, trailing anenormous silk shawl blotched with great embroidered flowers, andbalancing an enormous plain hat on her head. She looked striking,astonishing, almost macabre, so tall, with the fringe of her greatcream-coloured vividly-blotched shawl trailing on the ground after her,her thick hair coming low over her eyes, her face strange and long andpale, and the blotches of brilliant colour drawn round her.
'Doesn't she look WEIRD!' Gudrun heard some girls titter behind her.And she could have killed them.
'How do you do!' sang Hermione, coming up very kindly, and glancingslowly over Gudrun's father and mother. It was a trying moment,exasperating for Gudrun. Hermione was really so strongly entrenched inher class superiority, she could come up and know people out of simplecuriosity, as if they were creatures on exhibition. Gudrun would do thesame herself. But she resented being in the position when somebodymight do it to her.
Hermione, very remarkable, and distinguishing the Brangwens very much,led them along to where Laura Crich stood receiving the guests.
'This is Mrs Brangwen,' sang Hermione, and Laura, who wore a stiffembroidered linen dress, shook hands and said she was glad to see her.Then Gerald came up, dressed in white, with a black and brown blazer,and looking handsome. He too was introduced to the Brangwen parents,and immediately he spoke to Mrs Brangwen as if she were a lady, and toBrangwen as if he were NOT a gentleman. Gerlad was so obvious in hisdemeanour. He had to shake hands with his left hand, because he hadhurt his right, and carried it, bandaged up, in the pocket of hisjacket. Gudrun was VERY thankful that none of her party asked him whatwas the matter with the hand.
The steam launch was fussing in, all its music jingling, people callingexcitedly from on board. Gerald went to see to the debarkation, Birkinwas getting tea for Mrs Brangwen, Brangwen had joined a Grammar-Schoolgroup, Hermione was sitting down by their mother, the girls went to thelanding-stage to watch the launch come in.
She hooted and tooted gaily, then her paddles were silent, the ropeswere thrown ashore, she drifted in with a little bump. Immediately thepassengers crowded excitedly to come ashore.
'Wait a minute, wait a minute,' shouted Gerald in sharp command.
They must wait till the boat was tight on the ropes, till the smallgangway was put out. Then they streamed ashore, clamouring as if theyhad come from America.
'Oh it's SO nice!' the young girls were crying. 'It's quite lovely.'
The waiters from on board ran out to the boat-house with baskets, thecaptain lounged on the little bridge. Seeing all safe, Gerald came toGudrun and Ursula.
'You wouldn't care to go on board for the next trip, and have teathere?' he asked.
'No thanks,' said Gudrun coldly.
'You don't care for the water?'
'For the water? Yes, I like it very much.'
He looked at her, his eyes searching.
'You don't care for going on a launch, then?'
She was slow in answering, and then she spoke slowly.
'No,' she said. 'I can't say that I do.' Her colour was high, sheseemed angry about something.
'Un peu trop de monde,' said Ursula, explaining.
'Eh? TROP DE MONDE!' He laughed shortly. 'Yes there's a fair number of'em.'
Gudrun turned on him brilliantly.
'Have you ever been from Westminster Bridge to Richmond on one of theThames steamers?' she cried.
'No,' he said, 'I can't say I have.'
'Well, it's one of the most VILE experiences I've ever had.' She spokerapidly and excitedly, the colour high in her cheeks. 'There wasabsolutely nowhere to sit down, nowhere, a man just above sang ”Rockedin the Cradle of the Deep” the WHOLE way; he was blind and he had asmall organ, one of those portable organs, and he expected money; soyou can imagine what THAT was like; there came a constant smell ofluncheon from below, and puffs of hot oily machinery; the journey tookhours and hours and hours; and for miles, literally for miles, dreadfulboys ran with us on the shore, in that AWFUL Thames mud, going in UP TOTHE WAIST--they had their trousers turned back, and they went up totheir hips in that indescribable Thames mud, their faces always turnedto us, and screaming, exactly like carrion creatures, screaming ”'Erey'are sir, 'ere y'are sir, 'ere y'are sir,” exactly like some foulcarrion objects, perfectly obscene; and paterfamilias on board,laughing when the boys went right down in that awful mud, occasionallythrowing them a ha'penny. And if you'd seen the intent look on thefaces of these boys, and the way they darted in the filth when a coinwas flung--really, no vulture or jackal could dream of approachingthem, for foulness. I NEVER would go on a pleasure boat again--never.'
Gerald watched her all the time she spoke, his eyes glittering withfaint rousedness. It was not so much what she said; it was she herselfwho roused him, roused him with a small, vivid pricking.
'Of course,' he said, 'every civilised body is bound to have itsvermin.'
'Why?' cried Ursula. 'I don't have vermin.'
'And it's not that--it's the QUALITY of the whole thing--paterfamiliaslaughing and thinking it sport, and throwing the ha'pennies, andmaterfamilias spreading her fat little knees and eating, continuallyeating--' replied Gudrun.
'Yes,' said Ursula. 'It isn't the boys so much who are vermin; it's thepeople themselves, the whole body politic, as you call it.'
Gerald laughed.
'Never mind,' he said. 'You shan't go on the launch.'
Gudrun flushed quickly at his rebuke.
There were a few moments of silence. Gerald, like a sentinel, waswatching the people who were going on to the boat. He was verygood-looking and self-contained, but his air of soldierly alertness wasrather irritating.
'Will you have tea here then, or go across to the house, where there'sa tent on the lawn?' he asked.
'Can't we have a rowing boat, and get out?' asked Ursula, who wasalways rushing in too fast.
'To get out?' smiled Gerald.
'You see,' cried Gudrun, flushing at Ursula's outspoken rudeness, 'wedon't know the people, we are almost COMPLETE strangers here.'
'Oh, I can soon set you up with a few acquaintances,' he said easily.
Gudrun looked at him, to see if it were ill-meant. Then she smiled athim.
'Ah,' she said, 'you know what we mean. Can't we go up there, andexplore that coast?' She pointed to a grove on the hillock of themeadow-side, near the shore half way down the lake. 'That looksperfectly lovely. We might even bathe. Isn't it beautiful in thislight. Really, it's like one of the reaches of the Nile--as oneimagines the Nile.'
Gerald smiled at her factitious enthusiasm for the distant spot.
'You're sure it's far enough off?' he asked ironically, adding at once:'Yes, you might go there, if we could get a boat. They seem to be allout.'
He looked round the lake and counted the rowing boats on its surface.
'How lovely it would be!' cried Ursula wistfully.
'And don't you want tea?' he said.
'Oh,' said Gudrun, 'we could just drink a cup, and be off.'
He looked from one to the other, smiling. He was somewhat offended--yetsporting.
'Can you manage a boat pretty well?' he asked.
'Yes,' replied Gudrun, coldly, 'pretty well.'
'Oh yes,' cried Ursula. 'We can both of us row like water-spiders.'
'You can? There's light little canoe of mine, that I didn't take outfor fear somebody should drown themselves. Do you think you'd be safein that?'
'Oh perfectly,' said Gudrun.
'What an angel!' cried Ursula.
'Don't, for MY sake, have an accident--because I'm responsible for thewater.'
'Sure,' pledged Gudrun.
'Besides, we can both swim quite well,' said Ursula.
'Well--then I'll get them to put you up a tea-basket, and you canpicnic all to yourselves,--that's the idea, isn't it?'
'How fearfully good! How frightfully nice if you could!' cried Gudrunwarmly, her colour flushing up again. It made the blood stir in hisveins, the subtle way she turned to him and infused her gratitude intohis body.
'Where's Birkin?' he said, his eyes twinkling. 'He might help me to getit down.'
'But what about your hand? Isn't it hurt?' asked Gudrun, rather muted,as if avoiding the intimacy. This was the first time the hurt had beenmentioned. The curious way she skirted round the subject sent a new,subtle caress through his veins. He took his hand out of his pocket. Itwas bandaged. He looked at it, then put it in his pocket again. Gudrunquivered at the sight of the wrapped up paw.
'Oh I can manage with one hand. The canoe is as light as a feather,' hesaid. 'There's Rupert!--Rupert!'
Birkin turned from his social duties and came towards them.
'What have you done to it?' asked Ursula, who had been aching to putthe question for the last half hour.
'To my hand?' said Gerald. 'I trapped it in some machinery.'
'Ugh!' said Ursula. 'And did it hurt much?'
'Yes,' he said. 'It did at the time. It's getting better now. Itcrushed the fingers.'
'Oh,' cried Ursula, as if in pain, 'I hate people who hurt themselves.I can FEEL it.' And she shook her hand.
'What do you want?' said Birkin.
The two men carried down the slim brown boat, and set it on the water.
'You're quite sure you'll be safe in it?' Gerald asked.
'Quite sure,' said Gudrun. 'I wouldn't be so mean as to take it, ifthere was the slightest doubt. But I've had a canoe at Arundel, and Iassure you I'm perfectly safe.'
So saying, having given her word like a man, she and Ursula entered thefrail craft, and pushed gently off. The two men stood watching them.Gudrun was paddling. She knew the men were watching her, and it madeher slow and rather clumsy. The colour flew in her face like a flag.
'Thanks awfully,' she called back to him, from the water, as the boatslid away. 'It's lovely--like sitting in a leaf.'
He laughed at the fancy. Her voice was shrill and strange, calling fromthe distance. He watched her as she paddled away. There was somethingchildlike about her, trustful and deferential, like a child. He watchedher all the while, as she rowed. And to Gudrun it was a real delight,in make-belief, to be the childlike, clinging woman to the man whostood there on the quay, so good-looking and efficient in his whiteclothes, and moreover the most important man she knew at the moment.She did not take any notice of the wavering, indistinct, lambentBirkin, who stood at his side. One figure at a time occupied the fieldof her attention.
The boat rustled lightly along the water. They passed the bathers whosestriped tents stood between the willows of the meadow's edge, and drewalong the open shore, past the meadows that sloped golden in the lightof the already late afternoon. Other boats were stealing under thewooded shore opposite, they could hear people's laughter and voices.But Gudrun rowed on towards the clump of trees that balanced perfect inthe distance, in the golden light.
The sisters found a little place where a tiny stream flowed into thelake, with reeds and flowery marsh of pink willow herb, and a gravellybank to the side. Here they ran delicately ashore, with their frailboat, the two girls took off their shoes and stockings and went throughthe water's edge to the grass. The tiny ripples of the lake were warmand clear, they lifted their boat on to the bank, and looked round withjoy. They were quite alone in a forsaken little stream-mouth, and onthe knoll just behind was the clump of trees.
'We will bathe just for a moment,' said Ursula, 'and then we'll havetea.'
They looked round. Nobody could notice them, or could come up in timeto see them. In less than a minute Ursula had thrown off her clothesand had slipped naked into the water, and was swimming out. Quickly,Gudrun joined her. They swam silently and blissfully for a few minutes,circling round their little stream-mouth. Then they slipped ashore andran into the grove again, like nymphs.
'How lovely it is to be free,' said Ursula, running swiftly here andthere between the tree trunks, quite naked, her hair blowing loose. Thegrove was of beech-trees, big and splendid, a steel-grey scaffolding oftrunks and boughs, with level sprays of strong green here and there,whilst through the northern side the distance glimmered open as througha window.
When they had run and danced themselves dry, the girls quickly dressedand sat down to the fragrant tea. They sat on the northern side of thegrove, in the yellow sunshine facing the slope of the grassy hill,alone in a little wild world of their own. The tea was hot andaromatic, there were delicious little sandwiches of cucumber and ofcaviare, and winy cakes.
'Are you happy, Prune?' cried Ursula in delight, looking at her sister.
'Ursula, I'm perfectly happy,' replied Gudrun gravely, looking at thewestering sun.
'So am I.'
When they were together, doing the things they enjoyed, the two sisterswere quite complete in a perfect world of their own. And this was oneof the perfect moments of freedom and delight, such as children aloneknow, when all seems a perfect and blissful adventure.
When they had finished tea, the two girls sat on, silent and serene.Then Ursula, who had a beautiful strong voice, began to sing toherself, softly: 'Annchen von Tharau.' Gudrun listened, as she satbeneath the trees, and the yearning came into her heart. Ursula seemedso peaceful and sufficient unto herself, sitting there unconsciouslycrooning her song, strong and unquestioned at the centre of her ownuniverse. And Gudrun felt herself outside. Always this desolating,agonised feeling, that she was outside of life, an onlooker, whilstUrsula was a partaker, caused Gudrun to suffer from a sense of her ownnegation, and made her, that she must always demand the other to beaware of her, to be in connection with her.
'Do you mind if I do Dalcroze to that tune, Hurtler?' she asked in acurious muted tone, scarce moving her lips.
'What did you say?' asked Ursula, looking up in peaceful surprise.
'Will you sing while I do Dalcroze?' said Gudrun, suffering at havingto repeat herself.
Ursula thought a moment, gathering her straying wits together.
'While you do--?' she asked vaguely.
'Dalcroze movements,' said Gudrun, suffering tortures ofself-consciousness, even because of her sister.
'Oh Dalcroze! I couldn't catch the name. DO--I should love to see you,'cried Ursula, with childish surprised brightness. 'What shall I sing?'
'Sing anything you like, and I'll take the rhythm from it.'
But Ursula could not for her life think of anything to sing. However,she suddenly began, in a laughing, teasing voice:
'My love--is a high-born lady--'
Gudrun, looking as if some invisible chain weighed on her hands andfeet, began slowly to dance in the eurythmic manner, pulsing andfluttering rhythmically with her feet, making slower, regular gestureswith her hands and arms, now spreading her arms wide, now raising themabove her head, now flinging them softly apart, and lifting her face,her feet all the time beating and running to the measure of the song,as if it were some strange incantation, her white, rapt form driftinghere and there in a strange impulsive rhapsody, seeming to be lifted ona breeze of incantation, shuddering with strange little runs. Ursulasat on the grass, her mouth open in her singing, her eyes laughing asif she thought it was a great joke, but a yellow light flashing up inthem, as she caught some of the unconscious ritualistic suggestion ofthe complex shuddering and waving and drifting of her sister's whiteform, that was clutched in pure, mindless, tossing rhythm, and a willset powerful in a kind of hypnotic influence.
'My love is a high-born lady--She is-s-s--rather dark than shady--'rang out Ursula's laughing, satiric song, and quicker, fiercer wentGudrun in the dance, stamping as if she were trying to throw off somebond, flinging her hands suddenly and stamping again, then rushing withface uplifted and throat full and beautiful, and eyes half closed,sightless. The sun was low and yellow, sinking down, and in the skyfloated a thin, ineffectual moon.
Ursula was quite absorbed in her song, when suddenly Gudrun stopped andsaid mildly, ironically:
'Ursula!'
'Yes?' said Ursula, opening her eyes out of the trance.
Gudrun was standing still and pointing, a mocking smile on her face,towards the side.
'Ugh!' cried Ursula in sudden panic, starting to her feet.
'They're quite all right,' rang out Gudrun's sardonic voice.
On the left stood a little cluster of Highland cattle, vividly colouredand fleecy in the evening light, their horns branching into the sky,pushing forward their muzzles inquisitively, to know what it was allabout. Their eyes glittered through their tangle of hair, their nakednostrils were full of shadow.
'Won't they do anything?' cried Ursula in fear.
Gudrun, who was usually frightened of cattle, now shook her head in aqueer, half-doubtful, half-sardonic motion, a faint smile round hermouth.
'Don't they look charming, Ursula?' cried Gudrun, in a high, stridentvoice, something like the scream of a seagull.
'Charming,' cried Ursula in trepidation. 'But won't they do anything tous?'
Again Gudrun looked back at her sister with an enigmatic smile, andshook her head.
'I'm sure they won't,' she said, as if she had to convince herselfalso, and yet, as if she were confident of some secret power inherself, and had to put it to the test. 'Sit down and sing again,' shecalled in her high, strident voice.
'I'm frightened,' cried Ursula, in a pathetic voice, watching the groupof sturdy short cattle, that stood with their knees planted, andwatched with their dark, wicked eyes, through the matted fringe oftheir hair. Nevertheless, she sank down again, in her former posture.
'They are quite safe,' came Gudrun's high call. 'Sing something, you'veonly to sing something.'
It was evident she had a strange passion to dance before the sturdy,handsome cattle.
Ursula began to sing, in a false quavering voice:
'Way down in Tennessee--'
She sounded purely anxious. Nevertheless, Gudrun, with her armsoutspread and her face uplifted, went in a strange palpitating dancetowards the cattle, lifting her body towards them as if in a spell, herfeet pulsing as if in some little frenzy of unconscious sensation, herarms, her wrists, her hands stretching and heaving and falling andreaching and reaching and falling, her breasts lifted and shakentowards the cattle, her throat exposed as in some voluptuous ecstasytowards them, whilst she drifted imperceptibly nearer, an uncanny whitefigure, towards them, carried away in its own rapt trance, ebbing instrange fluctuations upon the cattle, that waited, and ducked theirheads a little in sudden contraction from her, watching all the time asif hypnotised, their bare horns branching in the clear light, as thewhite figure of the woman ebbed upon them, in the slow, hypnotisingconvulsion of the dance. She could feel them just in front of her, itwas as if she had the electric pulse from their breasts running intoher hands. Soon she would touch them, actually touch them. A terribleshiver of fear and pleasure went through her. And all the while,Ursula, spell-bound, kept up her high-pitched thin, irrelevant song,which pierced the fading evening like an incantation.
Gudrun could hear the cattle breathing heavily with helpless fear andfascination. Oh, they were brave little beasts, these wild Scotchbullocks, wild and fleecy. Suddenly one of them snorted, ducked itshead, and backed.
'Hue! Hi-eee!' came a sudden loud shout from the edge of the grove. Thecattle broke and fell back quite spontaneously, went running up thehill, their fleece waving like fire to their motion. Gudrun stoodsuspended out on the grass, Ursula rose to her feet.
It was Gerald and Birkin come to find them, and Gerald had cried out tofrighten off the cattle.
'What do you think you're doing?' he now called, in a high, wonderingvexed tone.
'Why have you come?' came back Gudrun's strident cry of anger.
'What do you think you were doing?' Gerald repeated, auto-matically.
'We were doing eurythmics,' laughed Ursula, in a shaken voice.
Gudrun stood aloof looking at them with large dark eyes of resentment,suspended for a few moments. Then she walked away up the hill, afterthe cattle, which had gathered in a little, spell-bound cluster higherup.
'Where are you going?' Gerald called after her. And he followed her upthe hill-side. The sun had gone behind the hill, and shadows wereclinging to the earth, the sky above was full of travelling light.
'A poor song for a dance,' said Birkin to Ursula, standing before herwith a sardonic, flickering laugh on his face. And in another second,he was singing softly to himself, and dancing a grotesque step-dance infront of her, his limbs and body shaking loose, his face flickeringpalely, a constant thing, whilst his feet beat a rapid mocking tattoo,and his body seemed to hang all loose and quaking in between, like ashadow.
'I think we've all gone mad,' she said, laughing rather frightened.
'Pity we aren't madder,' he answered, as he kept up the incessantshaking dance. Then suddenly he leaned up to her and kissed her fingerslightly, putting his face to hers and looking into her eyes with a palegrin. She stepped back, affronted.
'Offended--?' he asked ironically, suddenly going quite still andreserved again. 'I thought you liked the light fantastic.'
'Not like that,' she said, confused and bewildered, almost affronted.Yet somewhere inside her she was fascinated by the sight of his loose,vibrating body, perfectly abandoned to its own dropping and swinging,and by the pallid, sardonic-smiling face above. Yet automatically shestiffened herself away, and disapproved. It seemed almost an obscenity,in a man who talked as a rule so very seriously.
'Why not like that?' he mocked. And immediately he dropped again intothe incredibly rapid, slack-waggling dance, watching her malevolently.And moving in the rapid, stationary dance, he came a little nearer, andreached forward with an incredibly mocking, satiric gleam on his face,and would have kissed her again, had she not started back.
'No, don't!' she cried, really afraid.
'Cordelia after all,' he said satirically. She was stung, as if thiswere an insult. She knew he intended it as such, and it bewildered her.
'And you,' she cried in retort, 'why do you always take your soul inyour mouth, so frightfully full?'
'So that I can spit it out the more readily,' he said, pleased by hisown retort.
Gerald Crich, his face narrowing to an intent gleam, followed up thehill with quick strides, straight after Gudrun. The cattle stood withtheir noses together on the brow of a slope, watching the scene below,the men in white hovering about the white forms of the women, watchingabove all Gudrun, who was advancing slowly towards them. She stood amoment, glancing back at Gerald, and then at the cattle.
Then in a sudden motion, she lifted her arms and rushed sheer upon thelong-horned bullocks, in shuddering irregular runs, pausing for asecond and looking at them, then lifting her hands and running forwardwith a flash, till they ceased pawing the ground, and gave way,snorting with terror, lifting their heads from the ground and flingingthemselves away, galloping off into the evening, becoming tiny in thedistance, and still not stopping.
Gudrun remained staring after them, with a mask-like defiant face.
'Why do you want to drive them mad?' asked Gerald, coming up with her.
She took no notice of him, only averted her face from him. 'It's notsafe, you know,' he persisted. 'They're nasty, when they do turn.'
'Turn where? Turn away?' she mocked loudly.
'No,' he said, 'turn against you.'
'Turn against ME?' she mocked.
He could make nothing of this.
'Anyway, they gored one of the farmer's cows to death, the other day,'he said.
'What do I care?' she said.
'I cared though,' he replied, 'seeing that they're my cattle.'
'How are they yours! You haven't swallowed them. Give me one of themnow,' she said, holding out her hand.
'You know where they are,' he said, pointing over the hill. 'You canhave one if you'd like it sent to you later on.'
She looked at him inscrutably.
'You think I'm afraid of you and your cattle, don't you?' she asked.
His eyes narrowed dangerously. There was a faint domineering smile onhis face.
'Why should I think that?' he said.
She was watching him all the time with her dark, dilated, inchoateeyes. She leaned forward and swung round her arm, catching him a lightblow on the face with the back of her hand.
'That's why,' she said, mocking.
And she felt in her soul an unconquerable desire for deep violenceagainst him. She shut off the fear and dismay that filled her consciousmind. She wanted to do as she did, she was not going to be afraid.
He recoiled from the slight blow on his face. He became deadly pale,and a dangerous flame darkened his eyes. For some seconds he could notspeak, his lungs were so suffused with blood, his heart stretchedalmost to bursting with a great gush of ungovernable emotion. It was asif some reservoir of black emotion had burst within him, and swampedhim.
'You have struck the first blow,' he said at last, forcing the wordsfrom his lungs, in a voice so soft and low, it sounded like a dreamwithin her, not spoken in the outer air.
'And I shall strike the last,' she retorted involuntarily, withconfident assurance. He was silent, he did not contradict her.
She stood negligently, staring away from him, into the distance. On theedge of her consciousness the question was asking itself,automatically:
'Why ARE you behaving in this IMPOSSIBLE and ridiculous fashion.' Butshe was sullen, she half shoved the question out of herself. She couldnot get it clean away, so she felt self-conscious.
Gerald, very pale, was watching her closely. His eyes were lit up withintent lights, absorbed and gleaming. She turned suddenly on him.
'It's you who make me behave like this, you know,' she said, almostsuggestive.
'I? How?' he said.
But she turned away, and set off towards the lake. Below, on the water,lanterns were coming alight, faint ghosts of warm flame floating in thepallor of the first twilight. The earth was spread with darkness, likelacquer, overhead was a pale sky, all primrose, and the lake was paleas milk in one part. Away at the landing stage, tiniest points ofcoloured rays were stringing themselves in the dusk. The launch wasbeing illuminated. All round, shadow was gathering from the trees.
Gerald, white like a presence in his summer clothes, was following downthe open grassy slope. Gudrun waited for him to come up. Then shesoftly put out her hand and touched him, saying softly:
'Don't be angry with me.'
A flame flew over him, and he was unconscious. Yet he stammered:
'I'm not angry with you. I'm in love with you.'
His mind was gone, he grasped for sufficient mechanical control, tosave himself. She laughed a silvery little mockery, yet intolerablycaressive.
'That's one way of putting it,' she said.
The terrible swooning burden on his mind, the awful swooning, the lossof all his control, was too much for him. He grasped her arm in his onehand, as if his hand were iron.
'It's all right, then, is it?' he said, holding her arrested.
She looked at the face with the fixed eyes, set before her, and herblood ran cold.
'Yes, it's all right,' she said softly, as if drugged, her voicecrooning and witch-like.
He walked on beside her, a striding, mindless body. But he recovered alittle as he went. He suffered badly. He had killed his brother when aboy, and was set apart, like Cain.
They found Birkin and Ursula sitting together by the boats, talking andlaughing. Birkin had been teasing Ursula.
'Do you smell this little marsh?' he said, sniffing the air. He wasvery sensitive to scents, and quick in understanding them.
'It's rather nice,' she said.
'No,' he replied, 'alarming.'
'Why alarming?' she laughed.
'It seethes and seethes, a river of darkness,' he said, 'putting forthlilies and snakes, and the ignis fatuus, and rolling all the timeonward. That's what we never take into count--that it rolls onwards.'
'What does?'
'The other river, the black river. We always consider the silver riverof life, rolling on and quickening all the world to a brightness, onand on to heaven, flowing into a bright eternal sea, a heaven of angelsthronging. But the other is our real reality--'
'But what other? I don't see any other,' said Ursula.
'It is your reality, nevertheless,' he said; 'that dark river ofdissolution. You see it rolls in us just as the other rolls--the blackriver of corruption. And our flowers are of this--our sea-bornAphrodite, all our white phosphorescent flowers of sensuous perfection,all our reality, nowadays.'
'You mean that Aphrodite is really deathly?' asked Ursula.
'I mean she is the flowering mystery of the death-process, yes,' hereplied. 'When the stream of synthetic creation lapses, we findourselves part of the inverse process, the blood of destructivecreation. Aphrodite is born in the first spasm of universaldissolution--then the snakes and swans and lotus--marsh-flowers--andGudrun and Gerald--born in the process of destructive creation.'
'And you and me--?' she asked.
'Probably,' he replied. 'In part, certainly. Whether we are that, intoto, I don't yet know.'
'You mean we are flowers of dissolution--fleurs du mal? I don't feel asif I were,' she protested.
He was silent for a time.
'I don't feel as if we were, ALTOGETHER,' he replied. 'Some people arepure flowers of dark corruption--lilies. But there ought to be someroses, warm and flamy. You know Herakleitos says ”a dry soul is best.”I know so well what that means. Do you?'
'I'm not sure,' Ursula replied. 'But what if people ARE all flowers ofdissolution--when they're flowers at all--what difference does itmake?'
'No difference--and all the difference. Dissolution rolls on, just asproduction does,' he said. 'It is a progressive process--and it ends inuniversal nothing--the end of the world, if you like. But why isn't theend of the world as good as the beginning?'
'I suppose it isn't,' said Ursula, rather angry.
'Oh yes, ultimately,' he said. 'It means a new cycle of creationafter--but not for us. If it is the end, then we are of the end--fleursdu mal if you like. If we are fleurs du mal, we are not roses ofhappiness, and there you are.'
'But I think I am,' said Ursula. 'I think I am a rose of happiness.'
'Ready-made?' he asked ironically.
'No--real,' she said, hurt.
'If we are the end, we are not the beginning,' he said.
'Yes we are,' she said. 'The beginning comes out of the end.'
'After it, not out of it. After us, not out of us.'
'You are a devil, you know, really,' she said. 'You want to destroy ourhope. You WANT US to be deathly.'
'No,' he said, 'I only want us to KNOW what we are.'
'Ha!' she cried in anger. 'You only want us to know death.'
'You're quite right,' said the soft voice of Gerald, out of the duskbehind.
Birkin rose. Gerald and Gudrun came up. They all began to smoke, in themoments of silence. One after another, Birkin lighted their cigarettes.The match flickered in the twilight, and they were all smokingpeacefully by the water-side. The lake was dim, the light dying fromoff it, in the midst of the dark land. The air all round wasintangible, neither here nor there, and there was an unreal noise ofbanjoes, or suchlike music.
As the golden swim of light overhead died out, the moon gainedbrightness, and seemed to begin to smile forth her ascendancy. The darkwoods on the opposite shore melted into universal shadow. And amid thisuniversal under-shadow, there was a scattered intrusion of lights. Fardown the lake were fantastic pale strings of colour, like beads of wanfire, green and red and yellow. The music came out in a little puff, asthe launch, all illuminated, veered into the great shadow, stirring heroutlines of half-living lights, puffing out her music in little drifts.
All were lighting up. Here and there, close against the faint water,and at the far end of the lake, where the water lay milky in the lastwhiteness of the sky, and there was no shadow, solitary, frail flamesof lanterns floated from the unseen boats. There was a sound of oars,and a boat passed from the pallor into the darkness under the wood,where her lanterns seemed to kindle into fire, hanging in ruddy lovelyglobes. And again, in the lake, shadowy red gleams hovered inreflection about the boat. Everywhere were these noiseless ruddycreatures of fire drifting near the surface of the water, caught at bythe rarest, scarce visible reflections.
Birkin brought the lanterns from the bigger boat, and the four shadowywhite figures gathered round, to light them. Ursula held up the first,Birkin lowered the light from the rosy, glowing cup of his hands, intothe depths of the lantern. It was kindled, and they all stood back tolook at the great blue moon of light that hung from Ursula's hand,casting a strange gleam on her face. It flickered, and Birkin wentbending over the well of light. His face shone out like an apparition,so unconscious, and again, something demoniacal. Ursula was dim andveiled, looming over him.
'That is all right,' said his voice softly.
She held up the lantern. It had a flight of storks streaming through aturquoise sky of light, over a dark earth.
'This is beautiful,' she said.
'Lovely,' echoed Gudrun, who wanted to hold one also, and lift it upfull of beauty.
'Light one for me,' she said. Gerald stood by her, incapacitated.Birkin lit the lantern she held up. Her heart beat with anxiety, to seehow beautiful it would be. It was primrose yellow, with tall straightflowers growing darkly from their dark leaves, lifting their heads intothe primrose day, while butterflies hovered about them, in the pureclear light.
Gudrun gave a little cry of excitement, as if pierced with delight.
'Isn't it beautiful, oh, isn't it beautiful!'
Her soul was really pierced with beauty, she was translated beyondherself. Gerald leaned near to her, into her zone of light, as if tosee. He came close to her, and stood touching her, looking with her atthe primrose-shining globe. And she turned her face to his, that wasfaintly bright in the light of the lantern, and they stood together inone luminous union, close together and ringed round with light, all therest excluded.
Birkin looked away, and went to light Ursula's second lantern. It had apale ruddy sea-bottom, with black crabs and sea-weed moving sinuouslyunder a transparent sea, that passed into flamy ruddiness above.
'You've got the heavens above, and the waters under the earth,' saidBirkin to her.
'Anything but the earth itself,' she laughed, watching his live handsthat hovered to attend to the light.
'I'm dying to see what my second one is,' cried Gudrun, in a vibratingrather strident voice, that seemed to repel the others from her.
Birkin went and kindled it. It was of a lovely deep blue colour, with ared floor, and a great white cuttle-fish flowing in white soft streamsall over it. The cuttle-fish had a face that stared straight from theheart of the light, very fixed and coldly intent.
'How truly terrifying!' exclaimed Gudrun, in a voice of horror. Gerald,at her side, gave a low laugh.
'But isn't it really fearful!' she cried in dismay.
Again he laughed, and said:
'Change it with Ursula, for the crabs.'
Gudrun was silent for a moment.
'Ursula,' she said, 'could you bear to have this fearful thing?'
'I think the colouring is LOVELY,' said Ursula.
'So do I,' said Gudrun. 'But could you BEAR to have it swinging to yourboat? Don't you want to destroy it at ONCE?'
'Oh no,' said Ursula. 'I don't want to destroy it.'
'Well do you mind having it instead of the crabs? Are you sure youdon't mind?'
Gudrun came forward to exchange lanterns.
'No,' said Ursula, yielding up the crabs and receiving the cuttle-fish.
Yet she could not help feeling rather resentful at the way in whichGudrun and Gerald should assume a right over her, a precedence.
'Come then,' said Birkin. 'I'll put them on the boats.'
He and Ursula were moving away to the big boat.
'I suppose you'll row me back, Rupert,' said Gerald, out of the paleshadow of the evening.
'Won't you go with Gudrun in the canoe?' said Birkin. 'It'll be moreinteresting.'
There was a moment's pause. Birkin and Ursula stood dimly, with theirswinging lanterns, by the water's edge. The world was all illusive.
'Is that all right?' said Gudrun to him.
'It'll suit ME very well,' he said. 'But what about you, and therowing? I don't see why you should pull me.'
'Why not?' she said. 'I can pull you as well as I could pull Ursula.'
By her tone he could tell she wanted to have him in the boat toherself, and that she was subtly gratified that she should have powerover them both. He gave himself, in a strange, electric submission.
She handed him the lanterns, whilst she went to fix the cane at the endof the canoe. He followed after her, and stood with the lanternsdangling against his white-flannelled thighs, emphasising the shadowaround.
'Kiss me before we go,' came his voice softly from out of the shadowabove.
She stopped her work in real, momentary astonishment.
'But why?' she exclaimed, in pure surprise.
'Why?' he echoed, ironically.
And she looked at him fixedly for some moments. Then she leaned forwardand kissed him, with a slow, luxurious kiss, lingering on the mouth.And then she took the lanterns from him, while he stood swooning withthe perfect fire that burned in all his joints.
They lifted the canoe into the water, Gudrun took her place, and Geraldpushed off.
'Are you sure you don't hurt your hand, doing that?' she asked,solicitous. 'Because I could have done it PERFECTLY.'
'I don't hurt myself,' he said in a low, soft voice, that caressed herwith inexpressible beauty.
And she watched him as he sat near her, very near to her, in the sternof the canoe, his legs coming towards hers, his feet touching hers. Andshe paddled softly, lingeringly, longing for him to say somethingmeaningful to her. But he remained silent.
'You like this, do you?' she said, in a gentle, solicitous voice.
He laughed shortly.
'There is a space between us,' he said, in the same low, unconsciousvoice, as if something were speaking out of him. And she was as ifmagically aware of their being balanced in separation, in the boat. Sheswooned with acute comprehension and pleasure.
'But I'm very near,' she said caressively, gaily.
'Yet distant, distant,' he said.
Again she was silent with pleasure, before she answered, speaking witha reedy, thrilled voice:
'Yet we cannot very well change, whilst we are on the water.' Shecaressed him subtly and strangely, having him completely at her mercy.
A dozen or more boats on the lake swung their rosy and moon-likelanterns low on the water, that reflected as from a fire. In thedistance, the steamer twanged and thrummed and washed with herfaintly-splashing paddles, trailing her strings of coloured lights, andoccasionally lighting up the whole scene luridly with an effusion offireworks, Roman candles and sheafs of stars and other simple effects,illuminating the surface of the water, and showing the boats creepinground, low down. Then the lovely darkness fell again, the lanterns andthe little threaded lights glimmered softly, there was a muffledknocking of oars and a waving of music.
Gudrun paddled almost imperceptibly. Gerald could see, not far ahead,the rich blue and the rose globes of Ursula's lanterns swaying softlycheek to cheek as Birkin rowed, and iridescent, evanescent gleamschasing in the wake. He was aware, too, of his own delicately colouredlights casting their softness behind him.
Gudrun rested her paddle and looked round. The canoe lifted with thelightest ebbing of the water. Gerald's white knees were very near toher.
'Isn't it beautiful!' she said softly, as if reverently.
She looked at him, as he leaned back against the faint crystal of thelantern-light. She could see his face, although it was a pure shadow.But it was a piece of twilight. And her breast was keen with passionfor him, he was so beautiful in his male stillness and mystery. It wasa certain pure effluence of maleness, like an aroma from his softly,firmly moulded contours, a certain rich perfection of his presence,that touched her with an ecstasy, a thrill of pure intoxication. Sheloved to look at him. For the present she did not want to touch him, toknow the further, satisfying substance of his living body. He waspurely intangible, yet so near. Her hands lay on the paddle likeslumber, she only wanted to see him, like a crystal shadow, to feel hisessential presence.
'Yes,' he said vaguely. 'It is very beautiful.'
He was listening to the faint near sounds, the dropping of water-dropsfrom the oar-blades, the slight drumming of the lanterns behind him, asthey rubbed against one another, the occasional rustling of Gudrun'sfull skirt, an alien land noise. His mind was almost submerged, he wasalmost transfused, lapsed out for the first time in his life, into thethings about him. For he always kept such a keen attentiveness,concentrated and unyielding in himself. Now he had let go,imperceptibly he was melting into oneness with the whole. It was likepure, perfect sleep, his first great sleep of life. He had been soinsistent, so guarded, all his life. But here was sleep, and peace, andperfect lapsing out.
'Shall I row to the landing-stage?' asked Gudrun wistfully.
'Anywhere,' he answered. 'Let it drift.'
'Tell me then, if we are running into anything,' she replied, in thatvery quiet, toneless voice of sheer intimacy.
'The lights will show,' he said.
So they drifted almost motionless, in silence. He wanted silence, pureand whole. But she was uneasy yet for some word, for some assurance.
'Nobody will miss you?' she asked, anxious for some communication.
'Miss me?' he echoed. 'No! Why?'
'I wondered if anybody would be looking for you.'
'Why should they look for me?' And then he remembered his manners. 'Butperhaps you want to get back,' he said, in a changed voice.
'No, I don't want to get back,' she replied. 'No, I assure you.'
'You're quite sure it's all right for you?'
'Perfectly all right.'
And again they were still. The launch twanged and hooted, somebody wassinging. Then as if the night smashed, suddenly there was a greatshout, a confusion of shouting, warring on the water, then the horridnoise of paddles reversed and churned violently.
Gerald sat up, and Gudrun looked at him in fear.
'Somebody in the water,' he said, angrily, and desperately, lookingkeenly across the dusk. 'Can you row up?'
'Where, to the launch?' asked Gudrun, in nervous panic.
'Yes.'
'You'll tell me if I don't steer straight,' she said, in nervousapprehension.
'You keep pretty level,' he said, and the canoe hastened forward.
The shouting and the noise continued, sounding horrid through the dusk,over the surface of the water.
'Wasn't this BOUND to happen?' said Gudrun, with heavy hateful irony.But he hardly heard, and she glanced over her shoulder to see her way.The half-dark waters were sprinkled with lovely bubbles of swayinglights, the launch did not look far off. She was rocking her lights inthe early night. Gudrun rowed as hard as she could. But now that it wasa serious matter, she seemed uncertain and clumsy in her stroke, it wasdifficult to paddle swiftly. She glanced at his face. He was lookingfixedly into the darkness, very keen and alert and single in himself,instrumental. Her heart sank, she seemed to die a death. 'Of course,'she said to herself, 'nobody will be drowned. Of course they won't. Itwould be too extravagant and sensational.' But her heart was cold,because of his sharp impersonal face. It was as if he belongednaturally to dread and catastrophe, as if he were himself again.
Then there came a child's voice, a girl's high, piercing shriek:
'Di--Di--Di--Di--Oh Di--Oh Di--Oh Di!'
The blood ran cold in Gudrun's veins.
'It's Diana, is it,' muttered Gerald. 'The young monkey, she'd have tobe up to some of her tricks.'
And he glanced again at the paddle, the boat was not going quicklyenough for him. It made Gudrun almost helpless at the rowing, thisnervous stress. She kept up with all her might. Still the voices werecalling and answering.
'Where, where? There you are--that's it. Which? No--No-o-o. Damn itall, here, HERE--' Boats were hurrying from all directions to thescene, coloured lanterns could be seen waving close to the surface ofthe lake, reflections swaying after them in uneven haste. The steamerhooted again, for some unknown reason. Gudrun's boat was travellingquickly, the lanterns were swinging behind Gerald.
And then again came the child's high, screaming voice, with a note ofweeping and impatience in it now:
'Di--Oh Di--Oh Di--Di--!'
It was a terrible sound, coming through the obscure air of the evening.
'You'd be better if you were in bed, Winnie,' Gerald muttered tohimself.
He was stooping unlacing his shoes, pushing them off with the foot.Then he threw his soft hat into the bottom of the boat.
'You can't go into the water with your hurt hand,' said Gudrun,panting, in a low voice of horror.
'What? It won't hurt.'
He had struggled out of his jacket, and had dropped it between hisfeet. He sat bare-headed, all in white now. He felt the belt at hiswaist. They were nearing the launch, which stood still big above them,her myriad lamps making lovely darts, and sinuous running tongues ofugly red and green and yellow light on the lustrous dark water, underthe shadow.
'Oh get her out! Oh Di, DARLING! Oh get her out! Oh Daddy, Oh Daddy!'moaned the child's voice, in distraction. Somebody was in the water,with a life belt. Two boats paddled near, their lanterns swingingineffectually, the boats nosing round.
'Hi there--Rockley!--hi there!'
'Mr Gerald!' came the captain's terrified voice. 'Miss Diana's in thewater.'
'Anybody gone in for her?' came Gerald's sharp voice.
'Young Doctor Brindell, sir.'
'Where?'
'Can't see no signs of them, sir. Everybody's looking, but there'snothing so far.'
There was a moment's ominous pause.
'Where did she go in?'
'I think--about where that boat is,' came the uncertain answer, 'thatone with red and green lights.'
'Row there,' said Gerald quietly to Gudrun.
'Get her out, Gerald, oh get her out,' the child's voice was cryinganxiously. He took no heed.
'Lean back that way,' said Gerald to Gudrun, as he stood up in thefrail boat. 'She won't upset.'
In another moment, he had dropped clean down, soft and plumb, into thewater. Gudrun was swaying violently in her boat, the agitated watershook with transient lights, she realised that it was faintlymoonlight, and that he was gone. So it was possible to be gone. Aterrible sense of fatality robbed her of all feeling and thought. Sheknew he was gone out of the world, there was merely the same world, andabsence, his absence. The night seemed large and vacuous. Lanternsswayed here and there, people were talking in an undertone on thelaunch and in the boats. She could hear Winifred moaning: 'OH DO FINDHER GERALD, DO FIND HER,' and someone trying to comfort the child.Gudrun paddled aimlessly here and there. The terrible, massive, cold,boundless surface of the water terrified her beyond words. Would henever come back? She felt she must jump into the water too, to know thehorror also.
She started, hearing someone say: 'There he is.' She saw the movementof his swimming, like a water-rat. And she rowed involuntarily to him.But he was near another boat, a bigger one. Still she rowed towardshim. She must be very near. She saw him--he looked like a seal. Helooked like a seal as he took hold of the side of the boat. His fairhair was washed down on his round head, his face seemed to glistensuavely. She could hear him panting.
Then he clambered into the boat. Oh, and the beauty of the subjectionof his loins, white and dimly luminous as he climbed over the side ofthe boat, made her want to die, to die. The beauty of his dim andluminous loins as he climbed into the boat, his back rounded andsoft--ah, this was too much for her, too final a vision. She knew it,and it was fatal The terrible hopelessness of fate, and of beauty, suchbeauty!
He was not like a man to her, he was an incarnation, a great phase oflife. She saw him press the water out of his face, and look at thebandage on his hand. And she knew it was all no good, and that shewould never go beyond him, he was the final approximation of life toher.
'Put the lights out, we shall see better,' came his voice, sudden andmechanical and belonging to the world of man. She could scarcelybelieve there was a world of man. She leaned round and blew out herlanterns. They were difficult to blow out. Everywhere the lights weregone save the coloured points on the sides of the launch. Theblueygrey, early night spread level around, the moon was overhead,there were shadows of boats here and there.
Again there was a splash, and he was gone under. Gudrun sat, sick atheart, frightened of the great, level surface of the water, so heavyand deadly. She was so alone, with the level, unliving field of thewater stretching beneath her. It was not a good isolation, it was aterrible, cold separation of suspense. She was suspended upon thesurface of the insidious reality until such time as she also shoulddisappear beneath it.
Then she knew, by a stirring of voices, that he had climbed out again,into a boat. She sat wanting connection with him. Strenuously sheclaimed her connection with him, across the invisible space of thewater. But round her heart was an isolation unbearable, through whichnothing would penetrate.
'Take the launch in. It's no use keeping her there. Get lines for thedragging,' came the decisive, instrumental voice, that was full of thesound of the world.
The launch began gradually to beat the waters.
'Gerald! Gerald!' came the wild crying voice of Winifred. He did notanswer. Slowly the launch drifted round in a pathetic, clumsy circle,and slunk away to the land, retreating into the dimness. The wash ofher paddles grew duller. Gudrun rocked in her light boat, and dippedthe paddle automatically to steady herself.
'Gudrun?' called Ursula's voice.
'Ursula!'
The boats of the two sisters pulled together.
'Where is Gerald?' said Gudrun.
'He's dived again,' said Ursula plaintively. 'And I know he ought not,with his hurt hand and everything.'
'I'll take him in home this time,' said Birkin.
The boats swayed again from the wash of steamer. Gudrun and Ursula kepta look-out for Gerald.
'There he is!' cried Ursula, who had the sharpest eyes. He had not beenlong under. Birkin pulled towards him, Gudrun following. He swamslowly, and caught hold of the boat with his wounded hand. It slipped,and he sank back.
'Why don't you help him?' cried Ursula sharply.
He came again, and Birkin leaned to help him in to the boat. Gudrunagain watched Gerald climb out of the water, but this time slowly,heavily, with the blind clambering motions of an amphibious beast,clumsy. Again the moon shone with faint luminosity on his white wetfigure, on the stooping back and the rounded loins. But it lookeddefeated now, his body, it clambered and fell with slow clumsiness. Hewas breathing hoarsely too, like an animal that is suffering. He satslack and motionless in the boat, his head blunt and blind like aseal's, his whole appearance inhuman, unknowing. Gudrun shuddered asshe mechanically followed his boat. Birkin rowed without speaking tothe landing-stage.
'Where are you going?' Gerald asked suddenly, as if just waking up.
'Home,' said Birkin.
'Oh no!' said Gerald imperiously. 'We can't go home while they're inthe water. Turn back again, I'm going to find them.' The women werefrightened, his voice was so imperative and dangerous, almost mad, notto be opposed.
'No!' said Birkin. 'You can't.' There was a strange fluid compulsion inhis voice. Gerald was silent in a battle of wills. It was as if hewould kill the other man. But Birkin rowed evenly and unswerving, withan inhuman inevitability.
'Why should you interfere?' said Gerald, in hate.
Birkin did not answer. He rowed towards the land. And Gerald sat mute,like a dumb beast, panting, his teeth chattering, his arms inert, hishead like a seal's head.
They came to the landing-stage. Wet and naked-looking, Gerald climbedup the few steps. There stood his father, in the night.
'Father!' he said.
'Yes my boy? Go home and get those things off.'
'We shan't save them, father,' said Gerald.
'There's hope yet, my boy.'
'I'm afraid not. There's no knowing where they are. You can't findthem. And there's a current, as cold as hell.'
'We'll let the water out,' said the father. 'Go home you and look toyourself. See that he's looked after, Rupert,' he added in a neutralvoice.
'Well father, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm afraid it's my fault. But itcan't be helped; I've done what I could for the moment. I could go ondiving, of course--not much, though--and not much use--'
He moved away barefoot, on the planks of the platform. Then he trod onsomething sharp.
'Of course, you've got no shoes on,' said Birkin.
'His shoes are here!' cried Gudrun from below. She was making fast herboat.
Gerald waited for them to be brought to him. Gudrun came with them. Hepulled them on his feet.
'If you once die,' he said, 'then when it's over, it's finished. Whycome to life again? There's room under that water there for thousands.'
'Two is enough,' she said murmuring.
He dragged on his second shoe. He was shivering violently, and his jawshook as he spoke.
'That's true,' he said, 'maybe. But it's curious how much room thereseems, a whole universe under there; and as cold as hell, you're ashelpless as if your head was cut off.' He could scarcely speak, heshook so violently. 'There's one thing about our family, you know,' hecontinued. 'Once anything goes wrong, it can never be put rightagain--not with us. I've noticed it all my life--you can't put a thingright, once it has gone wrong.'
They were walking across the high-road to the house.
'And do you know, when you are down there, it is so cold, actually, andso endless, so different really from what it is on top, so endless--youwonder how it is so many are alive, why we're up here. Are you going? Ishall see you again, shan't I? Good-night, and thank you. Thank youvery much!'
The two girls waited a while, to see if there were any hope. The moonshone clearly overhead, with almost impertinent brightness, the smalldark boats clustered on the water, there were voices and subduedshouts. But it was all to no purpose. Gudrun went home when Birkinreturned.
He was commissioned to open the sluice that let out the water from thelake, which was pierced at one end, near the high-road, thus serving asa reservoir to supply with water the distant mines, in case ofnecessity. 'Come with me,' he said to Ursula, 'and then I will walkhome with you, when I've done this.'
He called at the water-keeper's cottage and took the key of the sluice.They went through a little gate from the high-road, to the head of thewater, where was a great stone basin which received the overflow, and aflight of stone steps descended into the depths of the water itself. Atthe head of the steps was the lock of the sluice-gate.
The night was silver-grey and perfect, save for the scattered restlesssound of voices. The grey sheen of the moonlight caught the stretch ofwater, dark boats plashed and moved. But Ursula's mind ceased to bereceptive, everything was unimportant and unreal.
Birkin fixed the iron handle of the sluice, and turned it with awrench. The cogs began slowly to rise. He turned and turned, like aslave, his white figure became distinct. Ursula looked away. She couldnot bear to see him winding heavily and laboriously, bending and risingmechanically like a slave, turning the handle.
Then, a real shock to her, there came a loud splashing of water fromout of the dark, tree-filled hollow beyond the road, a splashing thatdeepened rapidly to a harsh roar, and then became a heavy, boomingnoise of a great body of water falling solidly all the time. Itoccupied the whole of the night, this great steady booming of water,everything was drowned within it, drowned and lost. Ursula seemed tohave to struggle for her life. She put her hands over her ears, andlooked at the high bland moon.
'Can't we go now?' she cried to Birkin, who was watching the water onthe steps, to see if it would get any lower. It seemed to fascinatehim. He looked at her and nodded.
The little dark boats had moved nearer, people were crowding curiouslyalong the hedge by the high-road, to see what was to be seen. Birkinand Ursula went to the cottage with the key, then turned their backs onthe lake. She was in great haste. She could not bear the terriblecrushing boom of the escaping water.
'Do you think they are dead?' she cried in a high voice, to makeherself heard.
'Yes,' he replied.
'Isn't it horrible!'
He paid no heed. They walked up the hill, further and further away fromthe noise.
'Do you mind very much?' she asked him.
'I don't mind about the dead,' he said, 'once they are dead. The worstof it is, they cling on to the living, and won't let go.'
She pondered for a time.
'Yes,' she said. 'The FACT of death doesn't really seem to matter much,does it?'
'No,' he said. 'What does it matter if Diana Crich is alive or dead?'
'Doesn't it?' she said, shocked.
'No, why should it? Better she were dead--she'll be much more real.She'll be positive in death. In life she was a fretting, negatedthing.'
'You are rather horrible,' murmured Ursula.
'No! I'd rather Diana Crich were dead. Her living somehow, was allwrong. As for the young man, poor devil--he'll find his way out quicklyinstead of slowly. Death is all right--nothing better.'
'Yet you don't want to die,' she challenged him.
He was silent for a time. Then he said, in a voice that was frighteningto her in its change:
'I should like to be through with it--I should like to be through withthe death process.'
'And aren't you?' asked Ursula nervously.
They walked on for some way in silence, under the trees. Then he said,slowly, as if afraid:
'There is life which belongs to death, and there is life which isn'tdeath. One is tired of the life that belongs to death--our kind oflife. But whether it is finished, God knows. I want love that is likesleep, like being born again, vulnerable as a baby that just comes intothe world.'
Ursula listened, half attentive, half avoiding what he said. She seemedto catch the drift of his statement, and then she drew away. She wantedto hear, but she did not want to be implicated. She was reluctant toyield there, where he wanted her, to yield as it were her veryidentity.
'Why should love be like sleep?' she asked sadly.
'I don't know. So that it is like death--I DO want to die from thislife--and yet it is more than life itself. One is delivered over like anaked infant from the womb, all the old defences and the old body gone,and new air around one, that has never been breathed before.'
She listened, making out what he said. She knew, as well as he knew,that words themselves do not convey meaning, that they are but agesture we make, a dumb show like any other. And she seemed to feel hisgesture through her blood, and she drew back, even though her desiresent her forward.
'But,' she said gravely, 'didn't you say you wanted something that wasNOT love--something beyond love?'
He turned in confusion. There was always confusion in speech. Yet itmust be spoken. Whichever way one moved, if one were to move forwards,one must break a way through. And to know, to give utterance, was tobreak a way through the walls of the prison as the infant in labourstrives through the walls of the womb. There is no new movement now,without the breaking through of the old body, deliberately, inknowledge, in the struggle to get out.
'I don't want love,' he said. 'I don't want to know you. I want to begone out of myself, and you to be lost to yourself, so we are founddifferent. One shouldn't talk when one is tired and wretched. OneHamletises, and it seems a lie. Only believe me when I show you a bitof healthy pride and insouciance. I hate myself serious.'
'Why shouldn't you be serious?' she said.
He thought for a minute, then he said, sulkily:
'I don't know.' Then they walked on in silence, at outs. He was vagueand lost.
'Isn't it strange,' she said, suddenly putting her hand on his arm,with a loving impulse, 'how we always talk like this! I suppose we dolove each other, in some way.'
'Oh yes,' he said; 'too much.'
She laughed almost gaily.
'You'd have to have it your own way, wouldn't you?' she teased. 'Youcould never take it on trust.'
He changed, laughed softly, and turned and took her in his arms, in themiddle of the road.
'Yes,' he said softly.
And he kissed her face and brow, slowly, gently, with a sort ofdelicate happiness which surprised her extremely, and to which shecould not respond. They were soft, blind kisses, perfect in theirstillness. Yet she held back from them. It was like strange moths, verysoft and silent, settling on her from the darkness of her soul. She wasuneasy. She drew away.
'Isn't somebody coming?' she said.
So they looked down the dark road, then set off again walking towardsBeldover. Then suddenly, to show him she was no shallow prude, shestopped and held him tight, hard against her, and covered his face withhard, fierce kisses of passion. In spite of his otherness, the oldblood beat up in him.
'Not this, not this,' he whimpered to himself, as the first perfectmood of softness and sleep-loveliness ebbed back away from the rushingof passion that came up to his limbs and over his face as she drew him.And soon he was a perfect hard flame of passionate desire for her. Yetin the small core of the flame was an unyielding anguish of anotherthing. But this also was lost; he only wanted her, with an extremedesire that seemed inevitable as death, beyond question.
Then, satisfied and shattered, fulfilled and destroyed, he went homeaway from her, drifting vaguely through the darkness, lapsed into theold fire of burning passion. Far away, far away, there seemed to be asmall lament in the darkness. But what did it matter? What did itmatter, what did anything matter save this ultimate and triumphantexperience of physical passion, that had blazed up anew like a newspell of life. 'I was becoming quite dead-alive, nothing but aword-bag,' he said in triumph, scorning his other self. Yet somewherefar off and small, the other hovered.
The men were still dragging the lake when he got back. He stood on thebank and heard Gerald's voice. The water was still booming in thenight, the moon was fair, the hills beyond were elusive. The lake wassinking. There came the raw smell of the banks, in the night air.
Up at Shortlands there were lights in the windows, as if nobody hadgone to bed. On the landing-stage was the old doctor, the father of theyoung man who was lost. He stood quite silent, waiting. Birkin alsostood and watched, Gerald came up in a boat.
'You still here, Rupert?' he said. 'We can't get them. The bottomslopes, you know, very steep. The water lies between two very sharpslopes, with little branch valleys, and God knows where the drift willtake you. It isn't as if it was a level bottom. You never know whereyou are, with the dragging.'
'Is there any need for you to be working?' said Birkin. 'Wouldn't it bemuch better if you went to bed?'
'To bed! Good God, do you think I should sleep? We'll find 'em, beforeI go away from here.'
'But the men would find them just the same without you--why should youinsist?'
Gerald looked up at him. Then he put his hand affectionately onBirkin's shoulder, saying:
'Don't you bother about me, Rupert. If there's anybody's health tothink about, it's yours, not mine. How do you feel yourself?'
'Very well. But you, you spoil your own chance of life--you waste yourbest self.'
Gerald was silent for a moment. Then he said:
'Waste it? What else is there to do with it?'
'But leave this, won't you? You force yourself into horrors, and put amill-stone of beastly memories round your neck. Come away now.'
'A mill-stone of beastly memories!' Gerald repeated. Then he put hishand again affectionately on Birkin's shoulder. 'God, you've got such atelling way of putting things, Rupert, you have.'
Birkin's heart sank. He was irritated and weary of having a telling wayof putting things.
'Won't you leave it? Come over to my place'--he urged as one urges adrunken man.
'No,' said Gerald coaxingly, his arm across the other man's shoulder.'Thanks very much, Rupert--I shall be glad to come tomorrow, if that'lldo. You understand, don't you? I want to see this job through. But I'llcome tomorrow, right enough. Oh, I'd rather come and have a chat withyou than--than do anything else, I verily believe. Yes, I would. Youmean a lot to me, Rupert, more than you know.'
'What do I mean, more than I know?' asked Birkin irritably. He wasacutely aware of Gerald's hand on his shoulder. And he did not wantthis altercation. He wanted the other man to come out of the uglymisery.
'I'll tell you another time,' said Gerald coaxingly.
'Come along with me now--I want you to come,' said Birkin.
There was a pause, intense and real. Birkin wondered why his own heartbeat so heavily. Then Gerald's fingers gripped hard and communicativeinto Birkin's shoulder, as he said:
'No, I'll see this job through, Rupert. Thank you--I know what youmean. We're all right, you know, you and me.'
'I may be all right, but I'm sure you're not, mucking about here,' saidBirkin. And he went away.
The bodies of the dead were not recovered till towards dawn. Diana hadher arms tight round the neck of the young man, choking him.
'She killed him,' said Gerald.
The moon sloped down the sky and sank at last. The lake was sunk toquarter size, it had horrible raw banks of clay, that smelled of rawrottenish water. Dawn roused faintly behind the eastern hill. The waterstill boomed through the sluice.
As the birds were whistling for the first morning, and the hills at theback of the desolate lake stood radiant with the new mists, there was astraggling procession up to Shortlands, men bearing the bodies on astretcher, Gerald going beside them, the two grey-bearded fathersfollowing in silence. Indoors the family was all sitting up, waiting.Somebody must go to tell the mother, in her room. The doctor in secretstruggled to bring back his son, till he himself was exhausted.
Over all the outlying district was a hush of dreadful excitement onthat Sunday morning. The colliery people felt as if this catastrophehad happened directly to themselves, indeed they were more shocked andfrightened than if their own men had been killed. Such a tragedy inShortlands, the high home of the district! One of the young mistresses,persisting in dancing on the cabin roof of the launch, wilful youngmadam, drowned in the midst of the festival, with the young doctor!Everywhere on the Sunday morning, the colliers wandered about,discussing the calamity. At all the Sunday dinners of the people, thereseemed a strange presence. It was as if the angel of death were verynear, there was a sense of the supernatural in the air. The men hadexcited, startled faces, the women looked solemn, some of them had beencrying. The children enjoyed the excitement at first. There was anintensity in the air, almost magical. Did all enjoy it? Did all enjoythe thrill?
Gudrun had wild ideas of rushing to comfort Gerald. She was thinkingall the time of the perfect comforting, reassuring thing to say to him.She was shocked and frightened, but she put that away, thinking of howshe should deport herself with Gerald: act her part. That was the realthrill: how she should act her part.
Ursula was deeply and passionately in love with Birkin, and she wascapable of nothing. She was perfectly callous about all the talk of theaccident, but her estranged air looked like trouble. She merely sat byherself, whenever she could, and longed to see him again. She wantedhim to come to the house,--she would not have it otherwise, he mustcome at once. She was waiting for him. She stayed indoors all day,waiting for him to knock at the door. Every minute, she glancedautomatically at the window. He would be there.