情与欲 》 儿子与情人 Sons and Lovers 》
第一章 新婚岁月-1 CHAPTER I THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS Page 1
劳伦斯 David Herbert Lawrence
CHAPTER I THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS Page 1
《儿子与情人》是性爱小说之父劳伦斯的第一部长篇小说。小说风靡世界文坛90年，魅力至今不减。1961年美国俄克拉荷马发起了禁书运动，在租用的一辆被称之为“淫秽书籍曝光车”所展示的不宜阅读的书籍中，《儿子与情人》被列在首当其冲的位置。
《儿子与情人》视角独特，对人性中隐秘的“恋母情结”有深刻、形象的挖掘。一般认为，小说中的儿子保罗就是劳伦斯的化身，而莫雷尔太太就是劳伦斯的母亲莉蒂娅，保罗的女友米丽安就是劳伦斯的初恋情人杰茜。
《儿子与情人》的主线之一是以劳伦斯和杰茜的私情为蓝本，而劳伦斯母亲那强烈变态的母爱足以扼杀劳伦斯任何正常的爱情。劳伦斯曾对自己的情人说：“你知道我一直爱我的母亲。我像情人一样爱她，所以我总也无法爱你。”这些折磨人的日子在《儿子与情人》中有很详尽的描述。
《儿子与情人》-小说背景
小说背景是劳伦斯的出生地——诺丁汉郡矿区。父亲莫瑞尔是矿工，由于长年沉重的劳动和煤井事故使他变得脾气暴躁，母亲出身
于中产家庭，有一定教养。结婚后，夫妇不和，母亲开始厌弃丈夫，把全部感情和希望倾注在孩子身上，由此产生畸形的母爱。长子威廉为伦敦律师当文书，但为了挣钱劳累致死。母亲从此对小儿子保罗寄予厚望。小说前半部着重写了保罗和其母亲之间奥狄甫斯式的感情。后半部则着重写了保罗和两位情人克拉拉和米里艾姆之间两种不同的爱。前者情欲爱，后者是柏拉图式的精神之恋。保罗在母亲阴影之下，无法选择自己的生活道路。直到母亲病故后，他才摆脱了束缚，离别故土和情人，真正成人。
劳伦斯通过现实主义和心理分析的写作方法，描写了十九世纪末叶英国工业社会中下层人民的生活和特定环境下母子间和两性间的复杂、变态的心理。他强调人的原始本能，把理智作为压抑天性的因素加以摒弃，主张充分发挥人的本能。小说中，劳伦斯还对英国生活中工业化物质文明和商业精神进行了批判。
《儿子与情人》-内容介绍
《儿子与情人》小说主人公保罗的父母莫瑞尔夫妇。他们两人是在一次舞会上结识的，可以说是一见钟情，婚后也过了一段甜蜜、幸福的日子。但是，两人由于出身不同，性格不合，精神追求迥异，在短暂的激情过后，之间便产生了无休止的唇枪舌剑，丈夫甚至动起手来，还把怀有身孕的妻子关在门外。
小说中的夫妇之间只有肉体的结合，而没有精神的沟通、灵魂的共鸣。父亲是一位浑浑噩噩的煤矿工人，贪杯，粗俗，常常把家里的事和孩子们的前程置之度外。母亲出身于中产阶级，受过教育，对嫁给一个平凡的矿工耿耿于怀，直到对丈夫完全绝望。于是，她把时间、精力和全部精神希冀转移、倾注到由于肉体结合而降生于人世间的大儿子威廉和二儿子保罗身上。
她竭力阻止儿子步父亲的后尘，下井挖煤；她千方百计敦促他们跳出下层人的圈子，出人头地，实现她在丈夫身上未能实现的精神追求。她的一言一行、一举一动不但拉大了她和丈夫之间的距离，并最终使之成为不可逾越的鸿沟，而且影响了子女，使他们与母亲结成牢固的统一战线，去共同对付那虽然肉体依旧光滑、健壮，而精神日渐衰败、枯竭的父亲。
母亲和孩子们的统一战线给孤立无援的父亲带来了痛苦和灾难，也没有给莫瑞尔家里的任何其他一个人带来好处。发生在父母身上那无休止的冲突，特别是无法和解的灵与肉的撞击重演在母亲和儿子的身上。相比之下，夫妻之间的不和对莫瑞尔太太来说并没有带来太大的精神上的折磨，因为她对丈夫失去了信心，而且本来就没有抱多大的希望。
没有让母亲扬眉吐气的大儿子死后，二儿子保罗就逐渐成了母亲惟一的精神港湾，也成了母亲发泄无名之火和内心痛苦的一个渠道。她爱儿子，恨铁不成钢，一个劲儿地鼓励、督促保罗成名成家，跻身于上流社会，为母亲争光争气；她也想方设法从精神上控制儿子，使他不移情他人，特别是别的女人，以便满足自己婚姻的缺憾。这种强烈的带占有性质的爱使儿子感到窒息，迫使他一有机会就设法逃脱。而在短暂的逃离中，他又常常被母亲那无形的精神枷锁牵引着，痛苦得不能自已。
和女友米莉安的交往过程也是年轻的保罗经历精神痛苦的过程。他们由于兴趣相投，接触日渐频繁，产生了感情，成了一对应该说是十分相配的恋人。然而可悲的是，米莉安也过分追求精神满足，非但缺乏激情，而且像保罗的母亲一样，企图从精神上占有保罗，从灵魂上吞噬保罗。这使她与保罗的母亲成了针锋相对的“情敌”，命里注定要败在那占有欲更强，又可依赖血缘关系轻易占上风的老太太手下。
保罗身边的另一个名叫克拉拉的女人同样是一个灵与肉相分离的畸形人。她生活在社会下层，与丈夫分居，一段时间内与保罗打得火热。保罗从这位“荡妇”身上得到肉体上的满足。然而这种“狂欢式”的融合，是一种没有生命力的、一瞬即逝的结合。由于从米莉安身上找不到安慰，保罗需要从心理上寻求自我平衡，需要从性上证明自己的男性能力。由于从丈夫身上得不到满足，克拉拉也需要展示自己的魅力，从肉体上寻求自我平衡。
做为母亲，与儿子尤其是与二儿子保罗之间的情结，那种撕肝裂肺的灵魂上的争斗则给可怜的母亲带来了无法愈合的创伤，直到她郁郁寡欢，无可奈何，离开人世。
《儿子与情人》-人物分析
《儿子与情人》中，保罗母亲对丈夫的失望、不满和怨恨使莫瑞尔太太把自己的感情、爱怜和精神寄托转向了儿子，或者说，莫瑞尔太太把自己经历过的精神磨难和一心要解决的问题“折射”到了儿子的身上，于是一场灵与肉的冲撞又在母子之间展开。
母亲的这种性变态使儿子心酸，惆怅，无所适从。有了母亲，保罗就无法去爱别的女人。在母亲几乎是声嘶力竭地哀叹“我从来没有过一个丈夫”、一个“真正”的丈夫时，保罗禁不住深情地抚摸起母亲的头发，热吻起母亲的喉颈。这种“恋母情结”在很大程度上变成了一种“固恋”，使他失去了感情和理智的和谐，失去了“本我”和 “超自我”之间的平衡。因此，保罗的情感无法发展、升华，他的性心理性格无法完善、成熟，从而导致了他一生的痛苦和悲剧。
幼年时期的“恋母”情结，使保罗成了感情上和精神上的“痴呆儿”。他虽然爱恋着米莉安，但却不能像一位正常的血肉之躯，理直气壮地去爱她。这不但使自己陷入了困境，也给米莉安造成了巨大的精神痛苦。保罗见不到米莉安的时候会感到闷得慌，可是一旦跟她在一起却要争争吵吵，因为米莉安总是显得“超凡脱俗”或非常地“精神化”，使保罗觉得像跟母亲在一起那样不自在。
保罗只要跟别的女人在一起，灵魂就会被母亲那无形的精神枷锁控制着，感到左右为难，无法获得自由。在他和米莉安俨然像一对夫妇在亲戚家生活的日子里，保罗得到了米莉安的肉体，而在精神上，保罗仍然属于自己的母亲。米莉安只是带着浓厚的宗教成分，为了心爱的人做出了 “牺牲”。所以，在那段日子里，他们也并没有能够享受青年男女之间本该享受到的愉悦。实际上，肉体间的苟合，只是加速了他们之间爱情悲剧的进程。
在这一次次灵与肉的冲撞后，小说中的主要人物一个个伤痕累累，肉体和精神均遭受了巨大的摧残。保罗的父亲在家里、在亲人面前永远成为格格不入的“边缘人”。保罗的母亲在精神上从来没有过一个“真正的丈夫”，只能从儿子身上寻找情感的慰藉，而这种努力又常常被其他女人所挫败，后来心理、生理衰竭，得了不治之症，早早撒手人寰。米莉安虽然苦苦挣扎，忍辱负重，但并没有得到保罗的心，保罗直到摆脱母亲的精神羁绊，可以与她重归于好，永结良缘时，最终还是狠下心来，拒绝了她的婚求，孑然一人，继续做精神上的挣扎。
只沉迷于肉体欲望的克拉拉也很快结束了与保罗的风流，回到性格粗俗、暴烈、无所作为的丈夫身边。可以说，在这些灵与肉的冲撞中，我们看到的是一个个沮丧、可悲的失败者，找不到一个最终的赢家。其实，在人们赖以繁衍生息的大自然被破坏，在人性被扭曲，在人类的和谐关系不断被威胁的社会中，灵与肉的争斗本来就是残酷无情的，到头来谁也成不了赢家，成不了一个完整的、有血有肉的人。
《儿子与情人》-作品影响
《儿子与情人》是劳伦斯在一次世界大战之前最优秀的作品之一。戴维•赫伯特•劳伦斯是一位天才的作家，他的作品洞察人类生命中最深层的领地—人的心理，生动描述人类诸如挣扎、痛苦、危机、欢娱等种种情感和感受。他致力于开启人类心深处的“黑匣子”，穿透意识的表面，触及隐藏的血的关联“，从而揭示原型的自我。
在这部小说里，他对女性的心理进行了大胆、透彻的探索，其小说中的女性也因此体现出更为强烈的审美情趣和艺术表现力，细腻准确地反映出劳伦斯的写作主题。
戴维•赫伯特•劳伦斯用精神分析的方法对《儿子与情人》中的三种女性爱情心理模式进行描述，这三种模式将成为此论文的三部分。第一部分—精神模式,，此模式对本能的欲望进行抵制和轻视。《儿子与情人》中的米莉亚姆就是这个模式的典型代表。第二部分 ——肉欲模式，这种心理会放纵她们自己个人的本能的欲望而又忽视了灵魂的交流。这部小说中的克拉拉就是一个典型的例子。第三部分——情节模式，这种模式对某个东西或某一种感情显示出一种极端的态度。莫瑞尔太太就这样的一个对家庭和儿子们有极端的占有欲的女人。
戴维•赫伯特•劳伦斯通过对《儿子与情人》中的三种女性爱情心理模式的分析，阐述其局限性，揭示健康自然的女性爱情心理，对于成就完整的生命及追求中女性的成功有重要作用。
第一章 新婚岁月-1
过去的“地狱街”被“河川区”取而代之，地狱街原是青山巷旁那条溪边的一 片墙面凸凹不平的茅草屋，那里住的是在两个区以外小矿井里工作的矿工们。小溪 从赤杨树下流过，还没有受到这些小矿井的污染。矿井的煤是使用毛驴吃力地拉着 吊车拉上地面的。乡村里到处都是这种矿井，有些矿井在查理二世时期就开始采掘 了。为数不多的几个矿工和毛驴像蚂蚁似的在地下打洞，在小麦地和草地上弄出奇 形怪状的土堆，地面上涂成一块块的黑色。矿工们的茅屋成片成行到处都是，再加 上分布在教区里的零星的庄园和织袜工人的住房，这就形成了贝斯伍德村。
大约六十年前，这里突然发生了变化。小矿井被金融家的大煤矿所排挤。后来， 在诺丁汉郡和德贝郡都发现了煤矿和铁矿，便出现了卡斯特——魏特公司。帕尔莫 斯勋爵在一片欢呼中，正式为本公司坐落在深坞森林公园旁边的第一家煤矿的开张 剪了彩。
大概就在这个时候，臭名昭著的地狱街被烧了个精光，连大堆的垃圾也化为灰 烬。
卡斯特——魏特公司吉星高照，从赛尔贝到纳塔尔河谷开采出一个又一个的新 矿，不久这里就有六个新矿。一条铁路从纳塔尔开始，穿越森林中高高的砂岩，经 过破落了的卡尔特会修道院、罗宾汉泉和斯宾尼公园，到达米恩顿矿，一个座落在 小麦田里的大矿。铁路从米恩顿穿过谷地到达本克尔煤山，然后向北通往可以俯瞰 克瑞斯和德贝郡群山的贝加利和赛尔贝。这六个矿就如六枚黑色的钉子镶嵌在田野 上，由一条弯弯曲曲的细链子般的铁路串成一串。
为了安置大批矿工，卡斯特——魏特公司盖起了居民区，一个个大大的四合院 在贝斯伍德山脚下出现。后来，又在河川的地狱街上，建起了河川区。
河川区包括六幢矿区住宅，分成两排，就像六点骨牌似的，每幢有十二间房子。 这两排住宅坐落在贝斯伍德那陡峭的山坡脚下，从阁楼窗口望去，正对着通往赛贝 尔的那座平缓的山坡。
这些房子构造坚固、相当大方。靠近谷底的一排房子的背面种着樱草和虎耳草， 上面一排房子的阳面种着美洲石竹，窗前的小门厅、阁楼上的天窗收拾得干干净净， 小水蜡篱笆修剪得整整齐齐。但是，这只是外表，是矿工的家眷们收拾干净不住人 的客厅的景象，卧室和厨房都在房屋的后面，对着另一排房子的背面能看到的只是 一片杂乱的后院和垃圾堆。在两排房屋中间，在两行垃圾堆中间，有一条小巷是孩 子们玩耍，女人们聊天，男人们抽烟的场所。因此，在河川区，尽管那房子盖得不 错，看起来也很漂亮，可实际生活条件却非常恶劣，因为人们生活不能没有厨房， 但厨房面对的却是塞满垃圾的小巷。
莫瑞尔太太并不急着要搬到河川区，她从贝斯伍德搬到山下这间房子时，这间 房已经盖了十二年了，而且开始逐渐败落。然而她不得不搬下来。她住在上面一排 房子的最后一间，因此只有一家邻居，屋子的一边比邻居多了一个长条形花园。住 在这头上的一间，她仿佛比那些住在“中间”房子里的女人多了一种贵族气派，因 为她每星期得付五先令六便士房租，而其他却付五先令。不过，这种超人一等的优 越感对莫瑞尔太太来说，安慰不大。
莫瑞尔太太三十一岁，结婚已经八年了。她身体玲珑气质柔弱，但举止果断。 然而她和河川区的女人们第一次接触时，不由得有一点胆怯。她七月从山上搬下来， 大约九月就怀了第三个孩子。
她的丈夫是个矿工。他们搬到新屋才三个星期就逢着每年一度的假日。她知道， 莫瑞尔肯定会尽情欢度这个假日的。集市开始那天是个星期一，他一大早就出了门。 两个孩子，威廉，这个七岁的男孩，吃完早饭就立即溜出家逛集市去了，撇下只有 五岁的安妮哭闹了一早晨，她也想跟着去。莫瑞尔太太在干活，她还和邻居不太熟， 不知道应该把小姑娘托付给谁，因此，只好答应安妮吃了午饭带她去集市。
威廉十二点半才回家，他是个非常好动的男孩，金色的头发，满脸雀斑，带几 分丹麦人或挪威人的气质。
“妈妈，我可以吃饭了吗？”他戴着帽子冲进屋，喊道：“别人说，一点半集 市就开始了。”
“饭一做好你就可以吃了。”妈妈笑着回答。
“饭还没好吗？”他嚷道，一双蓝眼睛气冲冲地瞪着她，“我就要错过时间了。”
“误不了。五分钟就好，现在才十二点半。”
“他们就要开始了。”这个孩子半哭半叫着。
“他们开场就要你的命啦，”母亲说，“再说，现在才十二点半，你还有整整 一个小时。”
小男孩急急忙忙摆好桌子，三个人立即坐下。他们正吃着果酱布了，突然这孩 子跳下椅子，愣愣地站在那儿，远处传来了旋转木马开动声和喇叭声，他横眉冷眼 地瞪着母亲。
“我早就告诉你了。”说着他奔向碗柜，一把抓起帽子。
“拿着你的布丁——现在才一点过五分，你弄错了——你还没拿你的两便士钱 呢。”母亲连声喊着。
男孩极为失望地转过身来，拿了两便士钱一声不吭地走了。
“我要去，我要去。”安妮边说边哭了起来。
“好，你去，你这个哭个不停的小傻瓜！”母亲说。下午，莫瑞尔太太带着女 儿，沿着高高的树篱疲倦地爬上山坡。田里的干草都堆了起来，麦茬田里牧放着牛 群，处处是温暖平静的气氛。
莫瑞尔太太不喜欢赶集市。那里有两套木马：一套靠蒸汽发动，一套由小马拉 着转。三架手风琴在演奏，夹杂着枪弹零星的射击声，卖椰子的小贩刺耳地尖叫声， 投掷木人游戏的摊主的高声吆喝，以及摆西洋镜小摊的女人的招呼声。莫瑞尔太太 看到自己的儿子站在西洋镜摊外面出神地看着，那西洋镜里正演着有名的华莱士狮 子的画面，这只狮子曾经咬死一个黑人和两个白人。她没管他，自己去给安妮买了 一些奶油糖。没多久，小男孩异常兴奋地来到妈妈跟前。
“你从没说过你要来——这儿是不是有很多好东西？——那只狮子咬死了三个 人——我已经花光了我的两便士——看！”
他从口袋里掏出两只蛋形杯子，上面有粉红色蔷蔽图案。
“我是从那个摊子上赢来的，他们在那儿打弹子游戏。我打了两回就得到了这 两个杯子——半便士玩一回。看，杯子上有蔷蔽花，我的这种。”
她知道他是为她选的。
“嘿！”她高兴地说，“真漂亮。”
母亲来逛集市，威廉喜出望外，他领着她四处游荡，东瞧西瞅。在看西洋景时， 她把图片的内容像讲故事一样讲给他听，他听得都入了迷，缠着她不肯离去。他满 怀着一个小男孩对母亲的自豪，一直意气昂扬地跟在她身边。她戴着小黑帽，披着 斗篷，向她所认识的妇女微笑示意，没有人比她更像一位贵妇人了。她终于累了， 对儿子说：
“好了，你是现在就回去呢，还是再呆会儿？”
“你这就要走啊？”他满脸不高兴地说道。
“这就走，现在都四点了。”
“你回去要干嘛呀？”他抱怨道。
“如果你不想回去，可以留下。”她说。
她带着她的小女儿慢慢地走了，儿子站在那里翘首看着她，既舍不得放母亲回 去，又不愿离开集市。当她穿过星月酒馆门前的空地时听到男人们的叫喊声，闻到 啤酒味儿，心想她丈夫可能在酒馆里，于是加快脚步走了。
六点半，威廉回来了，疲惫不堪，脸色苍白，多少还有几分沮丧情绪。他心里 感到一丝莫名其妙的痛苦，因为他没陪母亲一起回家，她走了以后，他在集市上再 没开心地玩过。
“我爸爸回家了吗？”他问。
“没有。”母亲回答。
“他在星月酒馆帮忙呢，我从窗子上那个黑铁皮洞里看到的，池的袖子卷得高 高的。”
“嗯，”母亲简单的应了声，“他没钱，别人或多或少给他些钱，他就满足了。”
天开始暗下来，莫瑞尔太太没法做针线活了，她站起身走到门口，到处弥漫着 欢快的节日气氛，这种气氛最终还是感染了她，她情不自禁地走到旁边的花园里。 女人们从集市上回来了，孩子们有的抱着一只绿腿的白羊羔，有的抱着一只木马。 偶尔，也有男人走过，手里拿满了东西。有时，也有好丈夫和全家人一起悠闲地走 过，但通常是女人和孩子们走在一起。暮色更浓了，那些在家围着白围裙的主妇们， 端着胳膊，站在小巷尽头聊天。
莫瑞尔太太形单影只，但她对此已经习惯了。她的儿子女儿都已在楼上睡了。 表面看来她的家稳固可靠，可是，一想到将要出世的孩子，她便深感不快。这个世 界似乎是一个枯燥的地方，至少在威廉长大以前，她不会有别的期望。但是，对她 自己来说，只能枯燥的忍耐下去——一直忍到孩子们长大。可是这么多的孩子！她 养不起第三个孩子。她不想要这个孩子。当父亲的在酒馆里眼务，自己醉醺醺的， 她看不起他，可又跟他联系在一起。她接受不了这个即将来临的孩子，要不是为了 威廉和安妮，她早就厌倦了这种贫穷、丑恶的庸俗的生活。
她走到宅前的花园里，觉得身子沉重得迈不开步，可在屋里又没法呆下去。天 气闷得让人喘不过气来。想想未来，展望前程，她觉得自己像是给人活埋了。
宅前的花园是由水蜡树围起来的小块方地。她站在那儿，尽力想把自己溶入花 香和即将逝去的美丽的暮色中。在园门对面，高高的树篱下面，是上山的台阶。两 旁是割过草的草坡沉浸在霞光中。天色变化迅速，霞光转眼就在田野上消失，大地 和树篱都沉浸在暮霭里。夜幕降临了，山顶亮起了一簇灯光，灯光处传来散集的喧 嚷声。
树篱下那条黑暗的小路上，男人们跌跌撞撞地往家走。有一个小伙子从山头陡 坡上冲下来，“嘭”跌倒在石阶上，莫瑞尔大大打了个寒噤。小伙子骂骂咧咧地爬 起来，样子可怜兮兮的，好象石阶是故意伤害他。
莫瑞尔太太折身回屋，心里不知道这样的生活能否有变化。但她现在已经认识 到这是不会改变的，她觉得她似乎离她的少女时代已经很远很远了，她简直不敢相 信如今这个迈着沉重的步伐在河川区后园的女人，就是十年前在希尔尼斯大堤上脚 步轻快的那位少女。
“这儿和我有什么关系呢？”她自言自语“这儿的一切都和我有何相干呢？甚 至这个即将来世的孩子和我又有何瓜葛呢？反正，没人来体贴我。”
有时，生活支配一个人，支配一个人的身躯，完成一个人的历程，然而这不是 真正的生活，生活是任人自生自灭。
“我等待”莫瑞尔太太喃喃自语——“我等啊等，可我等待的东西永远不会来。”
她收拾完去了厨房，点着了灯，添上火，找出第二天要洗的衣服先泡上，然后， 她坐下来做针线活儿，一补就是好几个小时，她的针在布料上有规律地闪着银光。 偶尔，她叹口气放松一下自己，心里一直盘算着，如何为孩子们节衣缩食。
丈夫回来时，已经十一点半了。他那络腮胡子上部红光满面，向她轻轻地点了 点头，一副志得意满的神气。
“(呕欠)，(呕欠)，在等我，宝贝？我去帮安东尼干活了，你知道他给了我多 少？一点也不多，只有半克朗钱……”
“他认为其余的都算作你的啤酒钱啦。”她简短地答道。
“我没有——我没有，你相信我吧，今天我只喝了一点点，就一点儿。”他的 声音温和起来“看，我给你带了一点白兰地姜饼，还给孩子们带了一个椰子。”他 把姜饼和一个毛茸茸的椰子放在桌子上，“嘿，这辈子你还从来没有说过一声‘谢 谢’呢，是么？”
仿佛为了表示歉意的回报，她拿起椰子摇了摇，看看它是否有椰子汁。
“是好的，你放心好了，我是从比尔·霍金森那里要来的。我说‘比尔，你吃 不了三个椰子吧？可以送一个给我的孩子吃？’‘行，沃尔特，’他说：‘你要哪 个就拿哪个吧。’我就拿了一个，还说了声谢谢。我不想在他面前摇摇椰子看好不 好，不过他说，‘沃尔特，你最好看看这一个是不是好的。’所以，你看，我知道 这是一个好的。他是一个好人，比尔·霍金森真是一个好人。”
“一个人喝醉时，他什么都舍得给，你们俩都喝醉了。”莫瑞尔太太说。
“嘿，你这个讨厌的臭婆娘，我倒要问问谁喝醉了？”莫瑞尔说，他洋洋得意， 因为在星月酒馆帮了一天忙，就不停地嗦叨着。
莫瑞尔太太累极了，也听烦了他的废话，趁他封炉的时候，溜上床睡觉去了。
莫瑞尔太太出身于一个古老而体面的市民家庭，祖上曾与哈钦森上校共同作战， 世世代代一直是公理会虔诚的教徒。有一年，诺丁汉很多花边商破产的时候，她的 做花边生意的祖父也破产了。她的父亲，乔治·科珀德是个工程师——一个高大、 英俊、傲慢的人，他不但为自己的白皮肤、蓝眼睛自豪，更以他的正直为荣。格特 鲁德身材像母亲一样小，但她的高傲、倔强的性格却来自科珀德家族。
乔治·科珀德为自己的贫穷而发愁。他后来在希尔尼斯修船厂当工程师头领。 莫瑞尔太太——格特鲁德——是他的二女儿。她像母亲，也最爱母亲，但她继承了 科珀德家族的蓝眼睛宽额头。她的眼睛明亮有神。她记得小时候她恨父亲对温柔、 幽默、善良的母亲的那种盛气凌人的态度；她记得自己跑遍希尔尼斯大堤去找船、 她记得自己去修船厂时，男人们都亲热地拍着她夸奖她，因为她虽是一位娇嫩的女 孩，但她个性鲜明；她还记得那个私立学校的一位年迈女教师，后来还给她当助手。 她现在还保留着约翰·费尔德送给她的《圣经》。十九岁时，她常和约翰·费尔德 一块儿从教堂回家。他是一个富有商人的儿子，在伦敦上过大学，当时正准备投身 于商业。
她甚至能回忆起那年九月一个星期天下午他俩坐在她父亲住所后院的葡萄藤下 的每一个细节，阳光从葡萄叶的缝隙中射下来，在他俩身上投下美丽的图案，有如 一条披肩。有些叶子完全黄了，就像一朵朵平展的金花。
“坐着别动，”他喊道，“看你的头发，我不知道如何形容，它像黄金和紫钢 一样闪闪发光，像烧熔的铜一样红，太阳一照有如一根根金丝，他们竟然说你的头 发是褐色的，你母亲还说是灰色的呢。”
她看着他闪光的眼睛，但她那平静的表情却没有流露出内心的激动。
“可是你说你不喜欢做生意。”她缠着他问。
“我不喜欢，我恨做生意！”他激动地喊道。“你可能愿意做一个牧师吧。” 她半恳求地说。
“当然，我喜欢做一个牧师，我认为自己能做一个第一流的传教士。”
“那你为什么不呢——为什么不做牧师呢？”她的声音充满愤慨，“我要是一 个男子汉，没有什么可以阻止我。”她把头抬得很高，他在她面前总是有些胆怯。
“但是我父亲非常固执，他决定让我去做生意，要知道他是说到做到的。”
“可是，你是一个男子汉吗？”她叫了起来。
“是个男子汉算什么。”说完后，他无可奈何地皱着眉。
如今她在河川区操持家务，多少能体谅一点男子汉是怎么回事，明白凡事不可 能样样顺心。
二十岁的时候，他身体不佳，便离开了希尔尼斯。父亲已经退休回到了诺丁汉。 约翰·费尔德因为父亲已经破产，只得去诺伍德当了老师。一去两年，沓无音讯。
她便下决心去打听一下，才知道他和房东太太，一个四十多岁富有的寡妇结了 婚。
莫瑞尔太太还保存着约翰·费尔德的那本《圣经》。她现在已经不相信他会— —唉，她相当明白他会是什么样的。她为了自己才保存着他的《圣经》。把对他的 想念藏在心里，三十五年了，直到她离世的那天，她也没提起过他。
二十三岁时，她在一次圣诞晚会上遇见了一个来自埃沃斯河谷的小伙子。莫瑞 尔当时二十七岁，体格强壮，身材挺拔，仪表堂堂，头发自然卷曲，乌黑发亮，胡 须浓密茂盛而且不加修饰，满面红光，嘴唇红润，又笑口常开，所以非常引人注目， 他的笑声浑厚而响亮，与众不同。格特鲁德·科珀德盯着他，不知不觉入了迷。他 生气勃勃，幽默诙谐，和什么人都能愉快相处。她的父亲也极富幽默感，但是有点 冷嘲热讽。这个人不同：温和、不咬文嚼字、热心，近似嬉戏。
她本人刚好相反。她生性好奇，接受能力强，爱听别人说话，而且善于引导别 人谈话。她喜欢思索，聪明颖悟，尤其喜欢和一些受过教育的人讨论有关宗教、哲 学、方面的问题。遗憾的是这样的机会并不多，因此她总是让人们谈他们自己 的事，她也自得其乐。
她本人相当娇小、柔弱，但天庭饱满，褐色的卷发披肩，蓝色的眼睛坦率、真 诚，像在探索什么。她有双科珀德家人特有的美丽的手，她的衣服总是很淡雅，藏 青色的绸衣，配上一条奇特的扇贝形银链，再别上一枚螺旋状的胸针，再简洁不过。 她完美无暇，心地坦白，不乏赤子之心。
沃尔特·莫瑞尔在她面前仿佛骨头都酥了。在这个矿工眼里，她是神秘的化身， 是奇妙的组合，是一个地道的淑女。她跟他说话时，她那纯正的南方口音的英语使 他听着感到很刺激。她看着他那优美的舞姿，好象是天生的舞星，他跳起来乐此不 疲，他的祖父是个法国难民，娶了一个英国酒吧女郎——如果这也算是婚姻的话。 格特鲁德·科珀德看着这个年轻人跳舞，他的动作有点炫耀的感觉，很有魅力。他 那红光满面、黑发技散的头，仿佛是插在身上的一朵花，而且对每一位舞伴都一样 的嘻笑颜颜。她觉得他太棒了，她还从来没有碰到谁能比得上他。对她来说，父亲 就是所有男人的典范，然而，乔治·科珀德，爱读神学，只和圣保罗有共同思想， 他英俊而高傲，对人冷嘲热讽，热情，但好支配他人，他漠视所有的感官享受—— 他和那些矿工大相径庭。格特鲁德本人很蔑视跳舞，她对这种娱乐没有一点兴趣， 甚至从没学过乡村舞蹈。她是一个清教徒，和她的父亲一样，思想清高而古板。因 此，矿工生命的情欲之火不断溢出温柔的情感，就象蜡烛的火焰似的从他体内汩汩 流出，不像她的那股火受她的思想和精神的禁铜，喷发不出来。所以她对他有种新 奇的感觉。
他走过来对她鞠了躬，一股暖流涌入她的身体，仿佛喝了仙酒。
“一定要和我跳一曲。”他亲热地说。她告诉过他，自己不会跳舞。“不很容 易，我很想看你跳舞。”她看着他恭敬的样子笑了。她笑得很美，这使他不禁心旌 摇曳。
“不行，我不会跳舞。”她轻柔地说。她的声音清脆得像铃铛一样响亮。
他下意识地坐到了她的身旁，恭敬地欠着身子，他常凭直觉行事。
“但是你不应该放弃这支曲子。”她责怪着说。
“不，我不想跳那支——那不是我想跳的。”
“可刚才你还请我跳呢。”
他听了大笑起来。
“我从没想到你还有这一手，你一下就把我绕的圈子拉直了。”
这自是她轻快地笑了。
“你看起来不像拉直的样子。”她说。
“我像条猪尾巴，不由自主地蜷缩起来。”他爽朗地笑着。
“你是一个矿工！”她惊愕地喊道。
“对，我十岁就开始下井了。”
她又惊愕地看着他。
“十岁时！那一定很辛苦吧？”她问道。
“很快就习惯了：人像耗子一样生活着，直到晚上才溜出来看看动静。”
“那眼睛也瞎了。”她皱了皱眉。
“像一只地老鼠！”他笑道：“嗯，有些家伙的确像地老鼠一样到处转。”他 闭上眼睛头往前伸，模仿老鼠翘起鼻子到处闻，像在打探方向。“他们的确这么做。” 他天真地坚持说。“你从来没见过他们下井时的样子？不过，什么时候我带你下去 一趟，让你亲眼看看。”
她看着他，非常吃惊。一种全新的生活展现在她面前。她了解到了矿工的生活， 成千成百的矿工在地下辛勤地干活，直到晚上才出来。在她眼里他似乎高尚起来， 他每天的生活都在冒险，他却依然欢天喜地。她带着感动和尊敬的神情看着他。
“你不喜欢吗？”他温柔地问，“是的，那会弄脏你的。”
她从来没与方音很重的人谈过话。
来年的圣诞节他们结婚了，前三个月她幸福极了，她一直沉浸在这种幸福中有 半年时光。
Sons and Lovers is a 1913 novel by the English writer D. H. Lawrence.
Plot introduction and history
The third published novel of D. H. Lawrence, taken by many to be his earliest masterpiece, tells the story of Paul Morel, a young man and budding artist. Richard Aldington explains the semi-autobiographical nature of this masterpiece:
When you have experienced Sons and Lovers you have lived through the agonies of the young Lawrence striving to win free from his old life. Generally, it is not only considered as an evocative portrayal of working-class life in a mining community, but also an intense study of family, class and early sexual relationships.[citation needed]
The original 1913 edition was heavily edited by Edward Garnett who removed 80 passages, roughly a tenth of the text. The novel is dedicated to Garnett. Garnett, as the literary advisor to the publishing firm Duckworth, was an important figure in leading Lawrence further into the London literary world during the years 1911 and 1912. It was not until the 1992 Cambridge University Press edition was released that the missing text was restored.
Lawrence began working on the novel in the period of his mother's illness, and often expresses this sense of his mother's wasted life through his female protagonist Gertrude Morel. Letters written around the time of its development clearly demonstrate the admiration he felt for his mother - viewing her as a 'clever, ironical, delicately moulded woman' - and her apparently unfortunate marriage to his coal mining father, a man of 'sanguine temperament' and instability. He believed that his mother had married below her class status. Rather interestingly, Lydia Lawrence wasn't born into the middle-class. This personal family conflict experienced by Lawrence provided him with the impetus for the first half of his novel - in which both William, the older brother, and Paul Morel become increasingly contemptuous of their father - and the subsequent exploration of Paul Morel's antagonizing relationships with both his lovers, which are both invariably affected by his allegiance to his mother.
The first draft of Lawrence's novel is now lost and was never completed, which seems to be directly due to his mother's illness. He did not return to the novel for three months, at which point it was titled 'Paul Morel'. The penultimate draft of the novel coincided with a remarkable change in Lawrence's life, as his health was thrown into tumult and he resigned his teaching job in order to spend time in Germany. This plan was never followed, however, as he met and married the German minor aristocrat, Frieda Weekley. According to Frieda's account of their first meeting, she and Lawrence talked about Oedipus and the effects of early childhood on later life within twenty minutes of meeting.
The third draft of 'Paul Morel' was sent to the publishing house Heinemann, which was repulsively responded to by William Heinemann himself. His reaction captures the shock and newness of Lawrence's novel, 'the degradation of the mother [as explored in this novel], supposed to be of gentler birth, is almost inconceivable', and encouraged Lawrence to redraft the novel one more time. In addition to altering the title to a more thematic 'Sons and Lovers', Heinemann's response had reinvigorated Lawrence into vehemently defending his novel and its themes as a coherent work of art. In order to justify its form Lawrence explains, in letters to Garnett, that it is a 'great tragedy' and a 'great book', one that mirrors the 'tragedy of thousands of young men in England'.
Explanation of the novel's title
Lawrence rewrote the work four times until he was happy with it. Although before publication the work was usually called Paul Morel, Lawrence finally settled on Sons and Lovers. Just as the new title makes the work less focused on a central character, many of the later additions broadened the scope of the work, thereby making the work less autobiographical. While some of the edits by Garnett were on the grounds of propriety or style, others would once more narrow the emphasis back upon Paul.
Plot summary
Part I:
The refined daughter of a "good old burgher family," Gertrude Coppard meets a rough-hewn miner at a Christmas dance and falls into a whirlwind romance. But soon after her marriage to Walter Morel, she realizes the difficulties of living off his meagre salary in a rented house. The couple fight and drift apart and Walter retreats to the pub after work each day. Gradually, Mrs. Morel's affections shift to her sons beginning with the oldest, William.
As a boy, William is so attached to his mother that he doesn't enjoy the fair without her. As he grows older, he defends her against his father's occasional violence. Eventually, he leaves their Nottinghamshire home for a job in London, where he begins to rise up into the middle class. He is engaged, but he detests the girl's superficiality. He dies and Mrs. Morel is heartbroken, but when Paul catches pneumonia she rediscovers her love for her second son.
Part II:
Both repulsed by and drawn to his mother, Paul is afraid to leave her but wants to go out on his own, and needs to experience love. Gradually, he falls into a relationship with Miriam, a farm girl who attends his church. The two take long walks and have intellectual conversations about books but Paul resists, in part because his mother looks down on her. At work, Paul meets Clara Dawes who has separated from her husband, Baxter.
Paul leaves Miriam behind as he grows more intimate with Clara, but even she cannot hold him and he returns to his mother. When his mother dies soon after, he is alone.
Lawrence summarized the plot in a letter to Edward Garnett on 12 November 1912:
It follows this idea: a woman of character and refinement goes into the lower class, and has no satisfaction in her own life. She has had a passion for her husband, so her children are born of passion, and have heaps of vitality. But as her sons grow up she selects them as lovers — first the eldest, then the second. These sons are urged into life by their reciprocal love of their mother — urged on and on. But when they come to manhood, they can't love, because their mother is the strongest power in their lives, and holds them. It's rather like Goethe and his mother and Frau von Stein and Christiana — As soon as the young men come into contact with women, there's a split. William gives his sex to a fribble, and his mother holds his soul. But the split kills him, because he doesn't know where he is. The next son gets a woman who fights for his soul — fights his mother. The son loves his mother — all the sons hate and are jealous of the father. The battle goes on between the mother and the girl, with the son as object. The mother gradually proves stronger, because of the ties of blood. The son decides to leave his soul in his mother's hands, and, like his elder brother go for passion. He gets passion. Then the split begins to tell again. But, almost unconsciously, the mother realizes what is the matter, and begins to die. The son casts off his mistress, attends to his mother dying. He is left in the end naked of everything, with the drift towards death.
Literary significance & criticism
In 1999, the Modern Library ranked Sons and Lovers ninth on a list of the 100 best novels in English of the 20th century.
It contains a frequently quoted use of the English dialect word "nesh". The speech of several protagonists is represented in Lawrence's written interpretation of the Nottinghamshire dialect, which also features in several of his poems .
Film, TV or theatrical adaptations
Main article: Sons and Lovers (film)
Sons and Lovers has been adapted for the screen several times, including the Academy Award winning 1960 film, a 1981 BBC TV serial and another on ITV1 in 2003. The 2003 serial has been issued on DVD by Acorn Media UK.
Standard editions
* Sons and Lovers (1913), edited by Helen Baron and Carl Baron, Cambridge University Press, 1992, ISBN 0-521-24276-2
* Paul Morel (1911–12), edited by Helen Baron, Cambridge University Press, 2003, ISBN 0-521-56009-8, an early manuscript version of Sons and Lovers
CHAPTER I THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS Page 1
"THE BOTTOMS" succeeded to "Hell Row". Hell Row was a block of thatched, bulging cottages that stood by the brookside on Greenhill Lane. There lived the colliers who worked in the little gin-pits two fields away. The brook ran under the alder trees, scarcely soiled by these small mines, whose coal was drawn to the surface by donkeys that plodded wearily in a circle round a gin. And all over the countryside were these same pits, some of which had been worked in the time of Charles II, the few colliers and the donkeys burrowing down like ants into the earth, making queer mounds and little black places among the corn-fields and the meadows. And the cottages of these coal-miners, in blocks and pairs here and there, together with odd farms and homes of the stockingers, straying over the parish, formed the village of Bestwood.
Then, some sixty years ago, a sudden change took place. The gin-pits were elbowed aside by the large mines of the financiers. The coal and iron field of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire was discovered. Carston, Waite and Co. appeared. Amid tremendous excitement, Lord Palmerston formally opened the company's first mine at Spinney Park, on the edge of Sherwood Forest.
About this time the notorious Hell Row, which through growing old had acquired an evil reputation, was burned down, and much dirt was cleansed away.
Carston, Waite & Co. found they had struck on a good thing, so, down the valleys of the brooks from Selby and Nuttall, new mines were sunk, until soon there were six pits working. From Nuttall, high up on the sandstone among the woods, the railway ran, past the ruined priory of the Carthusians and past Robin Hood's Well, down to Spinney Park, then on to Minton, a large mine among corn-fields; from Minton across the farmlands of the valleyside to Bunker's Hill, branching off there, and running north to Beggarlee and Selby, that looks over at Crich and the hills of Derbyshire: six mines like black studs on the countryside, linked by a loop of fine chain, the railway.
To accommodate the regiments of miners, Carston, Waite and Co. built the Squares, great quadrangles of dwellings on the hillside of Bestwood, and then, in the brook valley, on the site of Hell Row, they erected the Bottoms.
The Bottoms consisted of six blocks of miners' dwellings, two rows of three, like the dots on a blank-six domino, and twelve houses in a block. This double row of dwellings sat at the foot of the rather sharp slope from Bestwood, and looked out, from the attic windows at least, on the slow climb of the valley towards Selby.
The houses themselves were substantial and very decent. One could walk all round, seeing little front gardens with auriculas and saxifrage in the shadow of the bottom block, sweet-williams and pinks in the sunny top block; seeing neat front windows, little porches, little privet hedges, and dormer windows for the attics. But that was outside; that was the view on to the uninhabited parlours of all the colliers' wives. The dwelling-room, the kitchen, was at the back of the house, facing inward between the blocks, looking at a scrubby back garden, and then at the ash-pits. And between the rows, between the long lines of ash-pits, went the alley, where the children played and the women gossiped and the men smoked. So, the actual conditions of living in the Bottoms, that was so well built and that looked so nice, were quite unsavoury because people must live in the kitchen, and the kitchens opened on to that nasty alley of ash-pits.
Mrs. Morel was not anxious to move into the Bottoms, which was already twelve years old and on the downward path, when she descended to it from Bestwood. But it was the best she could do. Moreover, she had an end house in one of the top blocks, and thus had only one neighbour; on the other side an extra strip of garden. And, having an end house, she enjoyed a kind of aristocracy among the other women of the "between" houses, because her rent was five shillings and sixpence instead of five shillings a week. But this superiority in station was not much consolation to Mrs. Morel.
She was thirty-one years old, and had been married eight years. A rather small woman, of delicate mould but resolute bearing, she shrank a little from the first contact with the Bottoms women. She came down in the July, and in the September expected her third baby.
Her husband was a miner. They had only been in their new home three weeks when the wakes, or fair, began. Morel, she knew, was sure to make a holiday of it. He went off early on the Monday morning, the day of the fair. The two children were highly excited. William, a boy of seven, fled off immediately after breakfast, to prowl round the wakes ground, leaving Annie, who was only five, to whine all morning to go also. Mrs. Morel did her work. She scarcely knew her neighbours yet, and knew no one with whom to trust the little girl. So she promised to take her to the wakes after dinner.
William appeared at half-past twelve. He was a very active lad, fair-haired, freckled, with a touch of the Dane or Norwegian about him.
"Can I have my dinner, mother?" he cried, rushing in with his cap on. "'Cause it begins at half-past one, the man says so."
"You can have your dinner as soon as it's done," replied the mother.
"Isn't it done?" he cried, his blue eyes staring at her in indignation. "Then I'm goin' be-out it."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. It will be done in five minutes. It is only half-past twelve."
"They'll be beginnin'," the boy half cried, half shouted.
"You won't die if they do," said the mother. "Besides, it's only half-past twelve, so you've a full hour."
The lad began hastily to lay the table, and directly the three sat down. They were eating batter-pudding and jam, when the boy jumped off his chair and stood perfectly stiff. Some distance away could be heard the first small braying of a merry-go-round, and the tooting of a horn. His face quivered as he looked at his mother.
"I told you!" he said, running to the dresser for his cap.
"Take your pudding in your hand--and it's only five past one, so you were wrong--you haven't got your twopence," cried the mother in a breath.
The boy came back, bitterly disappointed, for his twopence, then went off without a word.
"I want to go, I want to go," said Annie, beginning to cry.
"Well, and you shall go, whining, wizzening little stick!" said the mother. And later in the afternoon she trudged up the hill under the tall hedge with her child. The hay was gathered from the fields, and cattle were turned on to the eddish. It was warm, peaceful.
Mrs. Morel did not like the wakes. There were two sets of horses, one going by steam, one pulled round by a pony; three organs were grinding, and there came odd cracks of pistol-shots, fearful screeching of the cocoanut man's rattle, shouts of the Aunt Sally man, screeches from the peep-show lady. The mother perceived her son gazing enraptured outside the Lion Wallace booth, at the pictures of this famous lion that had killed a negro and maimed for life two white men. She left him alone, and went to get Annie a spin of toffee. Presently the lad stood in front of her, wildly excited.
"You never said you was coming--isn't the' a lot of things?- that lion's killed three men-l've spent my tuppence-an' look here."
He pulled from his pocket two egg-cups, with pink moss-roses on them.
"I got these from that stall where y'ave ter get them marbles in them holes. An' I got these two in two goes-'aepenny a go-they've got moss-roses on, look here. I wanted these."
She knew he wanted them for her.
"H'm!" she said, pleased. "They ARE pretty!"
"Shall you carry 'em, 'cause I'm frightened o' breakin' 'em?"
He was tipful of excitement now she had come, led her about the ground, showed her everything. Then, at the peep-show, she explained the pictures, in a sort of story, to which he listened as if spellbound. He would not leave her. All the time he stuck close to her, bristling with a small boy's pride of her. For no other woman looked such a lady as she did, in her little black bonnet and her cloak. She smiled when she saw women she knew. When she was tired she said to her son:
"Well, are you coming now, or later?"
"Are you goin' a'ready?" he cried, his face full of reproach.
"Already? It is past four, I know."
"What are you goin' a'ready for?" he lamented.
"You needn't come if you don't want," she said.
And she went slowly away with her little girl, whilst her son stood watching her, cut to the heart to let her go, and yet unable to leave the wakes. As she crossed the open ground in front of the Moon and Stars she heard men shouting, and smelled the beer, and hurried a little, thinking her husband was probably in the bar.
At about half-past six her son came home, tired now, rather pale, and somewhat wretched. He was miserable, though he did not know it, because he had let her go alone. Since she had gone, he had not enjoyed his wakes.
"Has my dad been?" he asked.
"No," said the mother.
"He's helping to wait at the Moon and Stars. I seed him through that black tin stuff wi' holes in, on the window, wi' his sleeves rolled up."
"Ha!" exclaimed the mother shortly. "He's got no money. An' he'll be satisfied if he gets his 'lowance, whether they give him more or not."
When the light was fading, and Mrs. Morel could see no more to sew, she rose and went to the door. Everywhere was the sound of excitement, the restlessness of the holiday, that at last infected her. She went out into the side garden. Women were coming home from the wakes, the children hugging a white lamb with green legs, or a wooden horse. Occasionally a man lurched past, almost as full as he could carry. Sometimes a good husband came along with his family, peacefully. But usually the women and children were alone. The stay-at-home mothers stood gossiping at the corners of the alley, as the twilight sank, folding their arms under their white aprons.
Mrs. Morel was alone, but she was used to it. Her son and her little girl slept upstairs; so, it seemed, her home was there behind her, fixed and stable. But she felt wretched with the coming child. The world seemed a dreary place, where nothing else would happen for her--at least until William grew up. But for herself, nothing but this dreary endurance--till the children grew up. And the children! She could not afford to have this third. She did not want it. The father was serving beer in a public house, swilling himself drunk. She despised him, and was tied to him. This coming child was too much for her. If it were not for William and Annie, she was sick of it, the struggle with poverty and ugliness and meanness.
She went into the front garden, feeling too heavy to take herself out, yet unable to stay indoors. The heat suffocated her. And looking ahead, the prospect of her life made her feel as if she were buried alive.
The front garden was a small square with a privet hedge. There she stood, trying to soothe herself with the scent of flowers and the fading, beautiful evening. Opposite her small gate was the stile that led uphill, under the tall hedge between the burning glow of the cut pastures. The sky overhead throbbed and pulsed with light. The glow sank quickly off the field; the earth and the hedges smoked dusk. As it grew dark, a ruddy glare came out on the hilltop, and out of the glare the diminished commotion of the fair.
Sometimes, down the trough of darkness formed by the path under the hedges, men came lurching home. One young man lapsed into a run down the steep bit that ended the hill, and went with a crash into the stile. Mrs. Morel shuddered. He picked himself up, swearing viciously, rather pathetically, as if he thought the stile had wanted to hurt him.
She went indoors, wondering if things were never going to alter. She was beginning by now to realise that they would not. She seemed so far away from her girlhood, she wondered if it were the same person walking heavily up the back garden at the Bottoms as had run so lightly up the breakwater at Sheerness ten years before.
"What have I to do with it?" she said to herself. "What have I to do with all this? Even the child I am going to have! It doesn't seem as if I were taken into account."
Sometimes life takes hold of one, carries the body along, accomplishes one's history, and yet is not real, but leaves oneself as it were slurred over.
"I wait," Mrs. Morel said to herself--"I wait, and what I wait for can never come."
Then she straightened the kitchen, lit the lamp, mended the fire, looked out the washing for the next day, and put it to soak. After which she sat down to her sewing. Through the long hours her needle flashed regularly through the stuff. Occasionally she sighed, moving to relieve herself. And all the time she was thinking how to make the most of what she had, for the children's sakes.
At half-past eleven her husband came. His cheeks were very red and very shiny above his black moustache. His head nodded slightly. He was pleased with himself.
"Oh! Oh! waitin' for me, lass? I've bin 'elpin' Anthony, an' what's think he's gen me? Nowt b'r a lousy hae'f-crown, an' that's ivry penny---"
"He thinks you've made the rest up in beer," she said shortly.
"An' I 'aven't--that I 'aven't. You b'lieve me, I've 'ad very little this day, I have an' all." His voice went tender. "Here, an' I browt thee a bit o' brandysnap, an' a cocoanut for th' children." He laid the gingerbread and the cocoanut, a hairy object, on the table. "Nay, tha niver said thankyer for nowt i' thy life, did ter?"
As a compromise, she picked up the cocoanut and shook it, to see if it had any milk.
"It's a good 'un, you may back yer life o' that. I got it fra' Bill Hodgkisson. 'Bill,' I says, 'tha non wants them three nuts, does ter? Arena ter for gi'ein' me one for my bit of a lad an' wench?' 'I ham, Walter, my lad,' 'e says; 'ta'e which on 'em ter's a mind.' An' so I took one, an' thanked 'im. I didn't like ter shake it afore 'is eyes, but 'e says, 'Tha'd better ma'e sure it's a good un, Walt.' An' so, yer see, I knowed it was. He's a nice chap, is Bill Hodgkisson, e's a nice chap!"
"A man will part with anything so long as he's drunk, and you're drunk along with him," said Mrs. Morel.
"Eh, tha mucky little 'ussy, who's drunk, I sh'd like ter know?" said Morel. He was extraordinarily pleased with himself, because of his day's helping to wait in the Moon and Stars. He chattered on.
Mrs. Morel, very tired, and sick of his babble, went to bed as quickly as possible, while he raked the fire.
Mrs. Morel came of a good old burgher family, famous independents who had fought with Colonel Hutchinson, and who remained stout Congregationalists. Her grandfather had gone bankrupt in the lace-market at a time when so many lace-manufacturers were ruined in Nottingham. Her father, George Coppard, was an engineer--a large, handsome, haughty man, proud of his fair skin and blue eyes, but more proud still of his integrity. Gertrude resembled her mother in her small build. But her temper, proud and unyielding, she had from the Coppards.
George Coppard was bitterly galled by his own poverty. He became foreman of the engineers in the dockyard at Sheerness. Mrs. Morel--Gertrude--was the second daughter. She favoured her mother, loved her mother best of all; but she had the Coppards' clear, defiant blue eyes and their broad brow. She remembered to have hated her father's overbearing manner towards her gentle, humorous, kindly-souled mother. She remembered running over the breakwater at Sheerness and finding the boat. She remembered to have been petted and flattered by all the men when she had gone to the dockyard, for she was a delicate, rather proud child. She remembered the funny old mistress, whose assistant she had become, whom she had loved to help in the private school. And she still had the Bible that John Field had given her. She used to walk home from chapel with John Field when she was nineteen. He was the son of a well-to-do tradesman, had been to college in London, and was to devote himself to business.
She could always recall in detail a September Sunday afternoon, when they had sat under the vine at the back of her father's house. The sun came through the chinks of the vine-leaves and made beautiful patterns, like a lace scarf, falling on her and on him. Some of the leaves were clean yellow, like yellow flat flowers.
"Now sit still," he had cried. "Now your hair, I don't know what it IS like! It's as bright as copper and gold, as red as burnt copper, and it has gold threads where the sun shines on it. Fancy their saying it's brown. Your mother calls it mouse-colour."
She had met his brilliant eyes, but her clear face scarcely showed the elation which rose within her.
"But you say you don't like business," she pursued.
"I don't. I hate it!" he cried hotly.
"And you would like to go into the ministry," she half implored.
"I should. I should love it, if I thought I could make a first-rate preacher."
"Then why don't you--why DON'T you?" Her voice rang with defiance. "If I were a man, nothing would stop me."
She held her head erect. He was rather timid before her.
"But my father's so stiff-necked. He means to put me into the business, and I know he'll do it."
"But if you're a MAN?" she had cried.
"Being a man isn't everything," he replied, frowning with puzzled helplessness.
Now, as she moved about her work at the Bottoms, with some experience of what being a man meant, she knew that it was NOT everything.
At twenty, owing to her health, she had left Sheerness. Her father had retired home to Nottingham. John Field's father had been ruined; the son had gone as a teacher in Norwood. She did not hear of him until, two years later, she made determined inquiry. He had married his landlady, a woman of forty, a widow with property.
And still Mrs. Morel preserved John Field's Bible. She did not now believe him to be--- Well, she understood pretty well what he might or might not have been. So she preserved his Bible, and kept his memory intact in her heart, for her own sake. To her dying day, for thirty-five years, she did not speak of him.
When she was twenty-three years old, she met, at a Christmas party, a young man from the Erewash Valley. Morel was then twenty-seven years old. He was well set-up, erect, and very smart. He had wavy black hair that shone again, and a vigorous black beard that had never been shaved. His cheeks were ruddy, and his red, moist mouth was noticeable because he laughed so often and so heartily. He had that rare thing, a rich, ringing laugh. Gertrude Coppard had watched him, fascinated. He was so full of colour and animation, his voice ran so easily into comic grotesque, he was so ready and so pleasant with everybody. Her own father had a rich fund of humour, but it was satiric. This man's was different: soft, non-intellectual, warm, a kind of gambolling.
She herself was opposite. She had a curious, receptive mind which found much pleasure and amusement in listening to other folk. She was clever in leading folk to talk. She loved ideas, and was considered very intellectual. What she liked most of all was an argument on religion or philosophy or politics with some educated man. This she did not often enjoy. So she always had people tell her about themselves, finding her pleasure so.
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