Michaelis came: in summer, in a pale-coloured suit and white suede gloves, with mauve orchids for Connie, very lovely, and Act I was a great success. Even Connie was thrilled thrilled to what bit of marrow she had left. And Michaelis, thrilled by his power to thrill, was really wonderful and quite beautiful, in Connies eyes. She saw in him that ancient motionlessness of a race that cant be disillusioned any more, an extreme, perhaps, of impurity that is pure. On the far side of his supreme prostitution to the bitch-goddess he seemed pure, pure as an African ivory mask that dreams impurity into purity, in its ivory curves and planes.
His moment of sheer thrill with the two Chatterleys, when he simply carried Connie and Clifford away, was one of the supreme moments of Michaelis life. He had succeeded: he had carried them away. Even Clifford was temporarily in love with him if that is the way one can put it.
So next morning Mick was more uneasy than ever; restless, devoured, with his hands restless in his trousers pockets. Connie had not visited him in the night and he had not known where to find her. Coquetry!.. at his moment of triumph.
He went up to her sitting-room in the morning. She knew he would come. And his restlessness was evident. He asked her about his play did she think it good? He had to hear it praised: that affected him with the last thin thrill of passion beyond any sexual orgasm. And she praised it rapturously. Yet all the while, at the bottom of her soul, she knew it was nothing.
Look here! he said suddenly at last. Why dont you and I make a clean thing of it? Why dont we marry?
But I am married, she said, amazed, and yet feeling nothing.
Oh that!.. hell divorce you all right Why dont you and I marry? I want to marry. I know it would be the best thing for me marry and lead a regular life. I lead the deuce of a life, simply tearing myself to pieces. Look here, you and I, were made for one another hand and glove. Why dont we marry? Do you see any reason why we shouldnt?
Connie looked at him amazed: and yet she felt nothing. These men, they were all alike, they left everything out. They just went off from the top of their heads as if they were squibs, and expected you to be carried heavenwards along with their own thin sticks.
But I am married already, she said. I cant leave Clifford, you know.
Why not? but why not? he cried. Hell hardly know youve gone, after six months. He doesnt know that anybody exists, except himself. Why the man has no use for you at all, as far as I can see; hes entirely wrapped up in himself.
Connie felt there was truth in this. But she also felt that Mick was hardly making a display of selflessness.
Arent all men wrapped up in themselves? she asked.
Oh, more or less, I allow. A mans got to be, to get through. But thats not the point. The point is, what sort of a time can a man give a woman? Can he give her a damn good time, or cant he? If he cant hes no right to the woman He paused and gazed at her with his full, hazel eyes, almost hypnotic. Now I consider, he added, I can give a woman the darndest good time she can ask for. I think I can guarantee myself.
And what sort of a good time? asked Connie, gazing on him still with a sort of amazement, that looked like thrill; and underneath feeling nothing at all.
Every sort of a good time, damn it, every sort! Dress, jewels up to a point, any nightclub you like, know anybody you want to know, live the pace travel and be somebody wherever you go Darn it, every sort of good time.
He spoke it almost in a brilliancy of triumph, and Connie looked at him as if dazzled, and really feeling nothing at all. Hardly even the surface of her mind was tickled at the glowing prospects he offered her. Hardly even her most outside self responded, that at any other time would have been thrilled. She just got no feeling from it, she couldnt go off. She just sat and stared and looked dazzled, and felt nothing, only somewhere she smelt the extraordinarily unpleasant smell of the bitch-goddess.
Mick sat on tenterhooks, leaning forward in his chair, glaring at her almost hysterically: and whether he was more anxious out of vanity for her to say Yes! or whether he was more panic-stricken for fear she should say Yes! who can tell?
I should have to think about it, she said. I couldnt say now. It may seem to you Clifford doesnt count, but he does. When you think how disabled he is
Oh damn it all! If a fellows going to trade on his disabilities, I might begin to say how lonely I am, and always have been, and all the rest of the my-eye-Betty-Martin[41] sob-stuff! Damn it all, if a fellows got nothing but disabilities to recommend him
He turned aside, working his hands furiously in his trousers pockets. That evening he said to her:
Youre coming round to my room tonight, arent you? I dont darn know where your room is.
All right! she said.
He was a more excited lover that night, with his strange, small boys frail nakedness. Connie found it impossible to come to her crisis before he had really finished his. And he roused a certain craving passion in her, with his little boys nakedness and softness; she had to go on after he had finished, in the wild tumult and heaving of her loins, while he heroically kept himself up, and present in her, with all his will and self-offering, till she brought about her own crisis, with weird little cries.
When at last he drew away from her, he said, in a bitter, almost sneering little voice:
You couldnt go off at the same time as a man, could you? Youd have to bring yourself off! Youd have to run the show!
This little speech, at the moment, was one of the shocks of her life. Because that passive sort of giving himself was so obviously his only real mode of intercourse.
What do you mean? she said.
You know what I mean. You keep on for hours after Ive gone off and I have to hang on with my teeth till you bring yourself off by your own exertions.
She was stunned by this unexpected piece of brutality, at the moment when she was glowing with a sort of pleasure beyond words, and a sort of love for him. Because, after all, like so many modern men, he was finished almost before he had begun. And that forced the woman to be active.
But you want me to go on, to get my own satisfaction? she said.
He laughed grimly: I want it! he said. Thats good! I want to hang on with my teeth clenched, while you go for me!
But dont you? she insisted.
He avoided the question. All the darned women are like that, he said. Either they dont go off at all, as if they were dead in there or else they wait till a chaps really done, and then they start in to bring themselves off, and a chaps got to hang on. I never had a woman yet who went off just at the same moment as I did.
Connie only half heard this piece of novel, masculine information. She was only stunned by his feeling against her his incomprehensible brutality. She felt so innocent.
But you want me to have my satisfaction too, dont you? she repeated.
Oh, all right! Im quite willing. But Im darned if hanging on waiting for a woman to go off is much of a game for a man
This speech was one of the crucial blows of Connies life. It killed something in her. She had not been so very keen on Michaelis; till he started it, she did not want him. It was as if she never positively wanted him. But once he had started her, it seemed only natural for her to come to her own crisis with him. Almost she had loved him for it almost that night she loved him, and wanted to marry him.
Perhaps instinctively he knew it, and that was why he had to bring down the whole show with a smash; the house of cards. Her whole sexual feeling for him, or for any man, collapsed that night. Her life fell apart from his as completely as if he had never existed.
And she went through the days drearily. There was nothing now but this empty treadmill of what Clifford called the integrated life, the long living together of two people, who are in the habit of being in the same house with one another.
Nothingness! To accept the great nothingness of life seemed to be the one end of living. All the many busy and important little things that make up the grand sum-total of nothingness!
Chapter 6
Why dont men and women really like one another nowadays? Connie asked Tommy Dukes, who was more or less her oracle.
Oh, but they do! I dont think since the human species was invented, there has ever been a time when men and women have liked one another as much as they do today. Genuine liking! Take myself. I really like women better than men; they are braver, one can be more frank with them.
Connie pondered this.
Ah, yes, but you never have anything to do with them! she said.
I? What am I doing but talking perfectly sincerely to a woman at this moment?
Yes, talking
And what more could I do if you were a man, than talk perfectly sincerely to you?
Nothing perhaps. But a woman
A woman wants you to like her and talk to her, and at the same time love her and desire her; and it seems to me the two things are mutually exclusive.
But they shouldnt be!
No doubt water ought not to be so wet as it is; it overdoes it in wetness. But there it is! I like women and talk to them, and therefore I dont love them and desire them. The two things dont happen at the same time in me.
I think they ought to.
All right. The fact that things ought to be something else than what they are, is not my department.
Connie considered this. It isnt true, she said. Men can love women and talk to them. I dont see how they can love them without talking, and being friendly and intimate. How can they?
Well, he said, I dont know. Whats the use of my generalizing? I only know my own case. I like women, but I dont desire them. I like talking to them; but talking to them, though it makes me intimate in one direction, sets me poles apart from them as far as kissing is concerned. So there you are! But dont take me as a general example, probably Im just a special case: one of the men who like women, but dont love women, and even hate them if they force me into a pretence of love, or an entangled appearance.
But doesnt it make you sad?
Why should it? Not a bit! I look at Charlie May, and the rest of the men who have affairs No, I dont envy them a bit! If fate sent me a woman I wanted, well and good. Since I dont know any woman I want, and never see one why, I presume Im cold, and really like some women very much.
Do you like me?
Very much! And you see theres no question of kissing between us, is there?
None at all! said Connie. But oughtnt there to be?
Why, in Gods name? I like Clifford, but what would you say if I went and kissed him?
But isnt there a difference?
Where does it lie, as far as were concerned? Were all intelligent human beings, and the male and female business is in abeyance. Just in abeyance. How would you like me to start acting up like a continental[42] male at this moment, and parading the sex thing?
I should hate it.
Well then! I tell you, if Im really a male thing at all, I never run across the female of my species. And I dont miss her, I just like women. Whos going to force me into loving or pretending to love them, working up the sex game?
No, Im not. But isnt something wrong?
You may feel it, I dont.
Yes, I feel something is wrong between men and women. A woman has no glamour for a man any more.
Has a man for a woman?
She pondered the other side of the question.
Not much, she said truthfully.
Then lets leave it all alone, and just be decent and simple, like proper human beings with one another. Be damned to the artificial sex-compulsion! I refuse it!
Connie knew he was right, really. Yet it left her feeling so forlorn, so forlorn and stray. Like a chip on a dreary pond, she felt. What was the point, of her or anything?
It was her youth which rebelled. These men seemed so old and cold. Everything seemed old and cold. And Michaelis let one down so; he was no good. The men didnt want one; they just didnt really want a woman, even Michaelis didnt.
And the bounders who pretended they did, and started working the sex game, they were worse than ever.
It was just dismal, and one had to put up with it. It was quite true, men had no real glamour for a woman: if you could fool yourself into thinking they had, even as she had fooled herself over Michaelis, that was the best you could do. Meanwhile you just lived on and there was nothing to it. She understood perfectly well why people had cocktail parties, and jazzed, and Charlestoned[43] till they were ready to drop. You had to take it out some way or other, your youth, or it ate you up. But what a ghastly thing, this youth! You felt as old as Methuselah, and yet the thing fizzed somehow, and didnt let you be comfortable. A mean sort of life! And no prospect! She almost wished she had gone off with Mick, and made her life one long cocktail party, and jazz evening. Anyhow that was better than just mooning yourself into the grave.
On one of her bad days she went out alone to walk in the wood, ponderously, heeding nothing, not even noticing where she was. The report of a gun not far off startled and angered her.
Then, as she went, she heard voices, and recoiled. People! She didnt want people. But her quick ear caught another sound, and she roused; it was a child sobbing. At once she attended; someone was ill-treating a child. She strode swinging down the wet drive, her sullen resentment uppermost. She felt just prepared to make a scene.
Turning the corner, she saw two figures in the drive beyond her: the keeper, and a little girl in a purple coat and moleskin cap, crying.
Ah, shut it up, tha false little bitch! came the mans angry voice, and the child sobbed louder.
Constance strode nearer, with blazing eyes. The man turned and looked at her, saluting coolly, but he was pale with anger.
Whats the matter? Why is she crying? demanded Constance, peremptory but a little breathless.
A faint smile like a sneer came on the mans face. Nay, yo mun ax er, he replied callously, in broad vernacular.[44]
Connie felt as if he had hit her in the face, and she changed colour. Then she gathered her defiance, and looked at him, her dark blue eyes blazing rather vaguely.
I asked you, she panted.
He gave a queer little bow, lifting his hat. You did, your Ladyship, he said; then, with a return to the vernacular: but I canna tell yer. And he became a soldier, inscrutable, only pale with annoyance.
Connie turned to the child, a ruddy, black-haired thing of nine or ten. What is it, dear? Tell me why youre crying! she said, with the conventionalized sweetness suitable. More violent sobs, self-conscious. Still more sweetness on Connies part.