Part 3, Chapter 3b

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part three, Chapter three B of the White Peacock by D. H. Lawrence.
The Stibrivox recordings in the public domain recording by Simon Evers,
Part three, chipter three B. Domestic Life at the Ram.
George was very anxious to receive me at his home.
The Ram had as yet only a six days license.

(00:21):
So on Sunday afternoon I walked over to tea. It
was very warm and still and sunny. As I came
through Gray Mead, a few sweethearts were sauntering under the
horse chestnut trees, or crossing the road to go into
the fields that lay smoothly carpeted after the hay harvest.
As I came round the flagged track to the kitchen

(00:41):
door of the inn, I heard the slur of a
baking tin and the bang of the oven door. A meg,
Saint Crossley. No, don't you take him, Emily, not a
little thing. Let his father hold him. One of the
babies was crying. I entered and found a Meg, all
flushed and untidy, wearing a large white apron, just rising

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from the oven. Emily in a cream dress was taking
a red head crying baby from out of the cradle.
George sat in the small arm chair, smoking and looking cross.
I can't shake hands, said Meg, rather flurried. I'm all flowerday,
sit down, will you, and she hurried out of the room.
Emily looked up from the complaining baby to me and

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smiled a woman's rare intimate smile, which says, see, I'm
engaged us for a moment, but I keep my heart
for you all the time. George rose and offered me
the round arm chair. It was the highest honor he
could do me. He asked me what I would drink.
When I refused everything, he sat down heavily on the sofa,

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frowning and angrily cudgeoning his wits for something to say
in vain. The room was large and comfortably furnished, with
rush chairs at last knocked dresser, a cupboard with glass
doors perched on the shelf in the corner, and the
usual large sofa, whose cozy, loose bed and pillows were
covered with bread cotton stuff. There was a peculiar reminiscence

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of littles and drink in the room, beer and a
touch of spirits and bacon teeney. The sullen, black browed
servant girl came in carrying the other baby, and make
called from the scullery to ask her if the child
were asleep. Meg was evidently in a bustle and a flurry,
a most uncomfortable state. No, replied Teeny's not for sleep

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this day. Mend the fire and seat to the oven,
and then put him his frock on, replied Meg testily.
Teeney set the black haired baby in the second cradle.
Immediately he began to cry, or rather to shout his remonstrance.
George went across to him and picked up a white,
furry rabbit, which he held before the child. Here, look

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at one, moun have you a nice rabbit? Hark at it, squeaking.
The baby listened for a moment, then decided that this
was only a put off began to cry again. George
threw down the rabbit and took the baby. Swearing inwardly,
he down looked the child on his knee. What's up? Then?
What's up with thee? Have r? I? Then? D did he? Did? He?

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But the baby knew quite well what was the father's
feelings towards him, and he continued to cry. Hurry up, Teenie,
said George, as the maid rattled the coal on the fire,
Emily was walking about, hushing her charge and smiling at me,
so that I had a peculiar pleasure in gathering from
myself the honey of endearment which she shed on the
lips of the baby. George handed over his child to

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the maid and said, to me, with patient sarchasm, will
you come into the garden. I rose and followed him
across the sunny flagged yard and on the path between
the bushes. He lit his pipe and sorted along as
a man on his own estate does feeding, as if
he were untraveled by laws or conventions. You know, he said,

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She's a dumb rock manager. I laughed and remarked, how
full of plums the trees were, Yes, he replied heedlessly.
You know she ought to have sent the girl out
with the kids this afternoon and have got dressed directly.
But no, she must sit gossiping with Emily all the
time they were in sleep, and then as soon as
they wake up she begins to make cake. I suppose

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she felt she'd enjoy a pleasant chat, all quiet, I answered,
But you knew quite well you were coming and what
it would be. But a woman's no damn foresight. Nay,
what does it matter, said I. Sunday is the only
day we can have a bit of peace, so she
might keep him quiet. Then I suppose it was the
only time too that she could have a quiet gossip,

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I replied. But you don't know, he said. There's seeds
to be never a minute of freedom. Teenie sleeps in
now and lives with us in the kitchen Oswald as well,
so I never know what it is to have a
moment private. That doesn't seem a single spot anywhere where
I can sit quiet. It's the kids all day, and
the kids all night, and the sir and then all
the men in the house. And sometimes feel as if

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I should like to get away. I shall leave the
pub as soon as I can, and it Meg doesn't
want to. But if you leave the public house, what
then I should like to get back on a farm.
This is no sort of a place really for farming.
I've always got some business on hand, as I've traveled
to sea, or I've got to go to the brewers,
or I've someone to look at a horse or something.

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Your life's all messed up. You've had a place in
my own and farmed it in peace, you'd be as
miserable as you could be, I said, Perhaps so, he assented,
in his old reflective manner. Perhaps so. Anyhow, I needn't bother,
for I feel as if I never shall go back
to the land to beat at the bottom of your heart.

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You don't intend to, I said, laughing, Perhaps so, he
again yielded. You. See, I'm doing pretty well here apart
from the public house. I always thinks that's megs. I'm
a look at the stable. I've got a sharp mayor
and two. Now, thanks pretty good. I went down to
Melton Mowbray with Tom Mayhew to a chap that he've
had dealings with. Tom's all right, and he knows how

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to buy, but he's such a lazy, careless devil, too
lazy to be bothered to sell. George was evidently interested.
As we went round to the stables, Emily came out
with the baby, which was dressed in a new silk frock.
She advanced, smiling to me with dark eyes. See now
he is good, doesn't he look pretty? He held the

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baby for me to look at. I advanced at it,
but I was only conscious of the near warmth of
her cheek and of the scent of her hair. Who
is he like, I asked, looking up and finding myself
full in her eyes. The question was quite irrelevant. Her
eyes spoke a whole, clear message that made my heart throb.

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Yet she answered, who is he? Why? Nobody, of course,
But he will be like father, don't you think? The
question drew my eyes to hers. Again and again we
looked at each other, the strange intelligence that made her
flush and me breathe in as I smiled. Aye, blue
eyes like your father's, not like yours, game the wild

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messages in her looks. No, she answered, very softly, and
I think you be jolly like father. They have neither
of lamar eyes, have they? No? I answered, overcome by
a sudden hot flush of tenderness. No, not vulnerable. To
have such soft, vulnerable eyes as you used, makes one

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feel nervous and irrascuable. But you've clothed over the sensitiveness
of yours. Haven't you like naked life? Naked defendless protoplasm
they were? Is it not? So? He laughed? And of
the old painful memories. She dilated in the old way,
and I felt the old tremor at seeing her soul

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flung quivering on my pity. I am a mine like that,
asked George, who had come up. He must have perceived
the bewilderment of my look as I tried to adjust
myself to him, A slight shadow, a slight chagrin appeared
on his face. Yes, I answered, Yes, but not so bad.
You never gave yourself away so much. You were most cautious.

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But just as defenseless am I altered? He asked, with
quiet irony, as if he knew I was not interested
in him. Yes, more cautious. You keep in the shadow.
But Emily has clothed herself and can now walk among
the crowd at her own gate. It was with an
effort I refrained from putting my lips to kiss her

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at that moment, as she looked at me with womanly
dignity and tenderness. Then I remembered and said, but you
are taking me to the stable, George, Come and see
the horses too, Emily, I will I buy them so much?
She replied, and thus we both indulged him. He talked
to his horses and of them, laying his hand upon them,

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running over their limbs. The glossy, restless animals interested him
more than anything. He broke into a little flush of
enthusiasm over them. They were his new interests. They were
quiet and yet responsive. He was their master and owner.
This gave him real pleasure, but the baby became displeased again.

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Emily looked at me for sympathy with him. He's a
little wanderer, she said. He likes to be always moving.
Perhaps objects to the ammonia of stables too, she added,
frowning and laughing slightly. It is not very agreeable, is
it not? Particularly? I agreed, and as she moved off,
I went with her, leaving him in the stables. When

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Emily and I were alone, we sought it aimlessly. Back
to the garden. She persisted in talking to the baby,
and in talking to me about the baby, till I
wished the child in Jericho. This made her laugh, and
she continued to tantalize me. The holy clock flowers of
the Second World were flushing to the top of the spars.

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The bees, covered with pale crumbs of pollen, were swaying
a moment outside the white gates of the florettes. Then
they swung in with excited hum and clung madly to
the furly white capitals, and worked riotously round the waxy bases.
Emily held out the baby to watch, touring all the
time in low, fond toes. The child stretched towards the

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bright flowers. The sun glistened on his smooth hair as
on bronze dust, and the wondering blue eyes. The baby
followed the bees. Then he made small signs and suddenly
waved his hands like rumpled pink hollyhock buds. Look, said Emily,
look at the little bees. Ah, but you mustn't touch them.
They bite. They are coming, she cried, with sudden, laughing apprehension,

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Drawing the child away, He made noises of remonstrance. She
put him near to the flowers again, till he knocked
the spar with his hand, and two indignant bees came
sailing out. Emily drew back quickly, crying in alarm, then
laughing with excited eyes at me, as if she had
just escaped a peril in my presence. Thus she teased

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me by flinging me all kinds of bright gages of love,
or she kept me aloof because of the child. He
laughed with pure pleasure of this state of affairs, and
delighted the more when I frowned till at last. I
swallowed my resentment and laughed too, playing with the hands
of the baby and watching his blue eyes change slowly
like a softly sailing sky. Presently, Meg called us in

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to tea. She wore a dress of fine blue stuff
with cream silk embroidery, and she looked handsome for her
hair was very hastily dressed. What have you had that
child all this time? She exclaimed, on seeing Emily, where's
his father? I don't know. We'd left him in the stable,
don't me, Cyril. But I like nursing him. Meg, I
like it ever so much, replied Emily. Oh, yes, you

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may be sure George would get off it if he good.
He's always in the stable. And don't tell him me
fair stinks of horses. He's not that fond of the children.
I can tell. Yer, Come on me, pet, why I
come to its mummy? He took the baby and kissed
it passionately, and made extravagant love to it. A clean,
cheven young man with thick bare arms went across the yard. Yer,

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just look and tell George's teas ready, said Meg? Where
is he? Asked Oswald, the sturdy youth. We attended to
the farm business. You know where to find him, replied Meg,
with that careless freedom, which was so subtly derogatory to
her husband. George came hurrying from the outbuilding. What is
it to you ready, he said, It's a wonder you

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haven't been crying out for it this last arm, said Meig,
it's a marvel. You've got ress so quick? Oh is it?
She answered, well, it's not with any of your help
that I've done it, that's a fact. Where's Teenie? The maid, short,
stiffly built, very dark and sullen looking, came forward from
the gate. Can you take Alfie as well, just while

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we have tea? She asked. Teeny replied that she should
think she could, whereupon she was given the ruddy haired
baby as well as the dark one. She sat with
them on a seat at the end of the yard.
We proceeded to tea. It was a very great spread
of hot cakes, three or four kinds of cold cakes,
tinned apricots, jellies, tin lobster, and trifles in the way

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of jam, cream and rum. I don't know what those
cakes are like, said Meg, and I made them in
such a fluster. Rarely you have to do things as
best you can when you've got children, especially when there's two.
I never seem to have time to do me air up,
even look at it now. She put up her hands
to her head, and I could not help noticing how

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grimy and rough were her nails. The tea was going
on pleasantly. When one of the babies began to cry.
Teeny bent over it, crooning gruffly. I leaned back and
looked out of the door to watch her. I thought
of the girl in Tchehov's story who smothered her charge,
and I hoped the grin Teeny would not be driven
to such desperation. The other child joined in the chorus.

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Teeny rose from her seat and walked about the yard gruffly,
trying to soothe the twins. It's a funny thing, but
whenever anybody comes, they're sure to be cross, said Meg,
beginning to simmer. They're all different from Ordery, said George.
It's only that you're forced to notice it. Then, No,
it is not, cried Meg, in a sudden passion, is

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it now, Emmany? Of course he has to say something. Well,
they as good as gold this morning, Emily, and yesterday.
Why they never murmured as good as gold. They were,
but he wants them to be as dumb as fishes.
He liked them shutting up in a box as soon
as they make a bit of noise. I was not
saying any thing about it, he replied, Yes, you were.
He retorted, I don't know what you call it. Then

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the baby's outside continued to cry. Bring alfit to me,
called Meg, yielding to another feeling. Oh no, damn it,
said George. Let osbald. Take him, yes, replied Meg, bitterly.
Think anybody'd take him, so long as he's out of
your sight. You never ought to our aunt child, and
you didn't. Aort murmured something about to day. Come. Then,

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said Meg, with a whole passion of tenderness, as she
took the red haired baby and held it to her bosom. Ah,
what is it? Then? What is it? Me? Precious? Hush?
Then pet hush. Then the baby did not hush. Meg
rose from her chair and stood, rocking the baby in
her arms, swaying from one foot to the other. He's
got a bit of wind, she said. We tried to

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continue the meal, but everything was awkward and difficult. I'm
wonder if he's hungry, said Meg. Let's try him, He
turned and gave him her breast. Then he was still,
so she covered herself as much as she could and
sat down again to tea. We had finished, so we
sat and waited while she ate. This disjointing of the

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meal by reflex action made Emily and me more accurate.
We were exquisitely attentive and polite to a nicety. Our
very speech was clipped with precision as we drifted to
a discussion of Strauss and a Debussy. This of course
put a breach between us too and our hosts. We
could not help it. It was our only way of

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covering over the awkwardness of the occasion. George sat looking
glum and listening to us. Make was quite indifferent. She
disn't occasionally, but her position as mother made her impregnable.
She sat eating calmly, looking down now and again at
her baby, holding us in slight scorn. Thatlers than we were,

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he was secure in our high maternity. She was mistress
and sole authority. George, as father, was first servant. As
an indifferent father, she humiliated him and was hostile to
his wishes. Emily and I were mere intruders, feeling ourselves
such after tea. We went upstairs to wash our hands.

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The grandmother had had a second stroke of paralysis and
lay inert, almost stupefied. A large bulk upon the bed
was horrible to me, and her face, with the muscles
all slacken awrye, seemed like some cruel cartoon. She spoke
a few thick words to me. George asked if she
felt all right, or should he rub her? He turned

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her old eyes slowly to him. Mileig, mileg a bit,
she said in her strange guttle. He took off his coat, and,
pushing his hand under the bedclothes, sat rubbing the poor
old woman's limb patiently, slowly for some time. He watched
him for a moment, and then, without her turning her
eyes from him, he passed out of her vision, and

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she lay staring at nothing in his direction. Are he said,
at last? Is that any better than mother? I? That's
a bit better, she said, slowly. Do I give you
a drink? He asked, lingering, wishing to minister all he
could to her before he went. She looked at him,

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and he brought the cup. She swallowed a few drops
with difficulty. Doesn't it make you miserable? To have her
always there, I asked him. When we were in the
next room. He sat down on a large white bed
and laughed shortly. I used to it we never noticed
to her, poor old grandma. But she must have made
a difference to you. She must have made a big

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difference at the bottom, even if you don't know it,
I said. He's got such a strong character, he said, musing,
she seems to understand me. She was a real friend
of me before she was so bad. Sometimes I happened
to look at generally, I never see her, you know
what I mean, But sometimes I do, and then seems

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a bit rotten. Smiled at me peculiarly. It seems to
take the shine off things, he added, and then smiling
again with ugly irony. She's asked skeleton in the closet,
he indicated, her large bulk. The church bells began to ring.
The gray church stood on a rise among the field,

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not far away, like a handsome old stag looking over
towards the inn. Five bells began to play, and the
sound came beating upon the window. I hate so did night,
he said, restlessly. Because you've nothing to do, I asked,
I don't know he said, it seems like a gag
and you feel helpless. I don't want to go to

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church and hark at the bells. They make you feel uncomfortable.
What do you generally do, I asked, feel miserable. I've
been out of May. Who's these last two Sundays? And
make been pretty mad? She says, it's the only night
I could stop with her or go out with her.
But if I stop with her, what can I do?
And we go out? It's only for half an hour.

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It's Sunday night. It's a dead end. When we went downstairs,
the table was cleared and Maid was bafing the dark baby.
Thus she was perfect. She handled the bonny, naked child
with beauty of gentleness. She kneeled over him nobly. Her
arms and her bosom and her throat had an ability

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of roundness and softness. She drooped her head with the
grace of a madonna, and her movements were lovely, accurate
and exquisite, like an old song, perfectly sung. Her voice,
playing and soothing around the curved limbs of the baby
was like water, soft as wine in the sun. Running
with delight. We watched, humbly, sharing the wonder from afar.

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Emily was very envious of makes fel. She begged to
be allowed to bath the second baby. They granted her
bounteous permission. Yes, you can watch him if you like,
But what about your frock. Emily, delighted, began to undress
the baby, whose hair was like crocus petals. A thing
was trembled with pleasure as she loosened the little tapes.

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I always remember the inarticulate delight with which she took
the child in her hands. When at last his little
shirt was removed, and felt his soft white limbs and body,
A distinct blowing atmosphere seemed suddenly to burst out around
her and the child, leaving me outside. The moment before,
she had been very near to me, her eyes searching mine,

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her spirit clinging timidly about me. Now I was put away,
quite alone, neglected, forgotten, outside the blow which surrounded the
woman and the baby. Ah ah, he said with a
deep throated vow, And she put her face against the
child's small breasts, so round, almost like a girl's, silken

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and warm and wonderful. He kissed him, and touched him,
and hovered over him, drinking in his baby sweetnesses, the
sweetness of the laughing little mouth's wide wet kisses, of
the round waving limbs of the little soldiers, so winsomely
curving to the arms, and the breasts of the tiny
soft neck hidden very warm beneath the chin, tasting deliciously

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with her lips and her cheeks, all the exquisite softness, silkness, warmth,
and tender life of the baby's body. A woman is
so ready to disclaim the body of a man's love,
she yields him her own soft beauty with so much
gentle patience and regret. It clings to his neck, to
his head, and his cheeks, fonding them for the soul's

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meaning that is there, and shrinking from his passionate limbs
and his body. It was with some perplexity, some anger,
and bitterness that I watched Emily moved almost ecstasy by
the baby's small, innocuous person. Meg never found any pleasure
in me, as she does in the kids, said George

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bitterly for himself. The child, laughing and crowing, caught hands
in Emily's hair and pulled dark tresses down, while she
cried out in remonstrance, and tried to loosen the small
fists of the were shut so fast. She took him
from the water and rubbed him dry with marvelous, gentle
little rubs. He kicking and expostulating. She brought his fine

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hair into one's silken upspringing of ruddy gold like an aureole.
She played with his tiny balls of toes like wee
pink mushrooms, till at last she dared detain him no longer,
when she put on his flannel and his nightgown and
gave him to make before carrying him to bed, Meg
took him to feed him. His mouth was stretched round

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the nipple as he sucked. His face was pressed close
and closer to the breast. His fingers wandered over the
fine white globe, blue veined and heavy, trying to hold it.
Meg looked down upon him with a consuming passion of tenderness,
and Emily clasped her hands and leaned forward to him.
Even thus they thought him exquisite. When the twins were

(24:21):
both asleep, I must tip her upstairs to see them.
They lay cheek by cheek in the crib next the
large white bed, breathing little ruffling breaths out of Unison,
so small and pathetic with their tiny shut fingers. I
remembered the two larks. On the next room came a
heavy sound of the old woman's breathing. Meg went in

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to her. As in passing I caught sight of the large,
prone figure in the bed. I thought of Guidemopassans Twine,
who acted as an incubator and a part three Chapter
three b