Women in Love Read online

  CHAPTER XIII.

  MINO

  The days went by, and she received no sign. Was he going to ignore her,was he going to take no further notice of her secret? A dreary weightof anxiety and acrid bitterness settled on her. And yet Ursula knew shewas only deceiving herself, and that he would proceed. She said no wordto anybody.

  Then, sure enough, there came a note from him, asking if she would cometo tea with Gudrun, to his rooms in town.

  'Why does he ask Gudrun as well?' she asked herself at once. 'Does hewant to protect himself, or does he think I would not go alone?' Shewas tormented by the thought that he wanted to protect himself. But atthe end of all, she only said to herself:

  'I don't want Gudrun to be there, because I want him to say somethingmore to me. So I shan't tell Gudrun anything about it, and I shall goalone. Then I shall know.'

  She found herself sitting on the tram-car, mounting up the hill goingout of the town, to the place where he had his lodging. She seemed tohave passed into a kind of dream world, absolved from the conditions ofactuality. She watched the sordid streets of the town go by beneathher, as if she were a spirit disconnected from the material universe.What had it all to do with her? She was palpitating and formless withinthe flux of the ghost life. She could not consider any more, whatanybody would say of her or think about her. People had passed out ofher range, she was absolved. She had fallen strange and dim, out of thesheath of the material life, as a berry falls from the only world ithas ever known, down out of the sheath on to the real unknown.

  Birkin was standing in the middle of the room, when she was shown in bythe landlady. He too was moved outside himself. She saw him agitatedand shaken, a frail, unsubstantial body silent like the node of someviolent force, that came out from him and shook her almost into aswoon.

  'You are alone?' he said.

  'Yes--Gudrun could not come.'

  He instantly guessed why.

  And they were both seated in silence, in the terrible tension of theroom. She was aware that it was a pleasant room, full of light and veryrestful in its form--aware also of a fuchsia tree, with danglingscarlet and purple flowers.

  'How nice the fuchsias are!' she said, to break the silence.

  'Aren't they! Did you think I had forgotten what I said?'

  A swoon went over Ursula's mind.

  'I don't want you to remember it--if you don't want to,' she struggledto say, through the dark mist that covered her.

  There was silence for some moments.

  'No,' he said. 'It isn't that. Only--if we are going to know eachother, we must pledge ourselves for ever. If we are going to make arelationship, even of friendship, there must be something final andinfallible about it.'

  There was a clang of mistrust and almost anger in his voice. She didnot answer. Her heart was too much contracted. She could not havespoken.

  Seeing she was not going to reply, he continued, almost bitterly,giving himself away:

  'I can't say it is love I have to offer--and it isn't love I want. Itis something much more impersonal and harder--and rarer.'

  There was a silence, out of which she said:

  'You mean you don't love me?'

  She suffered furiously, saying that.

  'Yes, if you like to put it like that. Though perhaps that isn't true.I don't know. At any rate, I don't feel the emotion of love foryou--no, and I don't want to. Because it gives out in the last issues.'

  'Love gives out in the last issues?' she asked, feeling numb to thelips.

  'Yes, it does. At the very last, one is alone, beyond the influence oflove. There is a real impersonal me, that is beyond love, beyond anyemotional relationship. So it is with you. But we want to deludeourselves that love is the root. It isn't. It is only the branches. Theroot is beyond love, a naked kind of isolation, an isolated me, thatdoes NOT meet and mingle, and never can.'

  She watched him with wide, troubled eyes. His face was incandescent inits abstract earnestness.

  'And you mean you can't love?' she asked, in trepidation.

  'Yes, if you like. I have loved. But there is a beyond, where there isnot love.'

  She could not submit to this. She felt it swooning over her. But shecould not submit.

  'But how do you know--if you have never REALLY loved?' she asked.

  'It is true, what I say; there is a beyond, in you, in me, which isfurther than love, beyond the scope, as stars are beyond the scope ofvision, some of them.'

  'Then there is no love,' cried Ursula.

  'Ultimately, no, there is something else. But, ultimately, there IS nolove.'

  Ursula was given over to this statement for some moments. Then she halfrose from her chair, saying, in a final, repellent voice:

  'Then let me go home--what am I doing here?'

  'There is the door,' he said. 'You are a free agent.'

  He was suspended finely and perfectly in this extremity. She hungmotionless for some seconds, then she sat down again.

  'If there is no love, what is there?' she cried, almost jeering.

  'Something,' he said, looking at her, battling with his soul, with allhis might.

  'What?'

  He was silent for a long time, unable to be in communication with herwhile she was in this state of opposition.

  'There is,' he said, in a voice of pure abstraction; 'a final me whichis stark and impersonal and beyond responsibility. So there is a finalyou. And it is there I would want to meet you--not in the emotional,loving plane--but there beyond, where there is no speech and no termsof agreement. There we are two stark, unknown beings, two utterlystrange creatures, I would want to approach you, and you me. And therecould be no obligation, because there is no standard for action there,because no understanding has been reaped from that plane. It is quiteinhuman,--so there can be no calling to book, in any formwhatsoever--because one is outside the pale of all that is accepted,and nothing known applies. One can only follow the impulse, taking thatwhich lies in front, and responsible for nothing, asked for nothing,giving nothing, only each taking according to the primal desire.'

  Ursula listened to this speech, her mind dumb and almost senseless,what he said was so unexpected and so untoward.

  'It is just purely selfish,' she said.

  'If it is pure, yes. But it isn't selfish at all. Because I don't KNOWwhat I want of you. I deliver MYSELF over to the unknown, in coming toyou, I am without reserves or defences, stripped entirely, into theunknown. Only there needs the pledge between us, that we will both castoff everything, cast off ourselves even, and cease to be, so that thatwhich is perfectly ourselves can take place in us.'

  She pondered along her own line of thought.

  'But it is because you love me, that you want me?' she persisted.

  'No it isn't. It is because I believe in you--if I DO believe in you.'

  'Aren't you sure?' she laughed, suddenly hurt.

  He was looking at her steadfastly, scarcely heeding what she said.

  'Yes, I must believe in you, or else I shouldn't be here saying this,'he replied. 'But that is all the proof I have. I don't feel any verystrong belief at this particular moment.'

  She disliked him for this sudden relapse into weariness andfaithlessness.

  'But don't you think me good-looking?' she persisted, in a mockingvoice.

  He looked at her, to see if he felt that she was good-looking.

  'I don't FEEL that you're good-looking,' he said.

  'Not even attractive?' she mocked, bitingly.

  He knitted his brows in sudden exasperation.

  'Don't you see that it's not a question of visual appreciation in theleast,' he cried. 'I don't WANT to see you. I've seen plenty of women,I'm sick and weary of seeing them. I want a woman I don't see.'

  'I'm sorry I can't oblige you by being invisible,' she laughed.

  'Yes,' he said, 'you are invisible to me, if you don't force me to bevisually aware of you. But I don't want to see you or hear you.'

  'What did you ask me to tea f
or, then?' she mocked.

  But he would take no notice of her. He was talking to himself.

  'I want to find you, where you don't know your own existence, the youthat your common self denies utterly. But I don't want your good looks,and I don't want your womanly feelings, and I don't want your thoughtsnor opinions nor your ideas--they are all bagatelles to me.'

  'You are very conceited, Monsieur,' she mocked. 'How do you know whatmy womanly feelings are, or my thoughts or my ideas? You don't evenknow what I think of you now.'

  'Nor do I care in the slightest.'

  'I think you are very silly. I think you want to tell me you love me,and you go all this way round to do it.'

  'All right,' he said, looking up with sudden exasperation. 'Now go awaythen, and leave me alone. I don't want any more of your meretriciouspersiflage.'

  'Is it really persiflage?' she mocked, her face really relaxing intolaughter. She interpreted it, that he had made a deep confession oflove to her. But he was so absurd in his words, also.

  They were silent for many minutes, she was pleased and elated like achild. His concentration broke, he began to look at her simply andnaturally.

  'What I want is a strange conjunction with you--' he said quietly; 'notmeeting and mingling--you are quite right--but an equilibrium, a purebalance of two single beings--as the stars balance each other.'

  She looked at him. He was very earnest, and earnestness was alwaysrather ridiculous, commonplace, to her. It made her feel unfree anduncomfortable. Yet she liked him so much. But why drag in the stars.

  'Isn't this rather sudden?' she mocked.

  He began to laugh.

  'Best to read the terms of the contract, before we sign,' he said.

  A young grey cat that had been sleeping on the sofa jumped down andstretched, rising on its long legs, and arching its slim back. Then itsat considering for a moment, erect and kingly. And then, like a dart,it had shot out of the room, through the open window-doors, and intothe garden.

  'What's he after?' said Birkin, rising.

  The young cat trotted lordly down the path, waving his tail. He was anordinary tabby with white paws, a slender young gentleman. A crouching,fluffy, brownish-grey cat was stealing up the side of the fence. TheMino walked statelily up to her, with manly nonchalance. She crouchedbefore him and pressed herself on the ground in humility, a fluffy softoutcast, looking up at him with wild eyes that were green and lovely asgreat jewels. He looked casually down on her. So she crept a few inchesfurther, proceeding on her way to the back door, crouching in awonderful, soft, self-obliterating manner, and moving like a shadow.

  He, going statelily on his slim legs, walked after her, then suddenly,for pure excess, he gave her a light cuff with his paw on the side ofher face. She ran off a few steps, like a blown leaf along the ground,then crouched unobtrusively, in submissive, wild patience. The Minopretended to take no notice of her. He blinked his eyes superbly at thelandscape. In a minute she drew herself together and moved softly, afleecy brown-grey shadow, a few paces forward. She began to quicken herpace, in a moment she would be gone like a dream, when the young greylord sprang before her, and gave her a light handsome cuff. Shesubsided at once, submissively.

  'She is a wild cat,' said Birkin. 'She has come in from the woods.'

  The eyes of the stray cat flared round for a moment, like great greenfires staring at Birkin. Then she had rushed in a soft swift rush, halfway down the garden. There she paused to look round. The Mino turnedhis face in pure superiority to his master, and slowly closed his eyes,standing in statuesque young perfection. The wild cat's round, green,wondering eyes were staring all the while like uncanny fires. Thenagain, like a shadow, she slid towards the kitchen.

  In a lovely springing leap, like a wind, the Mino was upon her, and hadboxed her twice, very definitely, with a white, delicate fist. She sankand slid back, unquestioning. He walked after her, and cuffed her onceor twice, leisurely, with sudden little blows of his magic white paws.

  'Now why does he do that?' cried Ursula in indignation.

  'They are on intimate terms,' said Birkin.

  'And is that why he hits her?'

  'Yes,' laughed Birkin, 'I think he wants to make it quite obvious toher.'

  'Isn't it horrid of him!' she cried; and going out into the garden shecalled to the Mino:

  'Stop it, don't bully. Stop hitting her.'

  The stray cat vanished like a swift, invisible shadow. The Mino glancedat Ursula, then looked from her disdainfully to his master.

  'Are you a bully, Mino?' Birkin asked.

  The young slim cat looked at him, and slowly narrowed its eyes. Then itglanced away at the landscape, looking into the distance as ifcompletely oblivious of the two human beings.

  'Mino,' said Ursula, 'I don't like you. You are a bully like allmales.'

  'No,' said Birkin, 'he is justified. He is not a bully. He is onlyinsisting to the poor stray that she shall acknowledge him as a sort offate, her own fate: because you can see she is fluffy and promiscuousas the wind. I am with him entirely. He wants superfine stability.'

  'Yes, I know!' cried Ursula. 'He wants his own way--I know what yourfine words work down to--bossiness, I call it, bossiness.'

  The young cat again glanced at Birkin in disdain of the noisy woman.

  'I quite agree with you, Miciotto,' said Birkin to the cat. 'Keep yourmale dignity, and your higher understanding.'

  Again the Mino narrowed his eyes as if he were looking at the sun.Then, suddenly affecting to have no connection at all with the twopeople, he went trotting off, with assumed spontaneity and gaiety, histail erect, his white feet blithe.

  'Now he will find the belle sauvage once more, and entertain her withhis superior wisdom,' laughed Birkin.

  Ursula looked at the man who stood in the garden with his hair blowingand his eyes smiling ironically, and she cried:

  'Oh it makes me so cross, this assumption of male superiority! And itis such a lie! One wouldn't mind if there were any justification forit.'

  'The wild cat,' said Birkin, 'doesn't mind. She perceives that it isjustified.'

  'Does she!' cried Ursula. 'And tell it to the Horse Marines.'

  'To them also.'

  'It is just like Gerald Crich with his horse--a lust for bullying--areal Wille zur Macht--so base, so petty.'

  'I agree that the Wille zur Macht is a base and petty thing. But withthe Mino, it is the desire to bring this female cat into a pure stableequilibrium, a transcendent and abiding RAPPORT with the single male.Whereas without him, as you see, she is a mere stray, a fluffy sporadicbit of chaos. It is a volonte de pouvoir, if you like, a will toability, taking pouvoir as a verb.'

  'Ah--! Sophistries! It's the old Adam.'

  'Oh yes. Adam kept Eve in the indestructible paradise, when he kept hersingle with himself, like a star in its orbit.'

  'Yes--yes--' cried Ursula, pointing her finger at him. 'There youare--a star in its orbit! A satellite--a satellite of Mars--that's whatshe is to be! There--there--you've given yourself away! You want asatellite, Mars and his satellite! You've said it--you've saidit--you've dished yourself!'

  He stood smiling in frustration and amusement and irritation andadmiration and love. She was so quick, and so lambent, like discerniblefire, and so vindictive, and so rich in her dangerous flamysensitiveness.

  'I've not said it at all,' he replied, 'if you will give me a chance tospeak.'

  'No, no!' she cried. 'I won't let you speak. You've said it, asatellite, you're not going to wriggle out of it. You've said it.'

  'You'll never believe now that I HAVEN'T said it,' he answered. 'Ineither implied nor indicated nor mentioned a satellite, nor intended asatellite, never.'

  'YOU PREVARICATOR!' she cried, in real indignation.

  'Tea is ready, sir,' said the landlady from the doorway.

  They both looked at her, very much as the cats had looked at them, alittle while before.

  'Thank you, Mrs Daykin.'

  An interru
pted silence fell over the two of them, a moment of breach.

  'Come and have tea,' he said.

  'Yes, I should love it,' she replied, gathering herself together.

  They sat facing each other across the tea table.

  'I did not say, nor imply, a satellite. I meant two single equal starsbalanced in conjunction--'

  'You gave yourself away, you gave away your little game completely,'she cried, beginning at once to eat. He saw that she would take nofurther heed of his expostulation, so he began to pour the tea.

  'What GOOD things to eat!' she cried.

  'Take your own sugar,' he said.

  He handed her her cup. He had everything so nice, such pretty cups andplates, painted with mauve-lustre and green, also shapely bowls andglass plates, and old spoons, on a woven cloth of pale grey and blackand purple. It was very rich and fine. But Ursula could see Hermione'sinfluence.

  'Your things are so lovely!' she said, almost angrily.

  'I like them. It gives me real pleasure to use things that areattractive in themselves--pleasant things. And Mrs Daykin is good. Shethinks everything is wonderful, for my sake.'

  'Really,' said Ursula, 'landladies are better than wives, nowadays.They certainly CARE a great deal more. It is much more beautiful andcomplete here now, than if you were married.'

  'But think of the emptiness within,' he laughed.

  'No,' she said. 'I am jealous that men have such perfect landladies andsuch beautiful lodgings. There is nothing left them to desire.'

  'In the house-keeping way, we'll hope not. It is disgusting, peoplemarrying for a home.'

  'Still,' said Ursula, 'a man has very little need for a woman now, hashe?'

  'In outer things, maybe--except to share his bed and bear his children.But essentially, there is just the same need as there ever was. Onlynobody takes the trouble to be essential.'

  'How essential?' she said.

  'I do think,' he said, 'that the world is only held together by themystic conjunction, the ultimate unison between people--a bond. And theimmediate bond is between man and woman.'

  'But it's such old hat,' said Ursula. 'Why should love be a bond? No,I'm not having any.'

  'If you are walking westward,' he said, 'you forfeit the northern andeastward and southern direction. If you admit a unison, you forfeit allthe possibilities of chaos.'

  'But love is freedom,' she declared.

  'Don't cant to me,' he replied. 'Love is a direction which excludes allother directions. It's a freedom TOGETHER, if you like.'

  'No,' she said, 'love includes everything.'

  'Sentimental cant,' he replied. 'You want the state of chaos, that'sall. It is ultimate nihilism, this freedom-in-love business, thisfreedom which is love and love which is freedom. As a matter of fact,if you enter into a pure unison, it is irrevocable, and it is neverpure till it is irrevocable. And when it is irrevocable, it is one way,like the path of a star.'

  'Ha!' she cried bitterly. 'It is the old dead morality.'

  'No,' he said, 'it is the law of creation. One is committed. One mustcommit oneself to a conjunction with the other--for ever. But it is notselfless--it is a maintaining of the self in mystic balance andintegrity--like a star balanced with another star.'

  'I don't trust you when you drag in the stars,' she said. 'If you werequite true, it wouldn't be necessary to be so far-fetched.'

  'Don't trust me then,' he said, angry. 'It is enough that I trustmyself.'

  'And that is where you make another mistake,' she replied. 'You DON'Ttrust yourself. You don't fully believe yourself what you are saying.You don't really want this conjunction, otherwise you wouldn't talk somuch about it, you'd get it.'

  He was suspended for a moment, arrested.

  'How?' he said.

  'By just loving,' she retorted in defiance.

  He was still a moment, in anger. Then he said:

  'I tell you, I don't believe in love like that. I tell you, you wantlove to administer to your egoism, to subserve you. Love is a processof subservience with you--and with everybody. I hate it.'

  'No,' she cried, pressing back her head like a cobra, her eyesflashing. 'It is a process of pride--I want to be proud--'

  'Proud and subservient, proud and subservient, I know you,' he retorteddryly. 'Proud and subservient, then subservient to the proud--I knowyou and your love. It is a tick-tack, tick-tack, a dance of opposites.'

  'Are you sure?' she mocked wickedly, 'what my love is?'

  'Yes, I am,' he retorted.

  'So cocksure!' she said. 'How can anybody ever be right, who is sococksure? It shows you are wrong.'

  He was silent in chagrin.

  They had talked and struggled till they were both wearied out.

  'Tell me about yourself and your people,' he said.

  And she told him about the Brangwens, and about her mother, and aboutSkrebensky, her first love, and about her later experiences. He satvery still, watching her as she talked. And he seemed to listen withreverence. Her face was beautiful and full of baffled light as she toldhim all the things that had hurt her or perplexed her so deeply. Heseemed to warm and comfort his soul at the beautiful light of hernature.

  'If she REALLY could pledge herself,' he thought to himself, withpassionate insistence but hardly any hope. Yet a curious littleirresponsible laughter appeared in his heart.

  'We have all suffered so much,' he mocked, ironically.

  She looked up at him, and a flash of wild gaiety went over her face, astrange flash of yellow light coming from her eyes.

  'Haven't we!' she cried, in a high, reckless cry. 'It is almost absurd,isn't it?'

  'Quite absurd,' he said. 'Suffering bores me, any more.'

  'So it does me.'

  He was almost afraid of the mocking recklessness of her splendid face.Here was one who would go to the whole lengths of heaven or hell,whichever she had to go. And he mistrusted her, he was afraid of awoman capable of such abandon, such dangerous thoroughness ofdestructivity. Yet he chuckled within himself also.

  She came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, looking down athim with strange golden-lighted eyes, very tender, but with a curiousdevilish look lurking underneath.

  'Say you love me, say "my love" to me,' she pleaded

  He looked back into her eyes, and saw. His face flickered with sardoniccomprehension.

  'I love you right enough,' he said, grimly. 'But I want it to besomething else.'

  'But why? But why?' she insisted, bending her wonderful luminous faceto him. 'Why isn't it enough?'

  'Because we can go one better,' he said, putting his arms round her.

  'No, we can't,' she said, in a strong, voluptuous voice of yielding.'We can only love each other. Say "my love" to me, say it, say it.'

  She put her arms round his neck. He enfolded her, and kissed hersubtly, murmuring in a subtle voice of love, and irony, and submission:

  'Yes,--my love, yes,--my love. Let love be enough then. I love youthen--I love you. I'm bored by the rest.'

  'Yes,' she murmured, nestling very sweet and close to him.