said.
“
Why
do
you
grovel
before
it
?
Is
it
so
important
to
you
?
”
She
winced
in
violation
and
in
fury
.
“
Go
away
,
”
she
cried
,
“
and
leave
me
to
it
.
It
is
beautiful
,
beautiful
,
”
she
sang
in
strange
,
rhapsodic
tones
.
“
It
is
the
most
beautiful
thing
I
have
ever
seen
in
my
life
.
Don’t
try
to
come
between
it
and
me
.
Take
yourself
away
,
you
are
out
of
place
—
”
He
stood
back
a
little
,
and
left
her
standing
there
,
statue-like
,
transported
into
the
mystic
glowing
east
.
Already
the
rose
was
fading
,
large
white
stars
were
flashing
out
.
He
waited
.
He
would
forego
everything
but
the
yearning
.
“
That
was
the
most
perfect
thing
I
have
ever
seen
,
”
she
said
in
cold
,
brutal
tones
,
when
at
last
she
turned
round
to
him
.
“
It
amazes
me
that
you
should
want
to
destroy
it
.
If
you
can’t
see
it
yourself
,
why
try
to
debar
me
?
”
But
in
reality
,
he
had
destroyed
it
for
her
,
she
was
straining
after
a
dead
effect
.
“
One
day
,
”
he
said
,
softly
,
looking
up
at
her
,
“
I
shall
destroy
you
,
as
you
stand
looking
at
the
sunset
;
because
you
are
such
a
liar
.
”
There
was
a
soft
,
voluptuous
promise
to
himself
in
the
words
.
She
was
chilled
but
arrogant
.
“
Ha
!
”
she
said
.
“
I
am
not
afraid
of
your
threats
!
”
She
denied
herself
to
him
,
she
kept
her
room
rigidly
private
to
herself
.
But
he
waited
on
,
in
a
curious
patience
,
belonging
to
his
yearning
for
her
.
“
In
the
end
,
”
he
said
to
himself
with
real
voluptuous
promise
,
“
when
it
reaches
that
point
,
I
shall
do
away
with
her
.
”
And
he
trembled
delicately
in
every
limb
,
in
anticipation
,
as
he
trembled
in
his
most
violent
accesses
of
passionate
approach
to
her
,
trembling
with
too
much
desire
.
She
had
a
curious
sort
of
allegiance
with
Loerke
,
all
the
while
,
now
,
something
insidious
and
traitorous
.
Gerald
knew
of
it
.
But
in
the
unnatural
state
of
patience
,
and
the
unwillingness
to
harden
himself
against
her
,
in
which
he
found
himself
,
he
took
no
notice
,
although
her
soft
kindliness
to
the
other
man
,
whom
he
hated
as
a
noxious
insect
,
made
him
shiver
again
with
an
access
of
the
strange
shuddering
that
came
over
him
repeatedly
.
He
left
her
alone
only
when
he
went
skiing
,
a
sport
he
loved
,
and
which
she
did
not
practise
.
Then
he
seemed
to
sweep
out
of
life
,
to
be
a
projectile
into
the
beyond
.
And
often
,
when
he
went
away
,
she
talked
to
the
little
German
sculptor
.
They
had
an
invariable
topic
,
in
their
art
.
They
were
almost
of
the
same
ideas
.
He
hated
Mestrovic
,
was
not
satisfied
with
the
Futurists
,
he
liked
the
West
African
wooden
figures
,
the
Aztec
art
,
Mexican
and
Central
American
.
He
saw
the
grotesque
,
and
a
curious
sort
of
mechanical
motion
intoxicated
him
,
a
confusion
in
nature
.
They
had
a
curious
game
with
each
other
,
Gudrun
and
Loerke
,
of
infinite
suggestivity
,
strange
and
leering
,
as
if
they
had
some
esoteric
understanding
of
life
,
that
they
alone
were
initiated
into
the
fearful
central
secrets
,
that
the
world
dared
not
know
.
Their
whole
correspondence
was
in
a
strange
,
barely
comprehensible
suggestivity
,
they
kindled
themselves
at
the
subtle
lust
of
the
Egyptians
or
the
Mexicans
.
The
whole
game
was
one
of
subtle
inter-suggestivity
,
and
they
wanted
to
keep
it
on
the
plane
of
suggestion
.
From
their
verbal
and
physical
nuances
they
got
the
highest
satisfaction
in
the
nerves
,
from
a
queer
interchange
of
half-suggested
ideas
,
looks
,
expressions
and
gestures
,
which
were
quite
intolerable
,
though
incomprehensible
,
to
Gerald
.
He
had
no
terms
in
which
to
think
of
their
commerce
,
his
terms
were
much
too
gross
.
The
suggestion
of
primitive
art
was
their
refuge
,
and
the
inner
mysteries
of
sensation
their
object
of
worship
.
Art
and
Life
were
to
them
the
Reality
and
the
Unreality
.
“
Of
course
,
”
said
Gudrun
,
“
life
doesn’t
really
matter
—
it
is
one’s
art
which
is
central
.
What
one
does
in
one’s
life
has
peu
de
rapport
,
it
doesn’t
signify
much
.
”
“
Yes
,
that
is
so
,
exactly
,
”
replied
the
sculptor
.
“
What
one
does
in
one’s
art
,
that
is
the
breath
of
one’s
being
.
What
one
does
in
one’s
life
,
that
is
a
bagatelle
for
the
outsiders
to
fuss
about
.
”
It
was
curious
what
a
sense
of
elation
and
freedom
Gudrun
found
in
this
communication
.
She
felt
established
for
ever
.
Of
course
Gerald
was
bagatelle
.
Love
was
one
of
the
temporal
things
in
her
life
,
except
in
so
far
as
she
was
an
artist
.
She
thought
of
Cleopatra
—
Cleopatra
must
have
been
an
artist
;
she
reaped
the
essential
from
a
man
,
she
harvested
the
ultimate
sensation
,
and
threw
away
the
husk
;
and
Mary
Stuart
,
and
the
great
Rachel
,
panting
with
her
lovers
after
the
theatre
,
these
were
the
exoteric
exponents
of
love
.
After
all
,
what
was
the
lover
but
fuel
for
the
transport
of
this
subtle
knowledge
,
for
a
female
art
,
the
art
of
pure
,
perfect
knowledge
in
sensuous
understanding
.
One
evening
Gerald
was
arguing
with
Loerke
about
Italy
and
Tripoli
.
The
Englishman
was
in
a
strange
,
inflammable
state
,
the
German
was
excited
.
It
was
a
contest
of
words
,
but
it
meant
a
conflict
of
spirit
between
the
two
men
.
And
all
the
while
Gudrun
could
see
in
Gerald
an
arrogant
English
contempt
for
a
foreigner
.
Although
Gerald
was
quivering
,
his
eyes
flashing
,
his
face
flushed
,
in
his
argument
there
was
a
brusqueness
,
a
savage
contempt
in
his
manner
,
that
made
Gudrun’s
blood
flare
up
,
and
made
Loerke
keen
and
mortified
.
For
Gerald
came
down
like
a
sledge-hammer
with
his
assertions
,
anything
the
little
German
said
was
merely
contemptible
rubbish
.
At
last
Loerke
turned
to
Gudrun
,
raising
his
hands
in
helpless
irony
,
a
shrug
of
ironical
dismissal
,
something
appealing
and
child-like
.
“
Sehen
sie
,
gnädige
Frau
—
”
he
began
.
“
Bitte
sagen
Sie
nicht
immer
,
gnädige
Frau
,
”
cried
Gudrun
,
her
eyes
flashing
,
her
cheeks
burning
.
She
looked
like
a
vivid
Medusa
.
Her
voice
was
loud
and
clamorous
,
the
other
people
in
the
room
were
startled
.
“
Please
don’t
call
me
Mrs
Crich
,
”
she
cried
aloud
.
The
name
,
in
Loerke’s
mouth
particularly
,
had
been
an
intolerable
humiliation
and
constraint
upon
her
,
these
many
days
.
The
two
men
looked
at
her
in
amazement
.
Gerald
went
white
at
the
cheek-bones
.
“
What
shall
I
say
,
then
?
”
asked
Loerke
,
with
soft
,
mocking
insinuation
.
“
Sagen
Sie
nur
nicht
das
,
”
she
muttered
,
her
cheeks
flushed
crimson
.
“
Not
that
,
at
least
.
”
She
saw
,
by
the
dawning
look
on
Loerke’s
face
,
that
he
had
understood
.
She
was
not
Mrs
Crich
!
So-o-
,
that
explained
a
great
deal
.
“
Soll
ich
Fräulein
sagen
?
”
he
asked
,
malevolently
.
“
I
am
not
married
,
”
she
said
,
with
some
hauteur
.
Her
heart
was
fluttering
now
,
beating
like
a
bewildered
bird
.
She
knew
she
had
dealt
a
cruel
wound
,
and
she
could
not
bear
it
.
Gerald
sat
erect
,
perfectly
still
,
his
face
pale
and
calm
,
like
the
face
of
a
statue
.
He
was
unaware
of
her
,
or
of
Loerke
or
anybody
.
He
sat
perfectly
still
,
in
an
unalterable
calm
.
Loerke
,
meanwhile
,
was
crouching
and
glancing
up
from
under
his
ducked
head
.
Gudrun
was
tortured
for
something
to
say
,
to
relieve
the
suspense
.
She
twisted
her
face
in
a
smile
,
and
glanced
knowingly
,
almost
sneering
,
at
Gerald
.
“
Truth
is
best
,
”
she
said
to
him
,
with
a
grimace
.
But
now
again
she
was
under
his
domination
;
now
,
because
she
had
dealt
him
this
blow
;
because
she
had
destroyed
him
,
and
she
did
not
know
how
he
had
taken
it
.
She
watched
him
.
He
was
interesting
to
her
.
She
had
lost
her
interest
in
Loerke
.
Gerald
rose
at
length
,
and
went
over
in
a
leisurely
still
movement
,
to
the
Professor
.
The
two
began
a
conversation
on
Goethe
.
She
was
rather
piqued
by
the
simplicity
of
Gerald’s
demeanour
this
evening
.
He
did
not
seem
angry
or
disgusted
,
only
he
looked
curiously
innocent
and
pure
,
really
beautiful
.
Sometimes
it
came
upon
him
,
this
look
of
clear
distance
,
and
it
always
fascinated
her
.
She
waited
,
troubled
,
throughout
the
evening
.
She
thought
he
would
avoid
her
,
or
give
some
sign
.
But
he
spoke
to
her
simply
and
unemotionally
,
as
he
would
to
anyone
else
in
the
room
.
A
certain
peace
,
an
abstraction
possessed
his
soul
.
She
went
to
his
room
,
hotly
,
violently
in
love
with
him
.
He
was
so
beautiful
and
inaccessible
.
He
kissed
her
,
he
was
a
lover
to
her
.
And
she
had
extreme
pleasure
of
him
.
But
he
did
not
come
to
,
he
remained
remote
and
candid
,
unconscious
.
She
wanted
to
speak
to
him
.
But
this
innocent
,
beautiful
state
of
unconsciousness
that
had
come
upon
him
prevented
her
.
She
felt
tormented
and
dark
.
In
the
morning
,
however
,
he
looked
at
her
with
a
little
aversion
,
some
horror
and
some
hatred
darkening
into
his
eyes
.
She
withdrew
on
to
her
old
ground
.
But
still
he
would
not
gather
himself
together
,
against
her
.
Loerke
was
waiting
for
her
now
.
The
little
artist
,
isolated
in
his
own
complete
envelope
,
felt
that
here
at
last
was
a
woman
from
whom
he
could
get
something
.
He
was
uneasy
all
the
while
,
waiting
to
talk
with
her
,
subtly
contriving
to
be
near
her
.
Her
presence
filled
him
with
keenness
and
excitement
,
he
gravitated
cunningly
towards
her
,
as
if
she
had
some
unseen
force
of
attraction
.
He
was
not
in
the
least
doubtful
of
himself
,
as
regards
Gerald
.
Gerald
was
one
of
the
outsiders
.
Loerke
only
hated
him
for
being
rich
and
proud
and
of
fine
appearance
.
All
these
things
,
however
,
riches
,
pride
of
social
standing
,
handsome
physique
,
were
externals
.
When
it
came
to
the
relation
with
a
woman
such
as
Gudrun
,
he
,
Loerke
,
had
an
approach
and
a
power
that
Gerald
never
dreamed
of
.
How
should
Gerald
hope
to
satisfy
a
woman
of
Gudrun’s
calibre
?
Did
he
think
that
pride
or
masterful
will
or
physical
strength
would
help
him
?
Loerke
knew
a
secret
beyond
these
things
.
The
greatest
power
is
the
one
that
is
subtle
and
adjusts
itself
,
not
one
which
blindly
attacks
.
And
he
,
Loerke
,
had
understanding
where
Gerald
was
a
calf
.
He
,
Loerke
,
could
penetrate
into
depths
far
out
of
Gerald’s
knowledge
.
Gerald
was
left
behind
like
a
postulant
in
the
ante-room
of
this
temple
of
mysteries
,
this
woman
.
But
he
Loerke
,
could
he
not
penetrate
into
the
inner
darkness
,
find
the
spirit
of
the
woman
in
its
inner
recess
,
and
wrestle
with
it
there
,
the
central
serpent
that
is
coiled
at
the
core
of
life
.
What
was
it
,
after
all
,
that
a
woman
wanted
?
Was
it
mere
social
effect
,
fulfilment
of
ambition
in
the
social
world
,
in
the
community
of
mankind
?
Was
it
even
a
union
in
love
and
goodness
?
Did
she
want
“
goodness
”
?
Who
but
a
fool
would
accept
this
of
Gudrun
?
This
was
but
the
street
view
of
her
wants
.
Cross
the
threshold
,
and
you
found
her
completely
,
completely
cynical
about
the
social
world
and
its
advantages
.
Once
inside
the
house
of
her
soul
and
there
was
a
pungent
atmosphere
of
corrosion
,
an
inflamed
darkness
of
sensation
,
and
a
vivid
,
subtle
,
critical
consciousness
,
that
saw
the
world
distorted
,
horrific
.
What
then
,
what
next
?
Was
it
sheer
blind
force
of
passion
that
would
satisfy
her
now
?
Not
this
,
but
the
subtle
thrills
of
extreme
sensation
in
reduction
.
It
was
an
unbroken
will
reacting
against
her
unbroken
will
in
a
myriad
subtle
thrills
of
reduction
,
the
last
subtle
activities
of
analysis
and
breaking
down
,
carried
out
in
the
darkness
of
her
,
whilst
the
outside
form
,
the
individual
,
was
utterly
unchanged
,
even
sentimental
in
its
poses
.
But
between
two
particular
people
,
any
two
people
on
earth
,
the
range
of
pure
sensational
experience
is
limited
.
The
climax
of
sensual
reaction
,
once
reached
in
any
direction
,
is
reached
finally
,
there
is
no
going
on
.
There
is
only
repetition
possible
,
or
the
going
apart
of
the
two
protagonists
,
or
the
subjugating
of
the
one
will
to
the
other
,
or
death
.
Gerald
had
penetrated
all
the
outer
places
of
Gudrun’s
soul
.
He
was
to
her
the
most
crucial
instance
of
the
existing
world
,
the
ne
plus
ultra
of
the
world
of
man
as
it
existed
for
her
.
In
him
she
knew
the
world
,
and
had
done
with
it
.
Knowing
him
finally
she
was
the
Alexander
seeking
new
worlds
.
But
there
were
no
new
worlds
,
there
were
no
more
men
,
there
were
only
creatures
,
little
,
ultimate
creatures
like
Loerke
.
The
world
was
finished
now
,
for
her
.
There
was
only
the
inner
,
individual
darkness
,
sensation
within
the
ego
,
the
obscene
religious
mystery
of
ultimate
reduction
,
the
mystic
frictional
activities
of
diabolic
reducing
down
,
disintegrating
the
vital
organic
body
of
life
.
All
this
Gudrun
knew
in
her
subconsciousness
,
not
in
her
mind
.
She
knew
her
next
step
—
she
knew
what
she
should
move
on
to
,
when
she
left
Gerald
.
She
was
afraid
of
Gerald
,
that
he
might
kill
her
.
But
she
did
not
intend
to
be
killed
.
A
fine
thread
still
united
her
to
him
.
It
should
not
be
her
death
which
broke
it
.
She
had
further
to
go
,
a
further
,
slow
exquisite
experience
to
reap
,
unthinkable
subtleties
of
sensation
to
know
,
before
she
was
finished
.
Of
the
last
series
of
subtleties
,
Gerald
was
not
capable
.
He
could
not
touch
the
quick
of
her
.
But
where
his
ruder
blows
could
not
penetrate
,
the
fine
,
insinuating
blade
of
Loerke’s
insect-like
comprehension
could
.
At
least
,
it
was
time
for
her
now
to
pass
over
to
the
other
,
the
creature
,
the
final
craftsman
.
She
knew
that
Loerke
,
in
his
innermost
soul
,
was
detached
from
everything
,
for
him
there
was
neither
heaven
nor
earth
nor
hell
.
He
admitted
no
allegiance
,
he
gave
no
adherence
anywhere
.
He
was
single
and
,
by
abstraction
from
the
rest
,
absolute
in
himself
.
Whereas
in
Gerald’s
soul
there
still
lingered
some
attachment
to
the
rest
,
to
the
whole
.
And
this
was
his
limitation
.
He
was
limited
,
borné
,
subject
to
his
necessity
,
in
the
last
issue
,
for
goodness
,
for
righteousness
,
for
oneness
with
the
ultimate
purpose
.
That
the
ultimate
purpose
might
be
the
perfect
and
subtle
experience
of
the
process
of
death
,
the
will
being
kept
unimpaired
,
that
was
not
allowed
in
him
.
And
this
was
his
limitation
.
There
was
a
hovering
triumph
in
Loerke
,
since
Gudrun
had
denied
her
marriage
with
Gerald
.
The
artist
seemed
to
hover
like
a
creature
on
the
wing
,
waiting
to
settle
.
He
did
not
approach
Gudrun
violently
,
he
was
never
ill-timed
.
But
carried
on
by
a
sure
instinct
in
the
complete
darkness
of
his
soul
,
he
corresponded
mystically
with
her
,
imperceptibly
,
but
palpably
.
For
two
days
,
he
talked
to
her
,
continued
the
discussions
of
art
,
of
life
,
in
which
they
both
found
such
pleasure
.
They
praised
the
by-gone
things
,
they
took
a
sentimental
,
childish
delight
in
the
achieved
perfections
of
the
past
.
Particularly
they
liked
the
late
eighteenth
century
,
the
period
of
Goethe
and
of
Shelley
,
and
Mozart
.
They
played
with
the
past
,
and
with
the
great
figures
of
the
past
,
a
sort
of
little
game
of
chess
,
or
marionettes
,
all
to
please
themselves
.
They
had
all
the
great
men
for
their
marionettes
,
and
they
two
were
the
God
of
the
show
,
working
it
all
.
As
for
the
future
,
that
they
never
mentioned
except
one
laughed
out
some
mocking
dream
of
the
destruction
of
the
world
by
a
ridiculous
catastrophe
of
man’s
invention
:
a
man
invented
such
a
perfect
explosive
that
it
blew
the
earth
in
two
,
and
the
two
halves
set
off
in
different
directions
through
space
,
to
the
dismay
of
the
inhabitants
:
or
else
the
people
of
the
world
divided
into
two
halves
,
and
each
half
decided
it
was
perfect
and
right
,
the
other
half
was
wrong
and
must
be
destroyed
;
so
another
end
of
the
world
.
Or
else
,
Loerke’s
dream
of
fear
,
the
world
went
cold
,
and
snow
fell
everywhere
,
and
only
white
creatures
,
polar-bears
,
white
foxes
,
and
men
like
awful
white
snow-birds
,
persisted
in
ice
cruelty
.
Apart
from
these
stories
,
they
never
talked
of
the
future
.
They
delighted
most
either
in
mocking
imaginations
of
destruction
,
or
in
sentimental
,
fine
marionette-shows
of
the
past
.
It
was
a
sentimental
delight
to
reconstruct
the
world
of
Goethe
at
Weimar
,
or
of
Schiller
and
poverty
and
faithful
love
,
or
to
see
again
Jean
Jacques
in
his
quakings
,
or
Voltaire
at
Ferney
,
or
Frederick
the
Great
reading
his
own
poetry
.
They
talked
together
for
hours
,
of
literature
and
sculpture
and
painting
,
amusing
themselves
with
Flaxman
and
Blake
and
Fuseli
,
with
tenderness
,
and
with
Feuerbach
and
Böcklin
.
It
would
take
them
a
life-time
,
they
felt
to
live
again
,
in
petto
,
the
lives
of
the
great
artists
.
But
they
preferred
to
stay
in
the
eighteenth
and
the
nineteenth
centuries
.
They
talked
in
a
mixture
of
languages
.
The
ground-work
was
French
,
in
either
case
.
But
he
ended
most
of
his
sentences
in
a
stumble
of
English
and
a
conclusion
of
German
,
she
skilfully
wove
herself
to
her
end
in
whatever
phrase
came
to
her
.
She
took
a
peculiar
delight
in
this
conversation
.
It
was
full
of
odd
,
fantastic
expression
,
of
double
meanings
,
of
evasions
,
of
suggestive
vagueness
.
It
was
a
real
physical
pleasure
to
her
to
make
this
thread
of
conversation
out
of
the
different-coloured
strands
of
three
languages
.
And
all
the
while
they
two
were
hovering
,
hesitating
round
the
flame
of
some
invisible
declaration
.
He
wanted
it
,
but
was
held
back
by
some
inevitable
reluctance
.
She
wanted
it
also
,
but
she
wanted
to
put
it
off
,
to
put
it
off
indefinitely
,
she
still
had
some
pity
for
Gerald
,
some
connection
with
him
.
And
the
most
fatal
of
all
,
she
had
the
reminiscent
sentimental
compassion
for
herself
in
connection
with
him
.
Because
of
what
had
been
,
she
felt
herself
held
to
him
by
immortal
,
invisible
threads
—
because
of
what
had
been
,
because
of
his
coming
to
her
that
first
night
,
into
her
own
house
,
in
his
extremity
,
because
—
Gerald
was
gradually
overcome
with
a
revulsion
of
loathing
for
Loerke
.
He
did
not
take
the
man
seriously
,
he
despised
him
merely
,
except
as
he
felt
in
Gudrun’s
veins
the
influence
of
the
little
creature
.
It
was
this
that
drove
Gerald
wild
,
the
feeling
in
Gudrun’s
veins
of
Loerke’s
presence
,
Loerke’s
being
,
flowing
dominant
through
her
.
“
What
makes
you
so
smitten
with
that
little
vermin
?
”
he
asked
,
really
puzzled
.
For
he
,
man-like
,
could
not
see
anything
attractive
or
important
at
all
in
Loerke
.
Gerald
expected
to
find
some
handsomeness
or
nobleness
,
to
account
for
a
woman’s
subjection
.
But
he
saw
none
here
,
only
an
insect-like
repulsiveness
.
Gudrun
flushed
deeply
.
It
was
these
attacks
she
would
never
forgive
.
“
What
do
you
mean
?
”
she
replied
.
“
My
God
,
what
a
mercy
I
am
not
married
to
you
!
”
Her
voice
of
flouting
and
contempt
scotched
him
.
He
was
brought
up
short
.
But
he
recovered
himself
.
“
Tell
me
,
only
tell
me
,
”
he
reiterated
in
a
dangerous
narrowed
voice
—
“
tell
me
what
it
is
that
fascinates
you
in
him
.
”
“
I
am
not
fascinated
,
”
she
said
,
with
cold
repelling
innocence
.
“
Yes
,
you
are
.
You
are
fascinated
by
that
little
dry
snake
,
like
a
bird
gaping
ready
to
fall
down
its
throat
.
”
She
looked
at
him
with
black
fury
.
“
I
don’t
choose
to
be
discussed
by
you
,
”
she
said
.
“
It
doesn’t
matter
whether
you
choose
or
not
,
”
he
replied
,
“
that
doesn’t
alter
the
fact
that
you
are
ready
to
fall
down
and
kiss
the
feet
of
that
little
insect
.
And
I
don’t
want
to
prevent
you
—
do
it
,
fall
down
and
kiss
his
feet
.
But
I
want
to
know
,
what
it
is
that
fascinates
you
—
what
is
it
?
”
She
was
silent
,
suffused
with
black
rage
.
“
How
dare
you
come
brow-beating
me
,
”
she
cried
,
“
how
dare
you
,
you
little
squire
,
you
bully
.
What
right
have
you
over
me
,
do
you
think
?
”
His
face
was
white
and
gleaming
,
she
knew
by
the
light
in
his
eyes
that
she
was
in
his
power
—
the
wolf
.
And
because
she
was
in
his
power
,
she
hated
him
with
a
power
that
she
wondered
did
not
kill
him
.
In
her
will
she
killed
him
as
he
stood
,
effaced
him
.
“
It
is
not
a
question
of
right
,
”
said
Gerald
,
sitting
down
on
a
chair
.
She
watched
the
change
in
his
body
.
She
saw
his
clenched
,
mechanical
body
moving
there
like
an
obsession
.
Her
hatred
of
him
was
tinged
with
fatal
contempt
.
“
It’s
not
a
question
of
my
right
over
you
—
though
I
have
some
right
,
remember
.
I
want
to
know
,
I
only
want
to
know
what
it
is
that
subjugates
you
to
that
little
scum
of
a
sculptor
downstairs
,
what
it
is
that
brings
you
down
like
a
humble
maggot
,
in
worship
of
him
.
I
want
to
know
what
you
creep
after
.
”
She
stood
over
against
the
window
,
listening
.
Then
she
turned
round
.
“
Do
you
?
”
she
said
,
in
her
most
easy
,
most
cutting
voice
.
“
Do
you
want
to
know
what
it
is
in
him
?
It’s
because
he
has
some
understanding
of
a
woman
,
because
he
is
not
stupid
.
That’s
why
it
is
.
”
A
queer
,
sinister
,
animal-like
smile
came
over
Gerald’s
face
.
“
But
what
understanding
is
it
?
”
he
said
.
“
The
understanding
of
a
flea
,
a
hopping
flea
with
a
proboscis
.
Why
should
you
crawl
abject
before
the
understanding
of
a
flea
?
”
There
passed
through
Gudrun’s
mind
Blake’s
representation
of
the
soul
of
a
flea
.
She
wanted
to
fit
it
to
Loerke
.
Blake
was
a
clown
too
.
But
it
was
necessary
to
answer
Gerald
.
“
Don’t
you
think
the
understanding
of
a
flea
is
more
interesting
than
the
understanding
of
a
fool
?
”
she
asked
.
“
A
fool
!
”
he
repeated
.
“
A
fool
,
a
conceited
fool
—
a
Dummkopf
,
”
she
replied
,
adding
the
German
word
.
“
Do
you
call
me
a
fool
?
”
he
replied
.
“
Well
,
wouldn’t
I
rather
be
the
fool
I
am
,
than
that
flea
downstairs
?
”
She
looked
at
him
.
A
certain
blunt
,
blind
stupidity
in
him
palled
on
her
soul
,
limiting
her
.
“
You
give
yourself
away
by
that
last
,
”
she
said
.
He
sat
and
wondered
.
“
I
shall
go
away
soon
,
”
he
said
.
She
turned
on
him
.
“
Remember
,
”
she
said
,
“
I
am
completely
independent
of
you
—
completely
.
You
make
your
arrangements
,
I
make
mine
.
”
He
pondered
this
.
“
You
mean
we
are
strangers
from
this
minute
?
”
he
asked
.
She
halted
and
flushed
.
He
was
putting
her
in
a
trap
,
forcing
her
hand
.
She
turned
round
on
him
.
“
Strangers
,
”
she
said
,
“
we
can
never
be
.
But
if
you
want
to
make
any
movement
apart
from
me
,
then
I
wish
you
to
know
you
are
perfectly
free
to
do
so
.
Do
not
consider
me
in
the
slightest
.
”
Even
so
slight
an
implication
that
she
needed
him
and
was
depending
on
him
still
was
sufficient
to
rouse
his
passion
.
As
he
sat
a
change
came
over
his
body
,
the
hot
,
molten
stream
mounted
involuntarily
through
his
veins
.
He
groaned
inwardly
,
under
its
bondage
,
but
he
loved
it
.
He
looked
at
her
with
clear
eyes
,
waiting
for
her
.
She
knew
at
once
,
and
was
shaken
with
cold
revulsion
.
How
could
he
look
at
her
with
those
clear
,
warm
,
waiting
eyes
,
waiting
for
her
,
even
now
?
What
had
been
said
between
them
,
was
it
not
enough
to
put
them
worlds
asunder
,
to
freeze
them
forever
apart
!
And
yet
he
was
all
transfused
and
roused
,
waiting
for
her
.
It
confused
her
.
Turning
her
head
aside
,
she
said
:
“
I
shall
always
tell
you
,
whenever
I
am
going
to
make
any
change
—
”
And
with
this
she
moved
out
of
the
room
.
He
sat
suspended
in
a
fine
recoil
of
disappointment
,
that
seemed
gradually
to
be
destroying
his
understanding
.
But
the
unconscious
state
of
patience
persisted
in
him
.
He
remained
motionless
,
without
thought
or
knowledge
,
for
a
long
time
.
Then
he
rose
,
and
went
downstairs
,
to
play
at
chess
with
one
of
the
students
.
His
face
was
open
and
clear
,
with
a
certain
innocent
laisser-aller
that
troubled
Gudrun
most
,
made
her
almost
afraid
of
him
,
whilst
she
disliked
him
deeply
for
it
.
It
was
after
this
that
Loerke
,
who
had
never
yet
spoken
to
her
personally
,
began
to
ask
her
of
her
state
.
“
You
are
not
married
at
all
,
are
you
?
”
he
asked
.
She
looked
full
at
him
.
“
Not
in
the
least
,
”
she
replied
,
in
her
measured
way
.
Loerke
laughed
,
wrinkling
up
his
face
oddly
.
There
was
a
thin
wisp
of
his
hair
straying
on
his
forehead
,
she
noticed
that
his
skin
was
of
a
clear
brown
colour
,
his
hands
,
his
wrists
.
And
his
hands
seemed
closely
prehensile
.
He
seemed
like
topaz
,
so
strangely
brownish
and
pellucid
.
“
Good
,
”
he
said
.
Still
it
needed
some
courage
for
him
to
go
on
.
“
Was
Mrs
Birkin
your
sister
?
”
he
asked
.
“
Yes
.
”
“
And
was
she
married
?
”
“
She
was
married
.
”
“
Have
you
parents
,
then
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
said
Gudrun
,
“
we
have
parents
.
”
And
she
told
him
,
briefly
,
laconically
,
her
position
.
He
watched
her
closely
,
curiously
all
the
while
.
“
So
!
”
he
exclaimed
,
with
some
surprise
.
“
And
the
Herr
Crich
,
is
he
rich
?
”
“
Yes
,
he
is
rich
,
a
coal
owner
.
”
“
How
long
has
your
friendship
with
him
lasted
?
”
“
Some
months
.
”
There
was
a
pause
.
“
Yes
,
I
am
surprised
,
”
he
said
at
length
.
“
The
English
,
I
thought
they
were
so
—
cold
.
And
what
do
you
think
to
do
when
you
leave
here
?
”
“
What
do
I
think
to
do
?
”
she
repeated
.
“
Yes
.
You
cannot
go
back
to
the
teaching
.
No
—
”
he
shrugged
his
shoulders
—
“
that
is
impossible
.
Leave
that
to
the
canaille
who
can
do
nothing
else
.
You
,
for
your
part
—
you
know
,
you
are
a
remarkable
woman
,
eine
seltsame
Frau
.
Why
deny
it
—
why
make
any
question
of
it
?
You
are
an
extraordinary
woman
,
why
should
you
follow
the
ordinary
course
,
the
ordinary
life
?
”
Gudrun
sat
looking
at
her
hands
,
flushed
.
She
was
pleased
that
he
said
,
so
simply
,
that
she
was
a
remarkable
woman
.
He
would
not
say
that
to
flatter
her
—
he
was
far
too
self-opinionated
and
objective
by
nature
.
He
said
it
as
he
would
say
a
piece
of
sculpture
was
remarkable
,
because
he
knew
it
was
so
.
And
it
gratified
her
to
hear
it
from
him
.
Other
people
had
such
a
passion
to
make
everything
of
one
degree
,
of
one
pattern
.
In
England
it
was
chic
to
be
perfectly
ordinary
.
And
it
was
a
relief
to
her
to
be
acknowledged
extraordinary
.
Then
she
need
not
fret
about
the
common
standards
.
“
You
see
,
”
she
said
,
“
I
have
no
money
whatsoever
.
”
“
Ach
,
money
!
”
he
cried
,
lifting
his
shoulders
.
“
When
one
is
grown
up
,
money
is
lying
about
at
one’s
service
.
It
is
only
when
one
is
young
that
it
is
rare
.
Take
no
thought
for
money
—
that
always
lies
to
hand
.
”
“
Does
it
?
”
she
said
,
laughing
.
“
Always
.
The
Gerald
will
give
you
a
sum
,
if
you
ask
him
for
it
—
”
She
flushed
deeply
.
“
I
will
ask
anybody
else
,
”
she
said
,
with
some
difficulty
—
“
but
not
him
.
”
Loerke
looked
closely
at
her
.
“
Good
,
”
he
said
.
“
Then
let
it
be
somebody
else
.
Only
don’t
go
back
to
that
England
,
that
school
.
No
,
that
is
stupid
.
”
Again
there
was
a
pause
.
He
was
afraid
to
ask
her
outright
to
go
with
him
,
he
was
not
even
quite
sure
he
wanted
her
;
and
she
was
afraid
to
be
asked
.
He
begrudged
his
own
isolation
,
was
very
chary
of
sharing
his
life
,
even
for
a
day
.
“
The
only
other
place
I
know
is
Paris
,
”
she
said
,
“
and
I
can’t
stand
that
.
”
She
looked
with
her
wide
,
steady
eyes
full
at
Loerke
.
He
lowered
his
head
and
averted
his
face
.
“
Paris
,
no
!
”
he
said
.
“
Between
the
réligion
d’amour
,
and
the
latest
’ism
,
and
the
new
turning
to
Jesus
,
one
had
better
ride
on
a
carrousel
all
day
.
But
come
to
Dresden
.
I
have
a
studio
there
—
I
can
give
you
work
,
—
oh
,
that
would
be
easy
enough
.
I
haven’t
seen
any
of
your
things
,
but
I
believe
in
you
.
Come
to
Dresden
—
that
is
a
fine
town
to
be
in
,
and
as
good
a
life
as
you
can
expect
of
a
town
.
You
have
everything
there
,
without
the
foolishness
of
Paris
or
the
beer
of
Munich
.
”
He
sat
and
looked
at
her
,
coldly
.
What
she
liked
about
him
was
that
he
spoke
to
her
simple
and
flat
,
as
to
himself
.
He
was
a
fellow
craftsman
,
a
fellow
being
to
her
,
first
.
“
No
—
Paris
,
”
he
resumed
,
“
it
makes
me
sick
.
Pah
—
l’amour
.
I
detest
it
.
L’amour
,
l’amore
,
die
Liebe
—
I
detest
it
in
every
language
.
Women
and
love
,
there
is
no
greater
tedium
,
”
he
cried
.
She
was
slightly
offended
.
And
yet
,
this
was
her
own
basic
feeling
.
Men
,
and
love
—
there
was
no
greater
tedium
.
“
I
think
the
same
,
”
she
said
.
“
A
bore
,
”
he
repeated
.
“
What
does
it
matter
whether
I
wear
this
hat
or
another
.
So
love
.
I
needn’t
wear
a
hat
at
all
,
only
for
convenience
.
Neither
need
I
love
except
for
convenience
.
I
tell
you
what
,
gnädige
Frau
—
”
and
he
leaned
towards
her
—
then
he
made
a
quick
,
odd
gesture
,
as
of
striking
something
aside
—
“
gnädige
Fräulein
,
never
mind
—
I
tell
you
what
,
I
would
give
everything
,
everything
,
all
your
love
,
for
a
little
companionship
in
intelligence
—
”
his
eyes
flickered
darkly
,
evilly
at
her
.
“
You
understand
?
”
he
asked
,
with
a
faint
smile
.
“
It
wouldn’t
matter
if
she
were
a
hundred
years
old
,
a
thousand
—
it
would
be
all
the
same
to
me
,
so
that
she
can
understand
.
”
He
shut
his
eyes
with
a
little
snap
.
Again
Gudrun
was
rather
offended
.
Did
he
not
think
her
good
looking
,
then
?
Suddenly
she
laughed
.
“
I
shall
have
to
wait
about
eighty
years
to
suit
you
,
at
that
!
”
she
said
.
“
I
am
ugly
enough
,
aren’t
I
?
”
He
looked
at
her
with
an
artist’s
sudden
,
critical
,
estimating
eye
.
“
You
are
beautiful
,
”
he
said
,
“
and
I
am
glad
of
it
.
But
it
isn’t
that
—
it
isn’t
that
,
”
he
cried
,
with
emphasis
that
flattered
her
.
“
It
is
that
you
have
a
certain
wit
,
it
is
the
kind
of
understanding
.
For
me
,
I
am
little
,
chétif
,
insignificant
.
Good
!
Do
not
ask
me
to
be
strong
and
handsome
,
then
.
But
it
is
the
me
—
”
he
put
his
fingers
to
his
mouth
,
oddly
—
“
it
is
the
me
that
is
looking
for
a
mistress
,
and
my
me
is
waiting
for
the
thee
of
the
mistress
,
for
the
match
to
my
particular
intelligence
.
You
understand
?
”
“
Yes
,
”
she
said
,
“
I
understand
.
”
“
As
for
the
other
,
this
amour
—
”
he
made
a
gesture
,
dashing
his
hand
aside
,
as
if
to
dash
away
something
troublesome
—
“
it
is
unimportant
,
unimportant
.
Does
it
matter
,
whether
I
drink
white
wine
this
evening
,
or
whether
I
drink
nothing
?
It
does
not
matter
,
it
does
not
matter
.
So
this
love
,
this
amour
,
this
baiser
.
Yes
or
no
,
soit
ou
soit
pas
,
today
,
tomorrow
,
or
never
,
it
is
all
the
same
,
it
does
not
matter
—
no
more
than
the
white
wine
.
”
He
ended
with
an
odd
dropping
of
the
head
in
a
desperate
negation
.
Gudrun
watched
him
steadily
.
She
had
gone
pale
.
Suddenly
she
stretched
over
and
seized
his
hand
in
her
own
.
“
That
is
true
,
”
she
said
,
in
rather
a
high
,
vehement
voice
,
“
that
is
true
for
me
too
.
It
is
the
understanding
that
matters
.
”
He
looked
up
at
her
almost
frightened
,
furtive
.
Then
he
nodded
,
a
little
sullenly
.
She
let
go
his
hand
:
he
had
made
not
the
lightest
response
.
And
they
sat
in
silence
.
“
Do
you
know
,
”
he
said
,
suddenly
looking
at
her
with
dark
,
self-important
,
prophetic
eyes
,
“
your
fate
and
mine
,
they
will
run
together
,
till
—
”
and
he
broke
off
in
a
little
grimace
.
“
Till
when
?
”
she
asked
,
blanched
,
her
lips
going
white
.
She
was
terribly
susceptible
to
these
evil
prognostications
,
but
he
only
shook
his
head
.
“
I
don’t
know
,
”
he
said
,
“
I
don’t
know
.
”
Gerald
did
not
come
in
from
his
skiing
until
nightfall
,
he
missed
the
coffee
and
cake
that
she
took
at
four
o’clock
.
The
snow
was
in
perfect
condition
,
he
had
travelled
a
long
way
,
by
himself
,
among
the
snow
ridges
,
on
his
skis
,
he
had
climbed
high
,
so
high
that
he
could
see
over
the
top
of
the
pass
,
five
miles
distant
,
could
see
the
Marienhütte
,
the
hostel
on
the
crest
of
the
pass
,
half
buried
in
snow
,
and
over
into
the
deep
valley
beyond
,
to
the
dusk
of
the
pine
trees
.
One
could
go
that
way
home
;
but
he
shuddered
with
nausea
at
the
thought
of
home
;
—
one
could
travel
on
skis
down
there
,
and
come
to
the
old
imperial
road
,
below
the
pass
.
But
why
come
to
any
road
?
He
revolted
at
the
thought
of
finding
himself
in
the
world
again
.
He
must
stay
up
there
in
the
snow
forever
.
He
had
been
happy
by
himself
,
high
up
there
alone
,
travelling
swiftly
on
skis
,
taking
far
flights
,
and
skimming
past
the
dark
rocks
veined
with
brilliant
snow
.
But
he
felt
something
icy
gathering
at
his
heart
.
This
strange
mood
of
patience
and
innocence
which
had
persisted
in
him
for
some
days
,
was
passing
away
,
he
would
be
left
again
a
prey
to
the
horrible
passions
and
tortures
.
So
he
came
down
reluctantly
,
snow-burned
,
snow-estranged
,
to
the
house
in
the
hollow
,
between
the
knuckles
of
the
mountain
tops
.
He
saw
its
lights
shining
yellow
,
and
he
held
back
,
wishing
he
need
not
go
in
,
to
confront
those
people
,
to
hear
the
turmoil
of
voices
and
to
feel
the
confusion
of
other
presences
.
He
was
isolated
as
if
there
were
a
vacuum
round
his
heart
,
or
a
sheath
of
pure
ice
.
The
moment
he
saw
Gudrun
something
jolted
in
his
soul
.
She
was
looking
rather
lofty
and
superb
,
smiling
slowly
and
graciously
to
the
Germans
.
A
sudden
desire
leapt
in
his
heart
,
to
kill
her
.
He
thought
,
what
a
perfect
voluptuous
fulfilment
it
would
be
,
to
kill
her
.
His
mind
was
absent
all
the
evening
,
estranged
by
the
snow
and
his
passion
.
But
he
kept
the
idea
constant
within
him
,
what
a
perfect
voluptuous
consummation
it
would
be
to
strangle
her
,
to
strangle
every
spark
of
life
out
of
her
,
till
she
lay
completely
inert
,
soft
,
relaxed
for
ever
,
a
soft
heap
lying
dead
between
his
hands
,
utterly
dead
.
Then
he
would
have
had
her
finally
and
for
ever
;
there
would
be
such
a
perfect
voluptuous
finality
.
Gudrun
was
unaware
of
what
he
was
feeling
,
he
seemed
so
quiet
and
amiable
,
as
usual
.
His
amiability
even
made
her
feel
brutal
towards
him
.
She
went
into
his
room
when
he
was
partially
undressed
.
She
did
not
notice
the
curious
,
glad
gleam
of
pure
hatred
,
with
which
he
looked
at
her
.
She
stood
near
the
door
,
with
her
hand
behind
her
.
“
I
have
been
thinking
,
Gerald
,
”
she
said
,
with
an
insulting
nonchalance
,
“
that
I
shall
not
go
back
to
England
.
”
“
Oh
,
”
he
said
,
“
where
will
you
go
then
?
”
But
she
ignored
his
question
.
She
had
her
own
logical
statement
to
make
,
and
it
must
be
made
as
she
had
thought
it
.
“
I
can’t
see
the
use
of
going
back
,
”
she
continued
.
“
It
is
over
between
me
and
you
—
”
She
paused
for
him
to
speak
.
But
he
said
nothing
.
He
was
only
talking
to
himself
,
saying
“
Over
,
is
it
?
I
believe
it
is
over
.
But
it
isn’t
finished
.
Remember
,
it
isn’t
finished
.
We
must
put
some
sort
of
a
finish
on
it
.
There
must
be
a
conclusion
,
there
must
be
finality
.
”
So
he
talked
to
himself
,
but
aloud
he
said
nothing
whatever
.
“
What
has
been
,
has
been
,
”
she
continued
.
“
There
is
nothing
that
I
regret
.
I
hope
you
regret
nothing
—
”
She
waited
for
him
to
speak
.
“
Oh
,
I
regret
nothing
,
”
he
said
,
accommodatingly
.
“
Good
then
,
”
she
answered
,
“
good
then
.
Then
neither
of
us
cherishes
any
regrets
,
which
is
as
it
should
be
.
”
“
Quite
as
it
should
be
,
”
he
said
aimlessly
.
She
paused
to
gather
up
her
thread
again
.
“
Our
attempt
has
been
a
failure
,
”
she
said
.
“
But
we
can
try
again
,
elsewhere
.
”
A
little
flicker
of
rage
ran
through
his
blood
.
It
was
as
if
she
were
rousing
him
,
goading
him
.
Why
must
she
do
it
?
“
Attempt
at
what
?
”
he
asked
.
“
At
being
lovers
,
I
suppose
,
”
she
said
,
a
little
baffled
,
yet
so
trivial
she
made
it
all
seem
.
“
Our
attempt
at
being
lovers
has
been
a
failure
?
”
he
repeated
aloud
.
To
himself
he
was
saying
,
“
I
ought
to
kill
her
here
.
There
is
only
this
left
,
for
me
to
kill
her
.
”
A
heavy
,
overcharged
desire
to
bring
about
her
death
possessed
him
.
She
was
unaware
.
“
Hasn’t
it
?
”
she
asked
.
“
Do
you
think
it
has
been
a
success
?
”
Again
the
insult
of
the
flippant
question
ran
through
his
blood
like
a
current
of
fire
.
“
It
had
some
of
the
elements
of
success
,
our
relationship
,
”
he
replied
.
“
It
—
might
have
come
off
.
”
But
he
paused
before
concluding
the
last
phrase
.
Even
as
he
began
the
sentence
,
he
did
not
believe
in
what
he
was
going
to
say
.
He
knew
it
never
could
have
been
a
success
.
“
No
,
”
she
replied
.
“
You
cannot
love
.
”
“
And
you
?
”
he
asked
.
Her
wide
,
dark-filled
eyes
were
fixed
on
him
,
like
two
moons
of
darkness
.
“
I
couldn’t
love
you
,
”
she
said
,
with
stark
cold
truth
.
A
blinding
flash
went
over
his
brain
,
his
body
jolted
.
His
heart
had
burst
into
flame
.
His
consciousness
was
gone
into
his
wrists
,
into
his
hands
.
He
was
one
blind
,
incontinent
desire
,
to
kill
her
.
His
wrists
were
bursting
,
there
would
be
no
satisfaction
till
his
hands
had
closed
on
her
.
But
even
before
his
body
swerved
forward
on
her
,
a
sudden
,
cunning
comprehension
was
expressed
on
her
face
,
and
in
a
flash
she
was
out
of
the
door
.
She
ran
in
one
flash
to
her
room
and
locked
herself
in
.
She
was
afraid
,
but
confident
.
She
knew
her
life
trembled
on
the
edge
of
an
abyss
.
But
she
was
curiously
sure
of
her
footing
.
She
knew
her
cunning
could
outwit
him
.
She
trembled
,
as
she
stood
in
her
room
,
with
excitement
and
awful
exhilaration
.
She
knew
she
could
outwit
him
.
She
could
depend
on
her
presence
of
mind
,
and
on
her
wits
.
But
it
was
a
fight
to
the
death
,
she
knew
it
now
.
One
slip
,
and
she
was
lost
.
She
had
a
strange
,
tense
,
exhilarated
sickness
in
her
body
,
as
one
who
is
in
peril
of
falling
from
a
great
height
,
but
who
does
not
look
down
,
does
not
admit
the
fear
.
“
I
will
go
away
the
day
after
tomorrow
,
”
she
said
.
She
only
did
not
want
Gerald
to
think
that
she
was
afraid
of
him
,
that
she
was
running
away
because
she
was
afraid
of
him
.
She
was
not
afraid
of
him
,
fundamentally
.
She
knew
it
was
her
safeguard
to
avoid
his
physical
violence
.
But
even
physically
she
was
not
afraid
of
him
.
She
wanted
to
prove
it
to
him
.
When
she
had
proved
it
,
that
,
whatever
he
was
,
she
was
not
afraid
of
him
;
when
she
had
proved
that
,
she
could
leave
him
forever
.
But
meanwhile
the
fight
between
them
,
terrible
as
she
knew
it
to
be
,
was
inconclusive
.
And
she
wanted
to
be
confident
in
herself
.
However
many
terrors
she
might
have
,
she
would
be
unafraid
,
uncowed
by
him
.
He
could
never
cow
her
,
nor
dominate
her
,
nor
have
any
right
over
her
;
this
she
would
maintain
until
she
had
proved
it
.
Once
it
was
proved
,
she
was
free
of
him
forever
.
But
she
had
not
proved
it
yet
,
neither
to
him
nor
to
herself
.
And
this
was
what
still
bound
her
to
him
.
She
was
bound
to
him
,
she
could
not
live
beyond
him
.
She
sat
up
in
bed
,
closely
wrapped
up
,
for
many
hours
,
thinking
endlessly
to
herself
.
It
was
as
if
she
would
never
have
done
weaving
the
great
provision
of
her
thoughts
.
“
It
isn’t
as
if
he
really
loved
me
,
”
she
said
to
herself
.
“
He
doesn’t
.
Every
woman
he
comes
across
he
wants
to
make
her
in
love
with
him
.
He
doesn’t
even
know
that
he
is
doing
it
.
But
there
he
is
,
before
every
woman
he
unfurls
his
male
attractiveness
,
displays
his
great
desirability
,
he
tries
to
make
every
woman
think
how
wonderful
it
would
be
to
have
him
for
a
lover
.
His
very
ignoring
of
the
women
is
part
of
the
game
.
He
is
never
unconscious
of
them
.
He
should
have
been
a
cockerel
,
so
he
could
strut
before
fifty
females
,
all
his
subjects
.
But
really
,
his
Don
Juan
does
not
interest
me
.
I
could
play
Dona
Juanita
a
million
times
better
than
he
plays
Juan
.
He
bores
me
,
you
know
.
His
maleness
bores
me
.
Nothing
is
so
boring
,
so
inherently
stupid
and
stupidly
conceited
.
Really
,
the
fathomless
conceit
of
these
men
,
it
is
ridiculous
—
the
little
strutters
.
“
They
are
all
alike
.
Look
at
Birkin
.
Built
out
of
the
limitation
of
conceit
they
are
,
and
nothing
else
.
Really
,
nothing
but
their
ridiculous
limitation
and
intrinsic
insignificance
could
make
them
so
conceited
.
“
As
for
Loerke
,
there
is
a
thousand
times
more
in
him
than
in
a
Gerald
.
Gerald
is
so
limited
,
there
is
a
dead
end
to
him
.
He
would
grind
on
at
the
old
mills
forever
.
And
really
,
there
is
no
corn
between
the
millstones
any
more
.
They
grind
on
and
on
,
when
there
is
nothing
to
grind
—
saying
the
same
things
,
believing
the
same
things
,
acting
the
same
things
.
Oh
,
my
God
,
it
would
wear
out
the
patience
of
a
stone
.
“
I
don’t
worship
Loerke
,
but
at
any
rate
,
he
is
a
free
individual
.
He
is
not
stiff
with
conceit
of
his
own
maleness
.
He
is
not
grinding
dutifully
at
the
old
mills
.
Oh
God
,
when
I
think
of
Gerald
,
and
his
work
—
those
offices
at
Beldover
,
and
the
mines
—
it
makes
my
heart
sick
.
What
have
I
to
do
with
it
—
and
him
thinking
he
can
be
a
lover
to
a
woman
!
One
might
as
well
ask
it
of
a
self-satisfied
lamp-post
.
These
men
,
with
their
eternal
jobs
—
and
their
eternal
mills
of
God
that
keep
on
grinding
at
nothing
!
It
is
too
boring
,
just
boring
.
However
did
I
come
to
take
him
seriously
at
all
!
“
At
least
in
Dresden
,
one
will
have
one’s
back
to
it
all
.
And
there
will
be
amusing
things
to
do
.
It
will
be
amusing
to
go
to
these
eurythmic
displays
,
and
the
German
opera
,
the
German
theatre
.
It
will
be
amusing
to
take
part
in
German
Bohemian
life
.
And
Loerke
is
an
artist
,
he
is
a
free
individual
.
One
will
escape
from
so
much
,
that
is
the
chief
thing
,
escape
so
much
hideous
boring
repetition
of
vulgar
actions
,
vulgar
phrases
,
vulgar
postures
.
I
don’t
delude
myself
that
I
shall
find
an
elixir
of
life
in
Dresden
.
I
know
I
shan’t
.
But
I
shall
get
away
from
people
who
have
their
own
homes
and
their
own
children
and
their
own
acquaintances
and
their
own
this
and
their
own
that
.
I
shall
be
among
people
who
don’t
own
things
and
who
haven’t
got
a
home
and
a
domestic
servant
in
the
background
,
who
haven’t
got
a
standing
and
a
status
and
a
degree
and
a
circle
of
friends
of
the
same
.
Oh
God
,
the
wheels
within
wheels
of
people
,
it
makes
one’s
head
tick
like
a
clock
,
with
a
very
madness
of
dead
mechanical
monotony
and
meaninglessness
.
How
I
hate
life
,
how
I
hate
it
.
How
I
hate
the
Geralds
,
that
they
can
offer
one
nothing
else
.
“
Shortlands
!
—
Heavens
!
Think
of
living
there
,
one
week
,
then
the
next
,
and
then
the
third
—
“
No
,
I
won’t
think
of
it
—
it
is
too
much
—
”
And
she
broke
off
,
really
terrified
,
really
unable
to
bear
any
more
.
The
thought
of
the
mechanical
succession
of
day
following
day
,
day
following
day
,
ad
infintum
,
was
one
of
the
things
that
made
her
heart
palpitate
with
a
real
approach
of
madness
.
The
terrible
bondage
of
this
tick-tack
of
time
,
this
twitching
of
the
hands
of
the
clock
,
this
eternal
repetition
of
hours
and
days
—
oh
God
,
it
was
too
awful
to
contemplate
.
And
there
was
no
escape
from
it
,
no
escape
.
She
almost
wished
Gerald
were
with
her
to
save
her
from
the
terror
of
her
own
thoughts
.
Oh
,
how
she
suffered
,
lying
there
alone
,
confronted
by
the
terrible
clock
,
with
its
eternal
tick-tack
.
All
life
,
all
life
resolved
itself
into
this
:
tick-tack
,
tick-tack
,
tick-tack
;
then
the
striking
of
the
hour
;
then
the
tick-tack
,
tick-tack
,
and
the
twitching
of
the
clock-fingers
.
Gerald
could
not
save
her
from
it
.
He
,
his
body
,
his
motion
,
his
life
—
it
was
the
same
ticking
,
the
same
twitching
across
the
dial
,
a
horrible
mechanical
twitching
forward
over
the
face
of
the
hours
.
What
were
his
kisses
,
his
embraces
.
She
could
hear
their
tick-tack
,
tick-tack
.
Ha
—
ha
—
she
laughed
to
herself
,
so
frightened
that
she
was
trying
to
laugh
it
off
—
ha
—
ha
,
how
maddening
it
was
,
to
be
sure
,
to
be
sure
!
Then
,
with
a
fleeting
self-conscious
motion
,
she
wondered
if
she
would
be
very
much
surprised
,
on
rising
in
the
morning
,
to
realise
that
her
hair
had
turned
white
.
She
had
felt
it
turning
white
so
often
,
under
the
intolerable
burden
of
her
thoughts
,
und
her
sensations
.
Yet
there
it
remained
,
brown
as
ever
,
and
there
she
was
herself
,
looking
a
picture
of
health
.
Perhaps
she
was
healthy
.
Perhaps
it
was
only
her
unabateable
health
that
left
her
so
exposed
to
the
truth
.
If
she
were
sickly
she
would
have
her
illusions
,
imaginations
.
As
it
was
,
there
was
no
escape
.
She
must
always
see
and
know
and
never
escape
.
She
could
never
escape
.
There
she
was
,
placed
before
the
clock-face
of
life
.
And
if
she
turned
round
as
in
a
railway
station
,
to
look
at
the
bookstall
,
still
she
could
see
,
with
her
very
spine
,
she
could
see
the
clock
,
always
the
great
white
clock-face
.
In
vain
she
fluttered
the
leaves
of
books
,
or
made
statuettes
in
clay
.
She
knew
she
was
not
really
reading
.
She
was
not
really
working
.
She
was
watching
the
fingers
twitch
across
the
eternal
,
mechanical
,
monotonous
clock-face
of
time
.
She
never
really
lived
,
she
only
watched
.
Indeed
,
she
was
like
a
little
,
twelve-hour
clock
,
vis-à-vis
with
the
enormous
clock
of
eternity
—
there
she
was
,
like
Dignity
and
Impudence
,
or
Impudence
and
Dignity
.
The
picture
pleased
her
.
Didn’t
her
face
really
look
like
a
clock
dial
—
rather
roundish
and
often
pale
,
and
impassive
.
She
would
have
got
up
to
look
,
in
the
mirror
,
but
the
thought
of
the
sight
of
her
own
face
,
that
was
like
a
twelve-hour
clock-dial
,
filled
her
with
such
deep
terror
,
that
she
hastened
to
think
of
something
else
.
Oh
,
why
wasn’t
somebody
kind
to
her
?
Why
wasn’t
there
somebody
who
would
take
her
in
their
arms
,
and
hold
her
to
their
breast
,
and
give
her
rest
,
pure
,
deep
,
healing
rest
.
Oh
,
why
wasn’t
there
somebody
to
take
her
in
their
arms
and
fold
her
safe
and
perfect
,
for
sleep
.
She
wanted
so
much
this
perfect
enfolded
sleep
.
She
lay
always
so
unsheathed
in
sleep
.
She
would
lie
always
unsheathed
in
sleep
,
unrelieved
,
unsaved
.
Oh
,
how
could
she
bear
it
,
this
endless
unrelief
,
this
eternal
unrelief
.
Gerald
!
Could
he
fold
her
in
his
arms
and
sheathe
her
in
sleep
?
Ha
!
He
needed
putting
to
sleep
himself
—
poor
Gerald
.
That
was
all
he
needed
.
What
did
he
do
,
he
made
the
burden
for
her
greater
,
the
burden
of
her
sleep
was
the
more
intolerable
,
when
he
was
there
.
He
was
an
added
weariness
upon
her
unripening
nights
,
her
unfruitful
slumbers
.
Perhaps
he
got
some
repose
from
her
.
Perhaps
he
did
.
Perhaps
this
was
what
he
was
always
dogging
her
for
,
like
a
child
that
is
famished
,
crying
for
the
breast
.
Perhaps
this
was
the
secret
of
his
passion
,
his
forever
unquenched
desire
for
her
—
that
he
needed
her
to
put
him
to
sleep
,
to
give
him
repose
.
What
then
!
Was
she
his
mother
?
Had
she
asked
for
a
child
,
whom
she
must
nurse
through
the
nights
,
for
her
lover
.
She
despised
him
,
she
despised
him
,
she
hardened
her
heart
.
An
infant
crying
in
the
night
,
this
Don
Juan
.
Ooh
,
but
how
she
hated
the
infant
crying
in
the
night
.
She
would
murder
it
gladly
.
She
would
stifle
it
and
bury
it
,
as
Hetty
Sorrell
did
.
No
doubt
Hetty
Sorrell’s
infant
cried
in
the
night
—
no
doubt
Arthur
Donnithorne’s
infant
would
.
Ha
—
the
Arthur
Donnithornes
,
the
Geralds
of
this
world
.
So
manly
by
day
,
yet
all
the
while
,
such
a
crying
of
infants
in
the
night
.
Let
them
turn
into
mechanisms
,
let
them
.
Let
them
become
instruments
,
pure
machines
,
pure
wills
,
that
work
like
clock-work
,
in
perpetual
repetition
.
Let
them
be
this
,
let
them
be
taken
up
entirely
in
their
work
,
let
them
be
perfect
parts
of
a
great
machine
,
having
a
slumber
of
constant
repetition
.
Let
Gerald
manage
his
firm
.
There
he
would
be
satisfied
,
as
satisfied
as
a
wheelbarrow
that
goes
backwards
and
forwards
along
a
plank
all
day
—
she
had
seen
it
.
The
wheel-barrow
—
the
one
humble
wheel
—
the
unit
of
the
firm
.
Then
the
cart
,
with
two
wheels
;
then
the
truck
,
with
four
;
then
the
donkey-engine
,
with
eight
,
then
the
winding-engine
,
with
sixteen
,
and
so
on
,
till
it
came
to
the
miner
,
with
a
thousand
wheels
,
