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发信人: fzx (化石), 信区: English
标  题: Women In Love 27
发信站: 紫丁香 (Thu May 20 15:40:29 1999), 转信

                       CHAPTER XXII

                              Woman to Woman

THEY CAME to the town, and left Gerald at the railway station. Gudrun and
Winifred were to cometo tea with Birkin, who expected Ursula also. In the
afternoon, however, the first person to turn upwas Hermione. Birkin was
out, so she went in the drawing-room, looking at his books and papers,and
playing on the piano. Then Ursula arrived. She was surprised, unpleasantly
so, to seeHermione, of whom she had heard nothing for some time.

`It is a surprise to see you,' she said.

`Yes,' said Hermione -- `I've been away at Aix --'

`Oh, for your health?'

`Yes.'

The two women looked at each other. Ursula resented Hermione's long, grave,
downward-lookingface. There was something of the stupidity and the
unenlightened self-esteem of a horse in it. `She'sgot a horse-face,'
Ursula said to herself, `she runs between blinkers.' It did seem as if
Hermione,like the moon, had only one side to her penny. There was no
obverse. She stared out all the time onthe narrow, but to her, complete
world of the extant consciousness. In the darkness, she did notexist. Like
the moon, one half of her was lost to life. Her self was all in her head,
she did not knowwhat it was spontaneously to run or move, like a fish in
the water, or a weasel on the grass. Shemust always know.

But Ursula only suffered from Hermione's one-sidedness. She only felt
Hermione's cool evidence,which seemed to put her down as nothing. Hermione,
who brooded and brooded till she wasexhausted with the ache of her effort
at consciousness, spent and ashen in her body, who gained soslowly and
with such effort her final and barren conclusions of knowledge, was apt,
in the presenceof other women, whom she thought simply female, to wear
the conclusions of her bitter assurancelike jewels which conferred on her
an unquestionable distinction, established her in a higher order oflife.
She was apt, mentally, to condescend to women such as Ursula, whom she
regarded as purelyemotional. Poor Hermione, it was her one possession,
this aching certainty of hers, it was her onlyjustification. She must be
confident here, for God knows, she felt rejected and deficient
enoughelsewhere. In the life of thought, of the spirit, she was one of
the elect. And she wanted to beuniversal. But there was a devastating
cynicism at the bottom of her. She did not believe in her ownuniversals
-- they were sham. She did not believe in the inner life -- it was a trick,
not a reality. Shedid not believe in the spiritual world -- it was an
affectation. In the last resort, she believed inMammon, the flesh, and
the devil -- these at least were not sham. She was a priestess
withoutbelief, without conviction, suckled in a creed outworn, and
condemned to the reiteration ofmysteries that were not divine to her. Yet
there was no escape. She was a leaf upon a dying tree.What help was there
then, but to fight still for the old, withered truths, to die for the old,
outwornbelief, to be a sacred and inviolate priestess of desecrated
mysteries? The old great truths bad beentrue. And she was a leaf of the
old great tree of knowledge that was withering now. To the old andlast
truth then she must be faithful even though cynicism and mockery took place
at the bottom ofher soul.

`I am so glad to see you,' she said to Ursula, in her slow voice, that
was like an incantation. `Youand Rupert have become quite friends?'

`Oh yes,' said Ursula. `He is always somewhere in the background.'

Hermione paused before she answered. She saw perfectly well the other
woman's vaunt: it seemedtruly vulgar.

`Is he?' she said slowly, and with perfect equanimity. `And do you think
you will marry?'

The question was so calm and mild, so simple and bare and dispassionate
that Ursula wassomewhat taken aback, rather attracted. It pleased her
almost like a wickedness. There was somedelightful naked irony in
Hermione.

`Well,' replied Ursula, `He wants to, awfully, but I'm not so sure.'

Hermione watched her with slow calm eyes. She noted this new expression
of vaunting. How sheenvied Ursula a certain unconscious positivity! even
her vulgarity!

`Why aren't you sure?' she asked, in her easy sing song. She was perfectly
at her ease, perhapseven rather happy in this conversation. `You don't
really love him?'

Ursula flushed a little at the mild impertinence of this question. And
yet she could not definitely takeoffence. Hermione seemed so calmly and
sanely candid. After all, it was rather great to be able tobe so sane.

`He says it isn't love he wants,' she replied.

`What is it then?' Hermione was slow and level.

`He wants me really to accept him in marriage.'

Hermione was silent for some time, watching Ursula with slow, pensive
eyes.

`Does he?' she said at length, without expression. Then, rousing, `And
what is it you don't want?You don't want marriage?'

`No -- I don't -- not really. I don't want to give the sort of submission
he insists on. He wants meto give myself up -- and I simply don't feel
that I can do it.'

Again there was a long pause, before Hermione replied:

`Not if you don't want to.' Then again there was silence. Hermione
shuddered with a strange desire.Ah, if only he had asked her to subserve
him, to be his slave! She shuddered with desire.

`You see I can't --'

`But exactly in what does --'

They had both begun at once, they both stopped. Then, Hermione, assuming
priority of speech,resumed as if wearily:

`To what does he want you to submit?'

`He says he wants me to accept him non-emotionally, and finally -- I really
don't know what hemeans. He says he wants the demon part of himself to
be mated -- physically -- not the humanbeing. You see he says one thing
one day, and another the next -- and he always contradicts himself--'

`And always thinks about himself, and his own dissatisfaction,' said
Hermione slowly.

`Yes,' cried Ursula. `As if there were no-one but himself concerned. That
makes it so impossible.'

But immediately she began to retract.

`He insists on my accepting God knows what in him,' she resumed. `He wants
me to accept him as-- as an absolute -- But it seems to me he doesn't want
to give anything. He doesn't want realwarm intimacy -- he won't have it
-- he rejects it. He won't let me think, really, and he won't let mefeel
-- he hates feelings.'

There was a long pause, bitter for Hermione. Ah, if only he would have
made this demand of her?Her he drove into thought, drove inexorably into
knowledge -- and then execrated her for it.

`He wants me to sink myself,' Ursula resumed, `not to have any being of
my own --'

`Then why doesn't he marry an odalisk?' said Hermione in her mild sing-song,
`if it is that he wants.'Her long face looked sardonic and amused.

`Yes,' said Ursula vaguely. After all, the tiresome thing was, he did not
want an odalisk, he did notwant a slave. Hermione would have been his slave
-- there was in her a horrible desire to prostrateherself before a man
-- a man who worshipped her, however, and admitted her as the supremething.
He did not want an odalisk. He wanted a woman to take something from him,
to give herselfup so much that she could take the last realities of him,
the last facts, the last physical facts, physicaland unbearable.

And if she did, would he acknowledge her? Would he be able to acknowledge
her througheverything, or would he use her just as his instrument, use
her for his own private satisfaction, notadmitting her? That was what the
other men had done. They had wanted their own show, and theywould not admit
her, they turned all she was into nothingness. Just as Hermione now
betrayedherself as a woman. Hermione was like a man, she believed only
in men's things. She betrayed thewoman in herself. And Birkin, would he
acknowledge, or would he deny her?

`Yes,' said Hermione, as each woman came out of her own separate reverie.
`It would be amistake -- I think it would be a mistake --'

`To marry him?' asked Ursula.

`Yes,' said Hermione slowly -- `I think you need a man -- soldierly,
strong-willed -- ' Hermioneheld out her hand and clenched it with
rhapsodic intensity. `You should have a man like the oldheroes -- you need
to stand behind him as he goes into battle, you need to see his strength,
and tohear his shout --. You need a man physically strong, and virile in
his will, not a sensitive man --.'There was a break, as if the pythoness
had uttered the oracle, and now the woman went on, in arhapsody-wearied
voice: `And you see, Rupert isn't this, he isn't. He is frail in health
and body, heneeds great, great care. Then he is so changeable and unsure
of himself -- it requires the greatestpatience and understanding to help
him. And I don't think you are patient. You would have to beprepared to
suffer -- dreadfully. I can't tell you how much suffering it would take
to make himhappy. He lives an intensely spiritual life, at times -- too,
too wonderful. And then come thereactions. I can't speak of what I have
been through with him. We have been together so long, Ireally do know him,
I do know what he is. And I feel I must say it; I feel it would be
perfectlydisastrous for you to marry him -- for you even more than for
him.' Hermione lapsed into bitterreverie. `He is so uncertain, so unstable
-- he wearies, and then reacts. I couldn't tell you what hisre-actions
are. I couldn't tell you the agony of them. That which he affirms and loves
one day -- alittle latter he turns on it in a fury of destruction. He is
never constant, always this awful, dreadfulreaction. Always the quick
change from good to bad, bad to good. And nothing is so devastating,nothing
--'

`Yes,' said Ursula humbly, `you must have suffered.'

An unearthly light came on Hermione's face. She clenched her hand like
one inspired.

`And one must be willing to suffer -- willing to suffer for him hourly,
daily -- if you are going to helphim, if he is to keep true to anything
at all -- '

`And I don't want to suffer hourly and daily,' said Ursula. `I don't, I
should be ashamed. I think it isdegrading not to be happy.'

Hermione stopped and looked at her a long time.

`Do you?' she said at last. And this utterance seemed to her a mark of
Ursula's far distance fromherself. For to Hermione suffering was the
greatest reality, come what might. Yet she too had acreed of happiness.

`Yes,' she said. `One should be happy --' But it was a matter of will.

`Yes,' said Hermione, listlessly now, `I can only feel that it would be
disastrous, disastrous -- atleast, to marry in a hurry. Can't you be
together without marriage? Can't you go away and livesomewhere without
marriage? I do feel that marriage would be fatal, for both of you. I think
for youeven more than for him -- and I think of his health --'

`Of course,' said Ursula, `I don't care about marriage -- it isn't really
important to me -- it's he whowants it.'

`It is his idea for the moment,' said Hermione, with that weary finality,
and a sort of si jeunessesavait infallibility.

There was a pause. Then Ursula broke into faltering challenge.

`You think I'm merely a physical woman, don't you?'

`No indeed,' said Hermione. `No, indeed! But I think you are vital and
young -- it isn't a question ofyears, or even of experience -- it is almost
a question of race. Rupert is race-old, he comes of anold race -- and you
seem to me so young, you come of a young, inexperienced race.'

`Do I!' said Ursula. `But I think he is awfully young, on one side.'

`Yes, perhaps childish in many respects. Nevertheless --'

They both lapsed into silence. Ursula was filled with deep resentment and
a touch of hopelessness.`It isn't true,' she said to herself, silently
addressing her adversary. `It isn't true. And it is you whowant a
physically strong, bullying man, not I. It is you who want an unsensitive
man, not I. Youdon't know anything about Rupert, not really, in spite of
the years you have had with him. Youdon't give him a woman's love, you
give him an ideal love, and that is why he reacts away from you.You don't
know. You only know the dead things. Any kitchen maid would know something
abouthim, you don't know. What do you think your knowledge is but dead
understanding, that doesn'tmean a thing. You are so false, and untrue,
how could you know anything? What is the good ofyour talking about love
-- you untrue spectre of a woman! How can you know anything, when youdon't
believe? You don't believe in yourself and your own womanhood, so what
good is yourconceited, shallow cleverness --!'

The two women sat on in antagonistic silence. Hermione felt injured, that
all her good intention, allher offering, only left the other woman in
vulgar antagonism. But then, Ursula could not understand,never would
understand, could never be more than the usual jealous and unreasonable
female, witha good deal of powerful female emotion, female attraction,
and a fair amount of femaleunderstanding, but no mind. Hermione had
decided long ago that where there was no mind, it wasuseless to appeal
for reason -- one had merely to ignore the ignorant. And Rupert -- he had
nowreacted towards the strongly female, healthy, selfish woman -- it was
his reaction for the time being-- there was no helping it all. It was all
a foolish backward and forward, a violent oscillation thatwould at length
be too violent for his coherency, and he would smash and be dead. There
was nosaving him. This violent and directionless reaction between
animalism and spiritual truth would go onin him till he tore himself in
two between the opposite directions, and disappeared meaninglessly outof
life. It was no good -- he too was without unity, without mind, in the
ultimate stages of living; notquite man enough to make a destiny for a
woman.

They sat on till Birkin came in and found them together. He felt at once
the antagonism in theatmosphere, something radical and insuperable, and
he bit his lip. But he affected a bluff manner.

`Hello, Hermione, are you back again? How do you feel?'

`Oh, better. And how are you -- you don't look well --'

`Oh! -- I believe Gudrun and Winnie Crich are coming in to tea. At least
they said they were. Weshall be a tea-party. What train did you come by,
Ursula?'

It was rather annoying to see him trying to placate both women at once.
Both women watched him,Hermione with deep resentment and pity for him,
Ursula very impatient. He was nervous andapparently in quite good spirits,
chattering the conventional commonplaces. Ursula was amazed andindignant
at the way he made small-talk; he was adept as any fat in Christendom.
She became quitestiff, she would not answer. It all seemed to her so false
and so belittling. And still Gudrun did notappear.

`I think I shall go to Florence for the winter,' said Hermione at length.

`Will you?' he answered. `But it is so cold there.'

`Yes, but I shall stay with Palestra. It is quite comfortable.'

`What takes you to Florence?'

`I don't know,' said Hermione slowly. Then she looked at him with her slow,
heavy gaze. `Barnes isstarting his school of aesthetics, and Olandese is
going to give a set of discourses on the Italiannational policy--'

`Both rubbish,' he said.

`No, I don't think so,' said Hermione.

`Which do you admire, then?'

`I admire both. Barnes is a pioneer. And then I am interested in Italy,
in her coming to nationalconsciousness.'

`I wish she'd come to something different from national consciousness,
then,' said Birkin; `especiallyas it only means a sort of commercial-
industrial consciousness. I hate Italy and her national rant.And I think
Barnes is an amateur.'

Hermione was silent for some moments, in a state of hostility. But yet,
she had got Birkin backagain into her world! How subtle her influence was,
she seemed to start his irritable attention intoher direction exclusively,
in one minute. He was her creature.

`No,' she said, `you are wrong.' Then a sort of tension came over her,
she raised her face like thepythoness inspired with oracles, and went on,
in rhapsodic manner: `Il Sandro mi scrive che haaccolto il piu grande
entusiasmo, tutti i giovani, e fanciulle e ragazzi, sono tutti --' She
went on inItalian, as if, in thinking of the Italians she thought in their
language.

He listened with a shade of distaste to her rhapsody, then he said:

`For all that, I don't like it. Their nationalism is just industrialism
-- that and a shallow jealousy Idetest so much.'

`I think you are wrong -- I think you are wrong --' said Hermione. `It
seems to me purelyspontaneous and beautiful, the modern Italian's passion,
for it is a passion, for Italy, L'Italia --'

`Do you know Italy well?' Ursula asked of Hermione. Hermione hated to be
broken in upon in thismanner. Yet she answered mildly:

`Yes, pretty well. I spent several years of my girlhood there, with my
mother. My mother died inFlorence.'

`Oh.'

There was a pause, painful to Ursula and to Birkin. Hermione however seemed
abstracted andcalm. Birkin was white, his eyes glowed as if he were in
a fever, he was far too over-wrought. HowUrsula suffered in this tense
atmosphere of strained wills! Her head seemed bound round by ironbands.

Birkin rang the bell for tea. They could not wait for Gudrun any longer.
When the door wasopened, the cat walked in.

`Micio! Micio!' called Hermione, in her slow, deliberate sing-song. The
young cat turned to look ather, then, with his slow and stately walk he
advanced to her side.

`Vieni -- vieni qua,' Hermione was saying, in her strange caressive,
protective voice, as if she werealways the elder, the mother superior.
`Vieni dire Buon' Giorno alla zia. Mi ricorde, mi ricorde bene-- non he
vero, piccolo? E vero che mi ricordi? E vero?' And slowly she rubbed his
head, slowlyand with ironic indifference.

`Does he understand Italian?' said Ursula, who knew nothing of the
language.

`Yes,' said Hermione at length. `His mother was Italian. She was born in
my waste-paper basket inFlorence, on the morning of Rupert's birthday.
She was his birthday present.'

Tea was brought in. Birkin poured out for them. It was strange how
inviolable was the intimacywhich existed between him and Hermione. Ursula
felt that she was an outsider. The very tea-cupsand the old silver was
a bond between Hermione and Birkin. It seemed to belong to an old,
pastworld which they had inhabited together, and in which Ursula was a
foreigner. She was almost aparvenue in their old cultured milieu. Her
convention was not their convention, their standards werenot her
standards. But theirs were established, they had the sanction and the
grace of age. He andshe together, Hermione and Birkin, were people of the
same old tradition, the same withereddeadening culture. And she, Ursula,
was an intruder. So they always made her feel.

Hermione poured a little cream into a saucer. The simple way she assumed
her rights in Birkin'sroom maddened and discouraged Ursula. There was a
fatality about it, as if it were bound to be.Hermione lifted the cat and
put the cream before him. He planted his two paws on the edge of thetable
and bent his gracious young head to drink.

`Siccuro che capisce italiano,' sang Hermione, `non l'avra dimenticato,
la lingua della Mamma.'

She lifted the cat's head with her long, slow, white fingers, not letting
him drink, holding him in herpower. It was always the same, this joy in
power she manifested, peculiarly in power over any malebeing. He blinked
forbearingly, with a male, bored expression, licking his whiskers.
Hermionelaughed in her short, grunting fashion.

`Ecco, il bravo ragazzo, come e superbo, questo!'

She made a vivid picture, so calm and strange with the cat. She had a true
static impressiveness,she was a social artist in some ways.

The cat refused to look at her, indifferently avoided her fingers, and
began to drink again, his nosedown to the cream, perfectly balanced, as
he lapped with his odd little click.

`It's bad for him, teaching him to eat at table,' said Birkin.

`Yes,' said Hermione, easily assenting.

Then, looking down at the cat, she resumed her old, mocking, humorous
sing-song.

`Ti imparano fare brutte cose, brutte cose --'

She lifted the Mino's white chin on her forefinger, slowly. The young cat
looked round with asupremely forbearing air, avoided seeing anything,
withdrew his chin, and began to wash his facewith his paw. Hermione grunted
her laughter, pleased.

`Bel giovanotto --' she said.

The cat reached forward again and put his fine white paw on the edge of
the saucer. Hermionelifted it down with delicate slowness. This
deliberate, delicate carefulness of movement remindedUrsula of Gudrun.

`No! Non e permesso di mettere il zampino nel tondinetto. Non piace al
babbo. Un signor gattocosi selvatico --!'

And she kept her finger on the softly planted paw of the cat, and her voice
had the same whimsical,humorous note of bullying.

Ursula had her nose out of joint. She wanted to go away now. It all seemed
no good. Hermionewas established for ever, she herself was ephemeral and
had not yet even arrived.

`I will go now,' she said suddenly.

Birkin looked at her almost in fear -- he so dreaded her anger. `But there
is no need for such hurry,'he said.

`Yes,' she answered. `I will go.' And turning to Hermione, before there
was time to say any more,she held out her hand and said `Good-bye.'

`Good-bye --' sang Hermione, detaining the band. `Must you really go now?'

`Yes, I think I'll go,' said Ursula, her face set, and averted from
Hermione's eyes.

`You think you will --'

But Ursula had got her hand free. She turned to Birkin with a quick, almost
jeering: `Good-bye,'and she was opening the door before he had time to
do it for her.

When she got outside the house she ran down the road in fury and agitation.
It was strange, theunreasoning rage and violence Hermione roused in her,
by her very presence. Ursula knew shegave herself away to the other woman,
she knew she looked ill-bred, uncouth, exaggerated. Butshe did not care.
She only ran up the road, lest she should go back and jeer in the faces
of the twoshe had left behind. For they outraged her.



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