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CONTENT
PART I
CHAPTER I
THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS （I）
THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS （II）
CHAPTER II
THE BIRTH OF PAUL, AND ANOTHER BATTLE（I）
THE BIRTH OF PAUL, AND ANOTHER BATTLE（II）
CHAPTER III
THE CASTING OFF OF MOREL--THE TAKING ON OF WILLIAM
CHAPTER IV
THE YOUNG LIFE OF PAUL （I）
THE YOUNG LIFE OF PAUL （II）
CHAPTER V
PAUL LAUNCHES INTO LIFE （I）
PAUL LAUNCHES INTO LIFE （II）
PAUL LAUNCHES INTO LIFE （III）
CHAPTER VI
DEATH IN THE FAMILY （I）
DEATH IN THE FAMILY （II）
DEATH IN THE FAMILY （III）
PART II
CHAPTER VII
LAD-AND-GIRL LOVE （I）
LAD-AND-GIRL LOVE （II）
LAD-AND-GIRL LOVE （III）
CHAPTER VIII
STRIFE IN LOVE （I）
STRIFE IN LOVE （II）
STRIFE IN LOVE （III）
CHAPTER IX
DEFEAT OF MIRIAM （I）
DEFEAT OF MIRIAM （II）
DEFEAT OF MIRIAM （III）
CHAPTER X
CLARA （I）
CLARA （II）
CHAPTER XI
THE TEST ON MIRIAM(I)
THE TEST ON MIRIAM(II)
CHAPTER XII
PASSION （I）
PASSION （II）
PASSION （III）
CHAPTER XIII
BAXTER DAWES（I）
BAXTER DAWES（II）
BAXTER DAWES（III）
BAXTER DAWES（IV）
CHAPTER XIV
THE RELEASE （I）
THE RELEASE （II）
THE RELEASE （III）
CHAPTER XV
DERELICT
ABOUT THIS BOOK
? D. H. LAWRENCE
CHAPTER I
THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS （I）
"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 twofields away. The brook ran under the alder trees, scarcely soiledby these small mines, whose coal was drawn to the surface bydonkeys that plodded wearily in a circle round a gin. And allover the countryside were these same pits, some of which had beenworked in the time of Charles II, the few colliers and the donkeysburrowing down like ants into the earth, making queer moundsand little black places among the corn-fields and the meadows. And the cottages of these coal-miners, in blocks and pairs hereand 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 ofthe financiers. The coal and iron field of Nottinghamshire andDerbyshire was discovered. Carston, Waite and Co. appeared. Amid tremendous excitement, Lord Palmerston formally openedthe company's first mine at Spinney Park, on the edge of Sherwood Forest.
About this time the notorious Hell Row, which through growingold had acquired an evil reputation, was burned down, and much dirtwas 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 mineswere sunk, until soon there were six pits working. From Nuttall,high up on the sandstone among the woods, the railway ran, past theruined priory of the Carthusians and past Robin Hood's Well, down toSpinney Park, then on to Minton, a large mine among corn-fields;from Minton across the farmlands of the valleyside toBunker's Hill, branching off there, and runningnorth to Beggarlee and Selby, that looks over at Crich and the hillsof 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 hillsideof 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 twelvehouses in a block. This double row of dwellings sat at the footof the rather sharp slope from Bestwood, and looked out, from theattic 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 auriculasand saxifrage in the shadow of the bottom block, sweet-williams and pinksin the sunny top block; seeing neat front windows, little porches,little privet hedges, and dormer windows for the attics. But thatwas outside; that was the view on to the uninhabited parlours of allthe colliers' wives. The dwelling-room, the kitchen, was at the backof the house, facing inward between the blocks, looking at a scrubbyback garden, and then at the ash-pits. And between the rows,between the long lines of ash-pits, went the alley, where the childrenplayed and the women gossiped and the men smoked. So, the actualconditions of living in the Bottoms, that was so well built andthat looked so nice, were quite unsavoury because people must livein 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 shecould 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 stripof garden. And, having an end house, she enjoyed a kind of aristocracyamong the other women of the "between" houses, because her rentwas 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 herthird baby.
Her husband was a miner. They had only been in their new homethree weeks when the wakes, or fair, began. Morel, she knew, was sureto 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 whomto trust the little girl. So she promised to take her to the wakesafter dinner.
William appeared at half-past twelve. He was a very active lad,fair-haired, freckled, with a touch of the Dane or Norwegianabout him.
"Can I have my dinner, mother?" he cried, rushing in with hiscap 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 herin 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'sonly half-past twelve, so you've a full hour."
The lad began hastily to lay the table, and directly the threesat down. They were eating batter-pudding and jam, when the boyjumped off his chair and stood perfectly stiff. Some distanceaway 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 motherin 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 thehill under the tall hedge with her child. The hay was gatheredfrom 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 organswere grinding, and there came odd cracks of pistol-shots, fearfulscreeching of the cocoanut man's rattle, shouts of the Aunt Sally man,screeches from the peep-show lady. The mother perceived her son gazingenraptured outside the Lion Wallace booth, at the pictures of thisfamous 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-roseson them.
"I got these from that stall where y'ave ter get them marblesin them holes. An' I got these two in two goes-'aepenny a go-they'vegot 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 aboutthe ground, showed her everything. Then, at the peep-show, sheexplained the pictures, in a sort of story, to which he listenedas if spellbound. He would not leave her. All the time hestuck 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 blackbonnet 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 sonstood watching her, cut to the heart to let her go, and yet unableto leave the wakes. As she crossed the open ground in front ofthe 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 notenjoyed 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 throughthat black tin stuff wi' holes in, on the window, wi' his sleevesrolled up."
"Ha!" exclaimed the mother shortly. "He's got no money. An' he'll be satisfied if he gets his 'lowance, whether theygive 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 wentout 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 mothersstood 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 herlittle 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 happenfor 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 Williamand Annie, she was sick of it, the struggle withpoverty and ugliness and meanness.
She went into the front garden, feeling too heavy to takeherself out, yet unable to stay indoors. The heat suffocated her. And looking ahead, the prospect of her life made her feel as if shewere buried alive.
The front garden was a small square with a privet hedge. There she stood, trying to soothe herself with the scent of flowersand the fading, beautiful evening. Opposite her small gate was thestile that led uphill, under the tall hedge between the burning glowof the cut pastures. The sky overhead throbbed and pulsed with light. The glow sank quickly off the field; the earth and the hedgessmoked 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 pathunder the hedges, men came lurching home. One young man lapsedinto a run down the steep bit that ended the hill, and went with acrash into the stile. Mrs. Morel shuddered. He picked himself up,swearing viciously, rather pathetically, as if he thought the stilehad 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 seemedso far away from her girlhood, she wondered if it were the sameperson walking heavily up the back garden at the Bottoms as had runso lightly up the breakwater at Sheerness ten years before.
"What have I to do with it?" she said to herself. "What haveI 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 oneselfas it were slurred over.
"I wait," Mrs. Morel said to herself--"I wait, and what I waitfor 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 herneedle flashed regularly through the stuff. Occasionally she sighed,moving to relieve herself. And all the time she was thinkinghow to make the most of what she had, for the children's sakes.
