CHAPTER III

THE CASTING OFF OF MOREL--THE TAKING ON OF WILLIAM

　　DURING the next week Morel's temper was almost unbearable. Like all miners, he was a great lover of medicines, which,strangely enough, he would often pay for himself.

　　"You mun get me a drop o' laxy vitral," he said. "It's awinder as we canna ha'e a sup i' th' 'ouse."

　　So Mrs. Morel bought him elixir of vitriol, his favouritefirst medicine. And he made himself a jug of wormwood tea. He hadhanging in the attic great bunches of dried herbs:wormwood, rue, horehound, elder flowers, parsley-purt,marshmallow, hyssop, dandelion, and centaury. Usually there was a jug ofone or other decoction standing on the hob, from which he drank largely.

　　"Grand!" he said, smacking his lips after wormwood. "Grand!" And he exhorted the children to try.

　　"It's better than any of your tea or your cocoa stews," he vowed. But they were not to be tempted.

　　This time, however, neither pills nor vitriol nor all his herbswould shift the "nasty peens in his head". He was sickening for anattack of an inflammation of the brain. He had never been well sincehis sleeping on the ground when he went with Jerry to Nottingham. Since then he had drunk and stormed. Now he fell seriously ill,and Mrs. Morel had him to nurse. He was one of the worstpatients imaginable. But, in spite of all, and putting aside thefact that he was breadwinner, she never quite wanted him to die. Still there was one part of her wanted him for herself.

　　The neighbours were very good to her: occasionally somehad the children in to meals, occasionally some would do thedownstairs work for her, one would mind the baby for a day. But it was a great drag, nevertheless. It was not every daythe neighbours helped. Then she had nursing of baby and husband,cleaning and cooking, everything to do. She was quite worn out,but she did what was wanted of her.

　　And the money was just sufficient. She had seventeenshillings a week from clubs, and every Friday Barker and the otherbutty put by a portion of the stall's profits for Morel's wife. And the neighbours made broths, and gave eggs, and such invalids'trifles. If they had not helped her so generously in those times,Mrs. Morel would never have pulled through, without incurringdebts that would have dragged her down.

　　The weeks passed. Morel, almost against hope, grew better. He had a fine constitution, so that, once on the mend, he went straightforward to recovery. Soon he was pottering about downstairs. During his illness his wife had spoilt him a little. Now he wantedher to continue. He often put his band to his head, pulled downthe comers of his mouth, and shammed pains he did not feel. But there was no deceiving her. At first she merely smiled to herself. Then she scolded him sharply.

　　"Goodness, man, don't be so lachrymose."

　　That wounded him slightly, but still he continued to feign sickness.

　　"I wouldn't be such a mardy baby," said the wife shortly.

　　Then he was indignant, and cursed under his breath, like a boy. He was forced to resume a normal tone, and to cease to whine.

　　Nevertheless, there was a state of peace in the house for some time. Mrs. Morel was more tolerant of him, and he, depending on her almostlike a child, was rather happy. Neither knew that she was more tolerantbecause she loved him less. Up till this time, in spite of all,he had been her husband and her man. She had felt that, more or less,what he did to himself he did to her. Her living depended on him. There were many, many stages in the ebbing of her love for him,but it was always ebbing.

　　Now, with the birth of this third baby, her self no longer settowards him, helplessly, but was like a tide that scarcely rose,standing off from him. After this she scarcely desired him. And, standing more aloof from him, not feeling him so much partof herself, but merely part of her circumstances, she did not mindso much what he did, could leave him alone.

　　There was the halt, the wistfulness about the ensuing year,which is like autumn in a man's life. His wife was casting him off,half regretfully, but relentlessly; casting him off and turningnow for love and life to the children. Henceforward he was moreor less a husk. And he himself acquiesced, as so many men do,yielding their place to their children.

　　During his recuperation, when it was really over between them,both made an effort to come back somewhat to the old relationshipof the first months of their marriage. He sat at home and,when the children were in bed, and she was sewing--she did all hersewing by hand, made all shirts and children's clothing--he wouldread to her from the newspaper, slowly pronouncing and deliveringthe words like a man pitching quoits. Often she hurried him on,giving him a phrase in anticipation. And then he took her words humbly.

　　The silences between them were peculiar. There would bethe swift, slight "cluck" of her needle, the sharp "pop" of hislips as he let out the smoke, the warmth, the sizzle on the barsas he spat in the fire. Then her thoughts turned to William. Already he was getting a big boy. Already he was top of the class,and the master said he was the smartest lad in the school. She saw him a man, young, full of vigour, making the world glowagain for her.

　　And Morel sitting there, quite alone, and having nothingto think about, would be feeling vaguely uncomfortable. His soulwould reach out in its blind way to her and find her gone. He felt a sort of emptiness, almost like a vacuum in his soul. He was unsettled and restless. Soon he could not live inthat atmosphere, and he affected his wife. Both felt an oppressionon their breathing when they were left together for some time. Then he went to bed and she settled down to enjoy herself alone,working, thinking, living.

　　Meanwhile another infant was coming, fruit of this little peaceand tenderness between the separating parents. Paul was seventeenmonths old when the new baby was born. He was then a plump,pale child, quiet, with heavy blue eyes, and still the peculiarslight knitting of the brows. The last child was also a boy,fair and bonny. Mrs. Morel was sorry when she knew she was with child,both for economic reasons and because she did not love her husband;but not for the sake of the infant.

　　They called the baby Arthur. He was very pretty, with amop of gold curls, and he loved his father from the first. Mrs. Morel was glad this child loved the father. Hearing theminer's footsteps, the baby would put up his arms and crow. And if Morel were in a good temper, he called back immediately,in his hearty, mellow voice:

　　"What then, my beauty? I sh'll come to thee in a minute."

　　And as soon as he had taken off his pit-coat, Mrs. Morel wouldput an apron round the child, and give him to his father.

　　"What a sight the lad looks!" she would exclaim sometimes,taking back the baby, that was smutted on the face from his father'skisses and play. Then Morel laughed joyfully.

　　"He's a little collier, bless his bit o' mutton!" he exclaimed.

　　And these were the happy moments of her life now, when thechildren included the father in her heart.

　　Meanwhile William grew bigger and stronger and more active,while Paul, always rather delicate and quiet, got slimmer,and trotted after his mother like her shadow. He was usually activeand interested, but sometimes he would have fits of depression. Then the mother would find the boy of three or four crying onthe sofa.

　　"What's the matter?" she asked, and got no answer.

　　"What's the matter?" she insisted, getting cross.

　　"I don't know," sobbed the child.

　　So she tried to reason him out of it, or to amuse him,but without effect. It made her feel beside herself. Then the father,always impatient, would jump from his chair and shout:

　　"If he doesn't stop, I'll smack him till he does."

　　"You'll do nothing of the sort," said the mother coldly. And then she carried the child into the yard, plumped him into hislittle chair, and said: "Now cry there, Misery!"

　　And then a butterfly on the rhubarb-leaves perhaps caught his eye,or at last he cried himself to sleep. These fits were not often,but they caused a shadow in Mrs. Morel's heart, and her treatmentof Paul was different from that of the other children.

　　Suddenly one morning as she was looking down the alleyof the Bottoms for the barm-man, she heard a voice calling her. It was the thin little Mrs. Anthony in brown velvet.

　　"Here, Mrs. Morel, I want to tell you about your Willie."

　　"Oh, do you?" replied Mrs. Morel. "Why, what's the matter?"

　　"A lad as gets 'old of another an' rips his clothes off'n'is back," Mrs. Anthony said, "wants showing something."

　　"Your Alfred's as old as my William," said Mrs. Morel.

　　"'Appen 'e is, but that doesn't give him a right to get holdof the boy's collar, an' fair rip it clean off his back."

　　"Well," said Mrs. Morel, "I don't thrash my children,and even if I did, I should want to hear their side of the tale."

　　"They'd happen be a bit better if they did get a good hiding,"retorted Mrs. Anthony. "When it comes ter rippin' a lad's cleancollar off'n 'is back a-purpose---"

　　"I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose," said Mrs. Morel.

　　"Make me a liar!" shouted Mrs. Anthony.

　　Mrs. Morel moved away and closed her gate. Her hand trembledas she held her mug of barm.

　　"But I s'll let your mester know," Mrs. Anthony cried after her.

　　At dinner-time, when William had finished his meal and wantedto be off again--he was then eleven years old--his mother said to him:

　　"What did you tear Alfred Anthony's collar for?"

　　"When did I tear his collar?"

　　"I don't know when, but his mother says you did."

　　"Why--it was yesterday--an' it was torn a'ready."

　　"But you tore it more."

　　"Well, I'd got a cobbler as 'ad licked seventeen--an'Alfy Ant'ny 'e says:

　　 'Adam an' Eve an' pinch-me, Went down to a river to bade. Adam an' Eve got drownded, Who do yer think got saved?'

　　An' so I says: 'Oh, Pinch-YOU,' an' so I pinched 'im, an''e was mad, an' so he snatched my cobbler an' run off with it. An' so I run after 'im, an' when I was gettin' hold of 'im,'e dodged, an' it ripped 'is collar. But I got my cobbler---"

　　He pulled from his pocket a black old horse-chestnut hanging ona string. This old cobbler had "cobbled"--hit and smashed--seventeenother cobblers on similar strings. So the boy was proud of his veteran.

　　"Well," said Mrs. Morel, "you know you've got no right to riphis collar."

　　"Well, our mother!" he answered. "I never meant tr'a done it--an'it was on'y an old indirrubber collar as was torn a'ready."

　　"Next time," said his mother, "YOU be more careful. I shouldn't like it if you came home with your collar torn off."

　　"I don't care, our mother; I never did it a-purpose."

　　The boy was rather miserable at being reprimanded.

　　"No--well, you be more careful."

　　William fled away, glad to be exonerated. And Mrs. Morel,who hated any bother with the neighbours, thought she would explainto Mrs. Anthony, and the business would be over.

　　But that evening Morel came in from the pit looking very sour. He stood in the kitchen and glared round, but did not speak forsome minutes. Then:

　　"Wheer's that Willy?" he asked.

　　"What do you want HIM for?" asked Mrs. Morel, who had guessed.

　　"I'll let 'im know when I get him," said Morel, banging hispit-bottle on to the dresser.

　　"I suppose Mrs. Anthony's got hold of you and been yarningto you about Alfy's collar," said Mrs. Morel, rather sneering.

　　"Niver mind who's got hold of me," said Morel. "When I gethold of 'IM I'll make his bones rattle."

　　"It's a poor tale," said Mrs. Morel, "that you're so readyto side with any snipey vixen who likes to come telling talesagainst your own children."

　　"I'll learn 'im!" said Morel. "It none matters to me whoselad 'e is; 'e's none goin' rippin' an' tearin' about just as he'sa mind."

　　"'Ripping and tearing about!'" repeated Mrs. Morel. "He was running after that Alfy, who'd taken his cobbler, and heaccidentally got hold of his collar, because the other dodged--asan Anthony would."

　　"I know!" shouted Morel threateningly.

　　"You would, before you're told," replied his wife bitingly.

　　"Niver you mind," stormed Morel. "I know my business."

　　"That's more than doubtful," said Mrs. Morel, "supposing someloud-mouthed creature had been getting you to thrash your own children."

　　"I know," repeated Morel.

　　And he said no more, but sat and nursed his bad temper. Suddenly William ran in, saying:

　　"Can I have my tea, mother?"

　　"Tha can ha'e more than that!" shouted Morel.

　　"Hold your noise, man," said Mrs. Morel; "and don't lookso ridiculous."

　　"He'll look ridiculous before I've done wi' him!" shouted Morel,rising from his chair and glaring at his son.

　　William, who was a tall lad for his years, but very sensitive,had gone pale, and was looking in a sort of horror at his father.

　　"Go out!" Mrs. Morel commanded her son.

　　William had not the wit to move. Suddenly Morel clenchedhis fist, and crouched.

　　"I'll GI'E him 'go out'!" he shouted like an insane thing.

　　"What!" cried Mrs. Morel, panting with rage. "You shallnot touch him for HER telling, you shall not!"

　　"Shonna I?" shouted Morel. "Shonna I?"

　　And, glaring at the boy, he ran forward. Mrs. Morel sprangin between them, with her fist lifted.

　　"Don't you DARE!" she cried.

　　"What!" he shouted, baffled for the moment. "What!"

　　She spun round to her son.

　　"GO out of the house!" she commanded him in fury.

　　The boy, as if hypnotised by her, turned suddenly and was gone. Morel rushed to the door, but was too late. He returned, pale underhis pit-dirt with fury. But now his wife was fully roused.

　　"Only dare!" she said in a loud, ringing voice. "Only dare,milord, to lay a finger on that child! You'll regret it for ever."

　　He was afraid of her. In a towering rage, he sat down.

　　When the children were old enough to be left, Mrs. Moreljoined the Women's Guild. It was a little club of women attachedto the Co-operative Wholesale Society, which met on Monday nightin the long room over the grocery shop of the Bestwood "Co-op". Thewomen were supposed to discuss the benefits to be derived fromco-operation, and other social questions. Sometimes Mrs. Morelread a paper. It seemed queer to the children to see their mother,who was always busy about the house, sitting writing in herrapid fashion, thinking, referring to books, and writing again. They felt for her on such occasions the deepest respect.

　　But they loved the Guild. It was the only thing to which theydid not grudge their mother--and that partly because she enjoyed it,partly because of the treats they derived from it. The Guildwas called by some hostile husbands, who found their wives gettingtoo independent, the "clat-fart" shop--that is, the gossip-shop. Itis true, from off the basis of the Guild, the women could look attheir homes, at the conditions of their own lives, and find fault. So the colliers found their women had a new standard of their own,rather disconcerting. And also, Mrs. Morel always had a lot of newson Monday nights, so that the children liked William to be in whentheir mother came home, because she told him things.

　　Then, when the lad was thirteen, she got him a job inthe "Co-op." office. He was a very clever boy, frank, with ratherrough features and real viking blue eyes.

　　"What dost want ter ma'e a stool-harsed Jack on 'im for?"said Morel. "All he'll do is to wear his britches behind out an'earn nowt. What's 'e startin' wi'?"

　　"It doesn't matter what he's starting with," said Mrs. Morel.

　　"It wouldna! Put 'im i' th' pit we me, an' 'ell earn a easyten shillin' a wik from th' start. But six shillin' wearin' his truck-endout on a stool's better than ten shillin' i' th' pit wi'me, I know."

　　"He is NOT going in the pit," said Mrs. Morel, "and there'san end of it."

　　"It wor good enough for me, but it's non good enough for 'im."

　　"If your mother put you in the pit at twelve, it's no reasonwhy I should do the same with my lad."

　　"Twelve! It wor a sight afore that!"

　　"Whenever it was," said Mrs. Morel.

　　She was very proud of her son. He went to the night school,and learned shorthand, so that by the time he was sixteen he wasthe best shorthand clerk and book-keeper on the place, except one. Then he taught in the night schools. But he was so fiery that onlyhis good-nature and his size protected him.

　　All the things that men do--the decent things--William did. He could run like the wind. When he was twelve he won a firstprize in a race; an inkstand of glass, shaped like an anvil. It stood proudly on the dresser, and gave Mrs. Morel a keen pleasure. The boy only ran for her. He flew home with his anvil, breathless,with a "Look, mother!" That was the first real tribute to herself. She took it like a queen.

　　"How pretty!" she exclaimed.

　　Then he began to get ambitious. He gave all his money tohis mother. When he earned fourteen shillings a week, she gave himback two for himself, and, as he never drank, he felt himself rich. He went about with the bourgeois of Bestwood. The townlet containednothing higher than the clergyman. Then came the bank manager,then the doctors, then the tradespeople, and after that the hostsof colliers. Willam began to consort with the sons of the chemist,the schoolmaster, and the tradesmen. He played billiards inthe Mechanics' Hall. Also he danced--this in spite of his mother. All the life that Bestwood offered he enjoyed, from the sixpenny-hopsdown Church Street, to sports and billiards.

　　Paul was treated to dazzling descriptions of all kinds offlower-like ladies, most of whom lived like cut blooms in William'sheart for a brief fortnight.

　　Occasionally some flame would come in pursuit of her errantswain. Mrs. Morel would find a strange girl at the door,and immediately she sniffed the air.

　　"Is Mr. Morel in?" the damsel would ask appealingly.

　　"My husband is at home," Mrs. Morel replied.

　　"I--I mean YOUNG Mr. Morel," repeated the maiden painfully.

　　"Which one? There are several."

　　Whereupon much blushing and stammering from the fair one.

　　"I--I met Mr. Morel--at Ripley," she explained.

　　"Oh--at a dance!"

　　"Yes."

　　"I don't approve of the girls my son meets at dances. And he is NOT at home."

　　Then he came home angry with his mother for having turned thegirl away so rudely. He was a careless, yet eager-looking fellow,who walked with long strides, sometimes frowning, often with his cappushed jollily to the back of his head. Now he came in frowning. He threw his cap on to the sofa, and took his strong jaw in his hand,and glared down at his mother. She was small, with her hairtaken straight back from her forehead. She had a quiet airof authority, and yet of rare warmth. Knowing her son was angry,she trembled inwardly.

　　"Did a lady call for me yesterday, mother?" he asked.

　　"I don't know about a lady. There was a girl came."

　　"And why didn't you tell me?"

　　"Because I forgot, simply."

　　He fumed a little.

　　"A good-looking girl--seemed a lady?"

　　"I didn't look at her."

　　"Big brown eyes?"

　　"I did NOT look. And tell your girls, my son, that when they'rerunning after you, they're not to come and ask your mother for you. Tell them that--brazen baggages you meet at dancing-classes."

　　"I'm sure she was a nice girl."

　　"And I'm sure she wasn't."

　　There ended the altercation. Over the dancing there was a greatstrife between the mother and the son. The grievance reached itsheight when William said he was going to Hucknall Torkard--considereda low town--to a fancy-dress ball. He was to be a Highlander.There was a dress he could hire, which one of his friendshad had, and which fitted him perfectly. The Highland suit came home. Mrs. Morel received it coldly and would not unpack it.

　　"My suit come?" cried William.

　　"There's a parcel in the front room."

　　He rushed in and cut the string.

　　"How do you fancy your son in this!" he said, enraptured,showing her the suit.

　　"You know I don't want to fancy you in it."

　　On the evening of the dance, when he had come home to dress,Mrs. Morel put on her coat and bonnet.

　　"Aren't you going to stop and see me, mother?" he asked.

　　"No; I don't want to see you," she replied.

　　She was rather pale, and her face was closed and hard. She was afraid of her son's going the same way as his father. He hesitated a moment, and his heart stood still with anxiety. Then he caught sight of the Highland bonnet with its ribbons. He picked it up gleefully, forgetting her. She went out.

　　When he was nineteen he suddenly left the Co-op. office and gota situation in Nottingham. In his new place he had thirty shillingsa week instead of eighteen. This was indeed a rise. His mother andhis father were brimmed up with pride. Everybody praised William. It seemed he was going to get on rapidly. Mrs. Morel hoped,with his aid, to help her younger sons. Annie was now studyingto be a teacher. Paul, also very clever, was getting on well,having lessons in French and German from his godfather, the clergymanwho was still a friend to Mrs. Morel. Arthur, a spoilt and verygood-looking boy, was at the Board school, but there was talkof his trying to get a scholarship for the High School in Nottingham.

　　William remained a year at his new post in Nottingham. He was studying hard, and growing serious. Something seemed to befretting him. Still he went out to the dances and the river parties. He did not drink. The children were all rabid teetotallers. He came home very late at night, and sat yet longer studying. His mother implored him to take more care, to do one thingor another.

　　"Dance, if you want to dance, my son; but don't think you canwork in the office, and then amuse yourself, and THENstudy on top of all. You can't; the human frame won'tstand it. Do one thing or the other--amuse yourself or learn Latin;but don't try to do both."

　　Then he got a place in London, at a hundred and twenty a year. This seemed a fabulous sum. His mother doubted almost whether torejoice or to grieve.

　　"They want me in Lime Street on Monday week, mother," he cried,his eyes blazing as he read the letter. Mrs. Morel felt everythinggo silent inside her. He read the letter: "'And will you replyby Thursday whether you accept. Yours faithfully---' They want me,mother, at a hundred and twenty a year, and don't even ask to see me. Didn't I tell you I could do it! Think of me in London! And Ican give you twenty pounds a year, mater. We s'll all be rollingin money."

　　"We shall, my son," she answered sadly.

　　It never occurred to him that she might be more hurt at his goingaway than glad of his success. Indeed, as the days drew near forhis departure, her heart began to close and grow dreary with despair. She loved him so much! More than that, she hoped in him so much. Almost she lived by him. She liked to do things for him: she likedto put a cup for his tea and to iron his collars, of which he wasso proud. It was a joy to her to have him proud of his collars. There was no laundry. So she used to rub away at them with her littleconvex iron, to polish them, till they shone from the sheer pressureof her arm. Now she would not do it for him. Now he was going away. She felt almost as if he were going as well out of her heart. He did not seem to leave her inhabited with himself. That was the griefand the pain to her. He took nearly all himself away.

　　A few days before his departure--he was just twenty--he burned hislove-letters. They had hung on a file at the top of the kitchen cupboard. From some of them he had read extracts to his mother. Some of themshe had taken the trouble to read herself. But most were too trivial.

　　Now, on the Saturday morning he said:

　　"Come on, Postle, let's go through my letters, and you canhave the birds and flowers."

　　Mrs. Morel had done her Saturday's work on the Friday,because he was having a last day's holiday. She was making hima rice cake, which he loved, to take with him. He was scarcelyconscious that she was so miserable.

　　He took the first letter off the file. It was mauve-tinted,and had purple and green thistles. William sniffed the page.

　　"Nice scent! Smell."

　　And he thrust the sheet under Paul's nose.

　　"Um!" said Paul, breathing in. "What d'you call it? Smell, mother."

　　His mother ducked her small, fine nose down to the paper.

　　"I don't want to smell their rubbish," she said, sniffing.

　　"This girl's father," said William, "is as rich as Croesus. He owns property without end. She calls me Lafayette, because Iknow French. 'You will see, I've forgiven you'--I like HER forgiving me. 'I told mother about you this morning, and she will have muchpleasure if you come to tea on Sunday, but she will have to getfather's consent also. I sincerely hope he will agree. I will letyou know how it transpires. If, however, you---'"

　　"'Let you know how it' what?" interrupted Mrs. Morel.

　　"'Transpires'--oh yes!"

　　"'Transpires!'" repeated Mrs. Morel mockingly. "I thoughtshe was so well educated!"

　　William felt slightly uncomfortable, and abandoned this maiden,giving Paul the corner with the thistles. He continued to readextracts from his letters, some of which amused his mother,some of which saddened her and made her anxious for him.

　　"My lad," she said, "they're very wise. They know they'veonly got to flatter your vanity, and you press up to them likea dog that has its head scratched."

　　"Well, they can't go on scratching for ever," he replied. "And when they've done, I trot away."

　　"But one day you'll find a string round your neck that youcan't pull off," she answered.

　　"Not me! I'm equal to any of 'em, mater, they needn'tflatter themselves."

　　"You flatter YOURSELF," she said quietly.

　　Soon there was a heap of twisted black pages, all that remainedof the file of scented letters, except that Paul had thirty orforty pretty tickets from the corners of the notepaper--swallowsand forget-me-nots and ivy sprays. And William went to London,to start a new life.

© D. H. LAWRENCE

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