Part 3, Chapter 1

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part three, Chapter one of At the White Peacock by D. H. Lawrence.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by
Simon Evers, Part three, Chapter one, A new start in life.
Letty was wedded. As I had said, before, Lesley lost
all the wistful traces of his illness. They had been

(00:20):
gone away to France five days before we recovered anything
like the normal tone in the house. Then, though the
routine was the same, everywhere was a sense of loss
and of change. The long voyage in the quiet home
was over. We crossed the bright sea of our youth,
and already Letty had landed and was traveling to a
strange destination in a foreign land. It was time for

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us all to go, to leave the Valley of Nethermere,
whose waters and whose woods were distilled in the essence
of our veins. We were the children of the Valley
of Nethermere, a small nation with language and blood of
our own, and cast ourselves, each one into separate exile
was painful to us. I shall have to go now,

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said George. It is my nature to linger an unconsurable time.
Yet I dread above all things is slow crumbling away
from my foundations by which I free myself. At last,
I must wrench myself away. Now it was the slack
time between the hay and the corn harvest, and we
sat together in the gray still morning of August, pulling

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the stack. My hands were sore with tugging the loose
wisps from the lower part of the stack, so I
waited for the touch of rain to send us indoors.
It came at last, and we hurried into the barn.
We climbed the ladder into the loft that was strewn
with farming implements and with carpenter's tools. We sat together
on the shavings that littered the bench before the high

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gable window, and looked out over the brooks, and the
woods and the ponds. Tree tops were very near to us,
and we thought ourselves the center of the waters and
the woods that spread down the rainy valley. In a
few years, I said, we shall be almost strangers. He
looked at me with fond, dark eyes and smiled incredulously.

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It is as far, said I, to the ram, as
it is for me to London. Father. Don't you want
me to go there? He asked, smiling quietly. It's all
as one where you go. You will travel north and
high east, and let his south. Letty has departed. In
seven weeks, I go and you. I must be gone

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before you, he said decisively. Do you know, and he
smiled timidly in confession. I feel alarmed at the idea
of being left alone on a loose end. I must
not be the last to leave, he added, almost appealingly.
And you will go to Meg, I asked. He sat,
tearing the silken shavings into shreds and telling me in

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clumpsy fragments all he could of his feelings. You see,
it's not so much what you call love. I don't know.
You see, I built on Letty. He looked up at me, shanefacedly,
then continued tearing the shavings. You must found your castle
on something, and I have found it mine on Letty.
You see, I'm like plenty of folks, so I have

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nothing definite to shape my life too. I put brick
upon brick as they come, and if the whole topples
down in the end, it does. But you see, you
and Letty have made me conscious, and now I am
at a dead loss. I've looked to marriage to set
me busy on my house of life, something whole and complete,

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of which it will supply the design. I must marry
or be in a lost lane. There are two people
I could marry, and Letty's gone. I love Meg just
as well. As far as love goes, I'm not sure.
I don't feel better pleased at the idea of marrying her.
You know, I should always have been seconds at Lee.

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And the best part of love is being made much
of being first and foremost in the whole world for somebody.
And Meg's easy and lovely. I can have her without trembling.
She's full of soothing and comfort. I can stroke her
hair and pet her, and she looks up at me,
full of trust and lovingness. And there is no flaw,

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all restfulness in one another. Three weeks later, as I
lay in the August sunshine in a deck chair on
the lawn, I heard the sound of wheels along the
gravel path. It was George calling for me to accompany
him to his marriage. He pulled up the dog cart
near the door and came up the steps to me

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on the lawn. He was dressed as if for the
cattle market, in jacket and breeches and gaiters. Well, are
you ready, he said, standing smiling down on me. His
eyes were dark with excitement and had that vulnerable look
which was so peculiar to the Saxtons of their emotional moments.
You're in good time, said I. It is but half

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past nigh. It wouldn't do to be late on a
day like this, he said, gaily. See how the sun
shines come. You don't look as brisk as a best
man should. I thought you would have been on tenter
hooks of excitement. Get up, get up. Look here a
bird has given me luck. He showed me a white
smear on his shoulder. I drew myself up lazily. All right,

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I said, but we must drink a whiskey to establish it.
He followed me out of the fragrant sunshine into the
dark house. The rooms were very still and empty, but
the cool silence responded at once to the gaiety of
our sun warm entrance. The sweetness of the summer morning
hung invisible, like glad ghosts of romance through the shadowy room.

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We seemed to feel the sunlight dancing golden in our
veins as we filled again the pale liqueur joy to you.
I have you to day. His teeth were white, and
his eyes stirred like dark liquor as he smiled, here
is my wedding present. I stood the four large water
colors along the wall before him. There were drawings among

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the waters and the fields of the mill, gray rain
and twilight morning, with the sun pouring gold into the mist,
and the suspense of a midsummer noon upon the pond.
All the glamor of oy yesterdays came over him like
an intoxicant, and he quivered with the wonderful beauty of
life that was weaving him into the large magic of
the years. He realized the splendor of the pageant of

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days which had him in train. It's been wonderful, Cyril,
all the time, he said, with surprised joy. We drove
away through the freshness of the wood, and among the
flowing of the sunshine. Along the road, the cottages of
gray meat filled the shadows with color of roses, and
the sunlight with odor of pinks and the blue of

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corn flowers and larkspur. We drove briskly up the long
sleeping hill and bowled down the hollow, past the farms
where the hens were walking with the red gold cocks
in the orchard, and the ducks, like white cloudlets under
the aspen trees, reveled on the pond. I told her
to be ready any time, said George, But she doesn't

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know it's to day. I didn't want the public house
full of the business. The mare walked up the sharp
little rise on top of which stood at the ram
inn in the quart. As the horse slowed to a standstill,
we heard the crooning of a song in the garden.
We sat still in the cart and looked across the
flagged yard to where the tall madonna lilies rose in clusters.

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Out of the allison. Beyond the border of flowers was
Meg bending over the gooseberry bushes. She saw us and
came swinging down the path with a bird of gooseberries
poised on her hip. She was dressed in a plain,
fresh Holland frock with a white apron. A black heavy
hair reflected the sunlight, and her ripe face was luxuriant

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with laughter. Well, I never, she exclaimed, trying not to
show that she guessed his errand and to you here
at this time of morning. Her eyes delightful, black eyes
like polished jet, untroubled and frank looked at us as
a robin might, with bright questioning. Her eyes were so
different from the sextons, darker but never still and full,

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never hesitating, dreading a wound, never dilating with hurt or
with timid ecstasy. Are you ready, then, he asked, smiling
down on her. What she asked in confusion to come
to the registrar with me. I've got the license. Well,
I'm just going to make the pudding, she cried, in
full expostulation. Let them make it themselves. Put your hat on.

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Look at me, I'll just be getting the goosebridge. Look
he showed us the berries and the scratches on her
arms and hands. What a shame, he said, bending down
to stroke her hand and her arm. She drew back, smiling,
flushing with joy. I could smell the white liddies where
I sat. But you don't mean it, do you, she said,

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lifting to him her face that was round and glossy
like a black heart cherry for answer. He unfolded the
marriage license. She read it and turned aside, her face
in confusion, saying, huh, I've got to get ready. Should
he come and tell Grandma? Is there any need? He
answered reluctantly, yes, you come and tell her, persuaded Meg,

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he got down from the trap. I preferred to stay
out of doors. Presently, Meg ran out with a glass
of beer for me. It sha'n't be many minutes, she apologized.
I've wanted to slip another frock on. I heard George
go heavily up the stairs and enter the room over
the bar parlor where the grandmother lay bedridden. What is that,
my lad? Why are the door near this morning? Well?

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And how does the feel by now? He said? Ay? Sadly, lad, sadly,
and not be long afore they carry me down stairs
head first. Nay, donno, they say, so, I'm just up
to Naughtium. I want Meg to come. What for, cried
the old woman sharply. I wanted her to get married,
he replied. But what does he say? And what about

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the license and the ring and everything I've seen? To that?
All right? He answered? Ah, the art a nice one.
I must say. What's want going on? This? Pickin up
pop fashioned? For this is a nice shabby trick to
serve a body? What does it mean by it? You
know it as I were going to marry her directly?
So I can't see as it matters of the day.
I don't wanted her the pub talking, not mighty particular

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and all and all, and why shouldn't the pub talk?
But no, marry a nigger, as TA should be so frightened.
I never put it on thee. What's theoria of a
sudden no hurry as I know of Gnry, replied the
old lady with withering sarcasm. Though whatever an hurry, a
thy life is not coming with her this day, though

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he laughed, also sarcastic. The old lady was angry. She
poured on him her abuse to carrying. She would not
have Meg in the house again, nor leave her a
penny if she married him that day. I complease thy, son,
said George, also angry. Meg came hurriedly into the room.
Take that out off, Take it off? Panon goes with

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him this day, not if I know it? Does he
think that a cow or a pig to be fetched?
Whenever he thinks fit, take that out off? I say.
The old woman was fierce and peremptory, but Grandma began Meg.
They creaked as the old lady tried to rise. Take
that out off. Before I put it off, she cried

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or be still Grandma, you be hurting yourself. You know
you will. Are you coming, Meg? Said George. Suddenly she
is not cried the old woman. Are you coming? Meg,
repeated George in a passion. Meg began to cry. I
suppose she looked at him through her tears. The next
thing I heard was a cry from the old woman,

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and the sound of staggering feet. What do the draga
from me? If I go as one went the west?
Ask no more? They hears that? That does thuself know?
My lady dunn a venture and ie me After this, Miguel,
the old woman called louder and louder. George appeared in
the doorway, holding Mad by the arm. She was crying
in a little distress. Her hat, with its large silk roses,

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were slanting over her eyes. She was dressed in white linen.
They mounted the trap. I gave him the reins and
scrambled up behind. The old woman heard us through the
open window, and we listened to her calling as we
drove away, dunnot let me clap eyes on thee again,
the UNGRATEFULUSI thu GREATEFULUSI bar ruin me went thou rue it,

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And then Dunna come to me. He drove out of hearing.
George sat with its shut mouth, scowning. Meg wept awhile
to herself woefully. We were singing at a good space
down the beaches of the churchyard, which stood above the
level of the road. Meg, having settled her hat, bent
her head to the wind, too much occupied with her

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attire to weep. We swung round the hollow by the
bog end and rattled a short distance up the steep
hill to Watnal. Then the mayor walked slowly. Meg, at
leisure to collect herself, exclaimed plaintively, Oh, I've only got
one glove. She looked at the odd silked love that
lay in her lap, then peered about among her skirts.

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I must have left it in the bedroom, she said piteously.
He laughed, and his anger suddenly vanished. What does it matter?
You'll do without? All right? The sound of his voice,
she recollected, and her tears and her weeping returned. Nay,
he said, don't fret about the old woman. She'll come
round to morrow. And if she doesn't it, sir, look up,

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she's got Bolly to attend to her. Ought she be
that miserable, met Meg? It's her own fault at any rate,
don't let it make you miserable. He glanced to see
if any one were in sight. Then he put his
arm round her waist and kissed her, saying, softly, coatingly,
she'll be all right to morrow. We'll go and see

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her then, and she'll be glad enough to have RS.
We'll give it to her then, poor old grandma. She
can boss you about and me as well to morrow,
as much as she likes. She feels it hard being
tied to her bed. But to day is ours? Surely,
isn't it? To day's ours? And are not sorry? Are you?
But I've got no gloves, and I'm sure my heir's

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a sight. I never thought she got a reach toup
like that, Geud laughed. Tickled, No, he said, she was
in a temper. But we can get you some gloves
directly we get to Nottingham. I haven't a farthing of money,
she said, ay've plenty, he laughed, Oh, let's try this on.
They were merry together as he tried on her wedding ring,

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and they talked softly, he gentle and coaxing, she rather plaintive.
The mare took her own way and Meg's hat was
disarranged once more by the sweeping elm boughs. The yellow
corn was dipping and flowing in the fields like a
cloth of gold, pegged down at the corners under which
the wind was heaving. Sometimes we passed cottages where the

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scarlet lilies rose like bonfires, and the tall larkspur like
bright blue leaping smoke. Sometimes we smelled the sunshine on
the browning corn, sometimes the fragrance of the shadow of leaves.
Occasionally it was the dizzy scent of new haystacks. Then
we rocked and jolted over the rough cobblestones of Cinder Hill,

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and bounded forward again at the foot of the enormous pitthill,
smelling of sulfur inflamed with slow red fires in the daylight,
and crusted with ashes. We reached the top of the
rise and saw the city before us, heaped high and
dim upon the broad range of the hill. I looked
for the square tower of my old school, and the sharp,

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proud spar of Saint Andrew's. Over the city hung a dalness,
a thin dirty canopy against the blue sky. We turned
and swung down the slope between the last salid cornfields
towards Bassward, where the swelling issometer stood like toadstools. As
we neared the mouth of the street, Meg rose excitedly,

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pulling George's arm, crying, oh, look the poor little thing.
On the causeway stood two small boys, lifting their faces
and weeping to the heedless heavens, while before them, upside
down lay a baby strapped to a shut up baby chair.
The gim cracked carpet seated thing had collapsed as the
boys were dismounting the curbstone with it. It had fallen backwards,

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and they were unable to write it. There lay the infant,
strapped head downwards to its city cart, in imminent danger
of suffocation. Meg leaped out and dragged the chart from
the wretched chair. The two boys, drenched with tears, howled
on May crouched on the road, the baby on her knee,
its tiny feet dang me against her skirt. She soothed

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the pitiful, tear wet mite. She hugged it to her
and kissed it, and hugged it and rocked it in
an abandonment of pity. When at last the childish trio
was silent, the boys shaken only by the last, a
being sobs, Meg calmed also from her friendzy of pity
for the little thing. She murmured to it tenderly and
wiped its wet little cheeks with her handkerchief, soothing, kissing,

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fondling the bewildered might, smoothing the wet strands of brown
hair under the scrap of cotton bonnet, twitching the inevitable
baby cape into order. Was a pretty baby with wisps
of brown gold silken hair and large blue eyes. Is
it a girl? Asked one of the boys. How old
is she? But oh no, he answered awkwardly. I've had

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her about the three wig. Why isn't she your sister?
Norman mother keeps sir. They were very reluctant to tell
us anything. Poor little lamb, cried Meg in another access
of pity, clasping the baby to her bosom with one
hand holding its winsome slippered feet in the other. She
remained thus stunned through with acute pity, crouching folding herself

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over the light. At last, she raised her head and said,
in a voice difficult with emotion, But you lover, don't you? Yes,
she's a she's all right, But we have to mind her,
replied the boy, in great confusion. Surely, said Meg, surely
you don't look good, lad, poor little thing, so little

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she is. Surely you don't grumble at minding her a bit.
The boys would not answer. Oh, poor little lamb, Poor
little lamb, murmured Meig over the child, condemning with bitterness
the boys and the whole world of men. I taught
one of the lads how to fold and unfold the
wretched chair. Meg very reluctantly seated the unfortunate baby therein,

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gently fastening her with the strap. Where's a dummy, asked
one of the boys in muffled, self conscious tones. The
infant began to cry thinly. Meke crouched over it. The
dummy was found in the gutter and wiped on the
boy's coat, then plugged into the baby's mouth. Make released
the tiny clasping hand from over her finger and mounted

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the dog cart, saying sternly to the boys, mind you
look after a while, poor little baby with no mother.
God's watching to see what you do to her, so
you be careful. Mind He stood. Then his shame faced
George clicked to the bear, and as we started through
coppers to the boys. While we drove away, I watched

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the little group diminish down the road. Such a shame,
she said, and the tears were in her voice. Sweet
little thing like that, Aye, said George softly. There's all
sorts of things in towns. Meg paid no attention to him,
but sat womanlike, thinking of the forlorn baby and condemning
the hard world. He, full of tenderness and protectiveness towards her,

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having watched her with softening eyes, felt a little bit
rebuffed that she ignored him and sat alone in her
fierce womanhood. So he busied himself with the reins, and
the two sat each alone until Meg was roused by
the bustle of the town. The mayor sidled past the
electric cars nervously and jumped when attraction engine came upon us. Meg,

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rather frightened, clung to George again. She was very glad
when we had passed the cemetery with its white population
of tombstones, and drew up in a quiet street. But
when we had dismounted and given the horse's head to
a loafer, she became confused and bashful, and timid to
the last degree. He took her on his arm. He

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took the whole charge of her, and laughing, bore her
away towards the steps of the office. She left to
herself entirely in his hands. She was all confusion, so
he took the charge of her. When after a short
time they came out, she began to chatter with blushful animation.

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He was very quiet and seemed to be taking his breath.
Wasn't he a funny little man? Did I do it
all proper? I didn't know what I was doing. I'm
sure they were all laughing at me. Do you think
they were? Or just look at the frock? What a sight?
What would they think? The baby had slightly soiled the
front of her dress. George drove up the long hill

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into the town. As we came down between the shops
on Mansfield Road, he recovered his spirits. Where are we going?
Where are you taking us? Asked Meg? You may as
well make a day of it while we are here,
he answered, smiling and flicking the mare. They both felt
that they were launched forth on an adventure. He put
up at the spread Eagle, and we walked towards the

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market place for Meg's glums. When he had bought her
these and a large lay scarf to give her a
more clothes appearance. He wanted dinner. We'll go, he said,
to an hotel. His eyes dilated as he said it,
and she shrank away with delighted fear. Neither of them
had ever been to an hotel. He was really afraid.

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She begged him to go to an eating house, to
a cafe. He was obdurate. His one idea was to
do the thing that he was half afraid to do.
His passion, and it was almost intoxication, was to dare
to play with life. He was afraid of the town.
He was afraid to venture into the foreign places of life,
when all was foreign save the valley of Nethermere. So

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he crossed the borders flauntingly and marched towards the heart
of the unknown. We went to the Victoria Hotel, the
most imposing he could think of, and we had luncheon
according to the menu. They were like two children, very
much afraid, yet lighting in the adventure. He dared not, however,
give the orders. He dared not address anybody, waiters or otherwise.

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I did that for him, and he watched me, absorbing, learning,
wondering that things were so easy and so delightful. I
murmured them injunctions across the table, and they blushed and
laughed with each other nervously. It would be hard to
say whether they enjoyed that dungeon. I think Meg did not,
even though she was with him. But George I am doubtful.

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He suffered exquisitely from self consciousness and nervous embarrassment. But
he felt also the intoxication of the adventure. He felt
as a man who has lived in a small island
when he first sets foot on a vast continent. This
was the first step into a new life, and he
mused delightedly upon it over his brandy. Yet he was nervous.

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He could not get over the feeling that he was trespassing.
Where should we go this afternoon? He asked. Several things
were proposed, but beg pleated warmly for coaling. Let's go
on a steam at a Colwick park. There'll be entertainment
stair This afternoon a little bit lovely. In a few
moments we were on the top of the car, swinging

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down to the Trent Bridges. It was dinner time and
crowds of people from shops and warehouses were hurrying in
the sunshine and on the pavements. Some blinds cast their
shadows on the shop fronts, and in the shade streamed
the people, dressed brightly for summer. As our car stood
in the great space at the market place, we could
smell the mingled scent of fruits, oranges, and small apricots

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and pears piled in vividly colored sections on the stalls.
And away we sailed through the shadows of the dark
streets and the open pools of sunshine. The castle, on
its high rocks stood in the dazzling, dry sunlight. The
fountains stood shadowy in the green glimmer of the lime
trees that surrounded the arms houses. There were many people
of the Trent. We stood awhile on the bridge to

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watch the bright river bring in a silent dance to
the sea, while the light pleasure boats lay asleep along
the banks. We went on board the little paddle steamer
and paid our sixpence return. Not much waiting, we set
off with great excitement for our mile long voyage. Two
banjos were tumming somewhere below, and the passengers hummed and

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sang their tunes. A few boats dabbled on the water.
Soon the river meadows, with their high thorn hedges, lay
green on our right, while the scarp of red rock
rows on our left, covered with the dark trees of summer.
We landed at Colwick Park. It was early and few
people were there. Dead glass faery lamps were slung along

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the trees. The grass in places was worn threadbare. We
walked through the avenues and small glades of the park
till we came to the boundary, where the racecourse stretched,
its level green, its winding wet barriers running low into
the distance. They sat in the shade for some time
while I wandered about. Then many people began to arrive,

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became noisy, even rowdy. We listened for some time to
an open air concert given by the Puierros. It was
rather vulgar and very tarso it took me back to
Cows to Yarmouth. There were the same foolish, over eyebrowned faces,
the same perpetual jingle from an out of tune piano,
the restless jigging to the songs, the same choruses, the

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same escapading Meg was well pleased the vulgarity passed by her.
She laughed and sang the choruses half audibly, daring but
not bold. She was immensely pleased. Oh it's Ben's turn
now I like him. He's got such a wicked twinkle
in his eye. Look at Joey tried to be funny.

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He can't to save his life. Doesn't he look soft?
He began to giggle in George's shoulder. He saw the
funny side of things for the time and laughed with her.
During tea, which we took on the green veranda of
the degraded hall, she was constantly breaking forth into some chorus,
and he would light up as she looked at him

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and sing with her santovocci. He was not embarrassed at Colwick.
There he had on his best, careless, superior air. He
moved about with a certain scornfulness, and ordered lobster for
tea off handedly. This also was a new walk of life.
Here he was not hesitating or tremulously strung. He was patronizing.

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Both Meg and He thoroughly enjoyed themselves. When we got
back into Nottingam, she entreated him not to go to
the hotel, as he had proposed, and he readily yielded. Instead,
they went to the castle. We stood on the high
rock and the cool of the day, and watched the
sun sloping of the great river flats, where the menial

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town spread out and ended, while the river and the
meadows continued into the distance. In the picture galleries there
was a fine collection of Arthur Evel's paintings. Make thought
them very ridiculous. I began to expand them, but she
was manifestly bored, and he was half hearted. Outside of

(28:11):
the grounds was a military band playing. They longed to
be there. The townspeople were dancing on the grass. She
longed to join them, but she could not dance, so
they sat a while looking on. We were to go
to the theater in the evening. Carl rosa company was giving
carmen at the Royal who enter into the dress circle

(28:33):
like giddy dukes, as I said to him, so that
I could see his eyes dilate with adventure again. As
he laughed in the theater among the people in evening dress,
he became once more childish and timorous. He had always
the air of one who does something forbidden, and is
charmed yet fearful, like a trespassing child. He began to

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trespass that day outside his own estates of Nethermere men
fascinated them both. The gaudy, careless Southern life amazed them.
The bold, free way in which Carmen played with life
startled them with hints of freedom. They stared on the stage,
fascinated Between the acts. They held each other's hands and

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looked full into each other's wide bright eyes, and, laughing
with excitement, talked about the opera. The theater surged and
roared dimly like a hoarse shell. Then the music rose
like a storm and swept and rattled at their feet
on the stage. The strange storm of life clashed in

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music towards tragedy and futile death. The two were shaken
with a tumult of wild feeling. When it was all over,
they rose bewildered, stunned, she with tears in her eyes,
he with a strange, wild beating of his heart. They
were both in a tumult of confused emotion. Their ears

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were full of the roaring passion of life, and their
eyes were blinded by a spray of tears and that strange,
quivering laughter which burns with real pain. They hurried along
the pavement to the spread eagle, Meg, clinging to him running,
clasping her lace scarf over her white frock, like a
scared white butterfly, shaken through the night, hardly spoke. As

(30:20):
the horse was being harnessed on the lamps lighted in
the little smoke room, he drank several whiskies, she sipping
out of his glass, standing all the time ready to go.
He pushed into his pocket great pieces of bread and
cheese to eat on the way home. He seemed now
to be thinking with much acuteness. His few orders were

(30:41):
given sharp and terse. He hired an extra light rug
in which to wrap Meg. And then we were ready.
Who drives? Said I? He looked at me and smiled faintly. You,
he answered, Meg, like an impatient white flame, stood waiting
in the light of the lamps. He covet her, extinguished

(31:05):
her in the dark rouge. End of Part three, Chapter one,