She seemed so intent and remote, it was like looking into another world [ She lifted her eyes , feeling him looking. Their eyes met. And each looked away again at once. The semantic field of eyes and gaze conveys a rhythmic attraction-repulsion pattern throughout the second part of the short story see McCabe Indeed, he is his own patient since he is suffering from a cold.
He looked again. It would be Mabel Pervin. His mind suddenly became alive and attentive. Why was she going down there? He pulled up on the path and stood staring. So he too risks crossing into death. As George H. Thus, when the doctor saves Mabel, he alters her expectations, transforming the end into a beginning, her symbolic death and subsequent resurrection opening new prospects.
The reader is also led to adjust his expectations since the resuscitation scene followed by the revelation of sensual attraction and love all point to romance. Transgressions of conventional norms carried out through parody together with irony are the linguistic means to articulate such a non-verbal experience.
The apparently banal verbal exchange about the rescue, which participates in such parody, reconfigures the relationship in a new sacred territory, a newly mapped out temenos where the balance between the sexes that Lawrence so firmly believed in can be achieved. Reciprocating the move, she tries to save Fergusson and bring him to join her in sacred communion.
Internal point of view reveals that he is bewildered and even terrified at being involved in a love affair. As the doctor stands on the brink of a new relationship, he becomes aware of his deep pure self and thus learns to discard his existence devoid of primitive impulses. Each time we strive to a new relation, with anyone or anything, it is bound to hurt somewhat.
Because it means the struggle with and the displacing of old connexions, and this is never pleasant. Thus as McCabe comments,. While love fosters self-fulfilment, the bonding process takes place in a newly mapped out temenos which harbors the sacred primeval connections that man and woman had lost.
On the level of the narrative, this space is shaped thanks to the tensions between the conventional pastoral mode and its modernist rewriting conveyed through disruptions, parody, irony, and at times an anti-pastoral vein. Therefore, the fashioning of a borderland also heralds a return to an idyllic primitive state where the unspoiled spontaneity of life is retrieved. Indeed, according to Lawrence, stability stifles the dynamic vital centers of man and woman while precariousness guarantees a constant search for balance; it ensures a dynamic relationship.
It introduces a sense of promise, nevertheless it is the promise of redemption from a former torpid state through the coming together of a man and woman in love. The end is only a beginning for them. Thus, the ongoing transgression of borders that the short story features undermines the conventional pastoral in order to find new meanings so as to convey the ineffable experience of redemption through love and desire.
Owing to this dialectic mode of writing, a new version of the pastoral is articulated where characters can experience a vital, primeval relationship while the short story itself is turned into a dynamic open space.
Barthes, Roland. Richard Howard. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, Crabbe, George. London: J. Dodsley, Delany, Paul. Keith Cushman and Michael Squires. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, Gifford, Terry.
London: Routledge, Ford, George H. Kearney, Martin. The Major Short Stories of D. Lawrence: A Handbook. New York: Garland, Strangers to Ourselves. It was grey, deadened, and wintry, with a slow, moist, heavy coldness sinking in and deadening all the faculties. But why should he think or notice? He hastily climbed the hill and turned across the dark-green fields, following the black cinder-track.
In the distance, across a shallow dip in the country, the small town was clustered like smouldering ash, a tower, a spire, a heap of low, raw, extinct houses. He could see the stables and the outbuildings distinctly, as they lay towards him on the slope. Well, he would not go there many more times! Another resource would be lost to him, another place gone: the only company he cared for in the alien, ugly little town he was losing. Nothing but work, drudgery, constant hastening from dwelling to dwelling among the colliers and the iron-workers.
It wore him out, but at the same time he had a craving for it. It was a stimulant to him to be in the homes of the working people, moving as it were through the innermost body of their life. His nerves were excited and gratified.
He could come so near, into the very lives of the rough, inarticulate, powerfully emotional men and women. He grumbled, he said he hated the hellish hole. But as a matter of fact it excited him, the contact with the rough, strongly-feeling people was a stimulant applied direct to his nerves. Below Oldmeadow, in the green, shallow, soddened hollow of fields, lay a square, deep pond. He looked again. It would be Mabel Pervin. His mind suddenly became alive and attentive. Why was she going down there?
He pulled up on the path on the slope above, and stood staring. He could just make sure of the small black figure moving in the hollow of the failing day.
Yet he could see her positively enough, whilst he kept his eye attentive. He felt, if he looked away from her, in the thick, ugly falling dusk, he would lose her altogether. He followed her minutely as she moved, direct and intent, like something transmitted rather than stirring in voluntary activity, straight down the field towards the pond. There she stood on the bank for a moment. She never raised her head.
Then she waded slowly into the water. He stood motionless as the small black figure walked slowly and deliberately towards the centre of the pond, very slowly, gradually moving deeper into the motionless water, and still moving forward as the water got up to her breast.
Then he could see her no more in the dusk of the dead afternoon. And he hastened straight down, running over the wet, soddened fields, pushing through the hedges, down into the depression of callous wintry obscurity. It took him several minutes to come to the pond. He stood on the bank, breathing heavily. He could see nothing. His eyes seemed to penetrate the dead water. Yes, perhaps that was the dark shadow of her black clothing beneath the surface of the water.
He slowly ventured into the pond. The bottom was deep, soft clay, he sank in, and the water clasped dead cold round his legs. As he stirred he could smell the cold, rotten clay that fouled up into the water. It was objectionable in his lungs.
Still, repelled and yet not heeding, he moved deeper into the pond. The cold water rose over his thighs, over his loins, upon his abdomen. The lower part of his body was all sunk in the hideous cold element. And the bottom was so deeply soft and uncertain, he was afraid of pitching with his mouth underneath. He could not swim, and was afraid. He crouched a little, spreading his hands under the water and moving them round, trying to feel for her.
The dead cold pond swayed upon his chest. He moved again, a little deeper, and again, with his hands underneath, he felt all around under the water. And he touched her clothing. But it evaded his fingers. He made a desperate effort to grasp it. And so doing he lost his balance and went under, horribly, suffocating in the foul earthy water, struggling madly for a few moments. At last, after what seemed an eternity, he got his footing, rose again into the air and looked around.
He gasped, and knew he was in the world. Then he looked at the water. She had risen near him. He grasped her clothing, and drawing her nearer, turned to take his way to land again. He went very slowly, carefully, absorbed in the slow progress. He rose higher, climbing out of the pond. The water was now only about his legs; he was thankful, full of relief to be out of the clutches of the pond.
He lifted her and staggered on to the bank, out of the horror of wet, grey clay. He laid her down on the bank. She was quite unconscious and running with water. He made the water come from her mouth, he worked to restore her. He did not have to work very long before he could feel the breathing begin again in her; she was breathing naturally. He worked a little longer. He could feel her live beneath his hands; she was coming back. He wiped her face, wrapped her in his overcoat, looked round into the dim, dark-grey world, then lifted her and staggered down the bank and across the fields.
It seemed an unthinkably long way, and his burden so heavy he felt he would never get to the house. But at last he was in the stable-yard, and then in the house-yard. He opened the door and went into the house. In the kitchen he laid her down on the hearthrug, and called. The house was empty. But the fire was burning in the grate. Then again he kneeled to attend to her. She was breathing regularly, her eyes were wide open and as if conscious, but there seemed something missing in her look.
She was conscious in herself, but unconscious of her surroundings. He ran upstairs, took blankets from a bed, and put them before the fire to warm. Then he removed her saturated, earthy-smelling clothing, rubbed her dry with a towel, and wrapped her naked in the blankets.
Then he went into the dining-room, to look for spirits. There was a little whisky. He drank a gulp himself, and put some into her mouth. The effect was instantaneous. She looked full into his face, as if she had been seeing him for some time, and yet had only just become conscious of him. He was divesting himself of his coat, intending to find some dry clothing upstairs. He could not bear the smell of the dead, clayey water, and he was mortally afraid for his own health.
He had begun to shudder like one sick, and could hardly attend to her. Her eyes remained full on him, he seemed to be going dark in his mind, looking back at her helplessly.
The shuddering became quieter in him, his life came back in him, dark and unknowing, but strong again. He felt quiet, because his strength had come back. The strange fretful strain had left him.
He was afraid now, because he felt dazed, and felt dimly that her power was stronger than his, in this issue. And she continued to look at him fixedly all the time. There was silence for a moment. He hesitated. He very much wanted to go upstairs to get into dry clothing. But there was another desire in him. And she seemed to hold him. His will seemed to have gone to sleep, and left him, standing there slack before her. But he felt warm inside himself. He did not shudder at all, though his clothes were sodden on him.
I knew best, then. But still he had not the power to move out of her presence, until she sent him. It was as if she had the life of his body in her hands, and he could not extricate himself. Or perhaps he did not want to. Suddenly she sat up. Then she became aware of her own immediate condition. She felt the blankets about her, she knew her own limbs.
For a moment it seemed as if her reason were going. She looked round, with wild eye, as if seeking something. He stood still with fear. She saw her clothing lying scattered. She shuffled forward on her knees, and put her arms round him, round his legs, as he stood there, pressing her breasts against his knees and thighs, clutching him with strange, convulsive certainty, pressing his thighs against her, drawing him to her face, her throat, as she looked up at him with flaring, humble eyes, of transfiguration, triumphant in first possession.
I know you love me, I know. And she was passionately kissing his knees, through the wet clothing, passionately and indiscriminately kissing his knees, his legs, as if unaware of every thing.
He looked down at the tangled wet hair, the wild, bare, animal shoulders. He was amazed, bewildered, and afraid. He had never thought of loving her. He had never wanted to love her. When he rescued her and restored her, he was a doctor, and she was a patient. He had had no single personal thought of her.
Nay, this introduction of the personal element was very distasteful to him, a violation of his professional honour. It was horrible to have her there embracing his knees.
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