Complete Works of D.H. Lawrence, page 705
BARBARA (hurt): But why? — I look nice. Don’t I look nice?
WESSON: I hate it — I hate it — you belong to those others in it.
BARBARA: But how nasty of you, Giacometti! It’s only the dress — the woman is just the same.
WESSON: She’s not. She’s according to her frock, which is Frederick’s. You put it on for Frederick, not for me.
BARBARA: I didn’t. I want you to see how grand I can look. Don’t you really think I look nice?
WESSON: No — I’d rather see you in your kitchen pinafore.
BARBARA: See how you want to drag me down. But you’ve got an evening suit. (Laughing): Does it really hurt you? (Sits down and begins to play a dance on the piano — it is the “Blue Danube” — she breaks off.) It’s the dearest dress I ever had.
WESSON: Take it off, Barbara.
BARBARA (slowing down — she is very quiet): Yes.
Rises — exit slowly. He sits chewing his pen — in a moment she rushes back, lays her hands on his shoulder.
BARBARA: There’s Frederick!
WESSON: Rubbish! — Where?
BARBARA: At the gate — with Mama — I saw them from the bedroom window.
LADY CHARLCOTE’S voice is heard calling “Barbara!”
BARBARA: Quick! I’ll call to them from the window I’m coming — I will — (Moves to the window.)
WESSON: What’s the good? Let them go away again.
BARBARA: I’ll call now —
WESSON: Damn!
He moves grudgingly to the door.
BARBARA stands with her hands clasped over her bare breast, terrified — listening. The gate is heard to bang open — voices — enter FREDERICK, alone — a haggard, handsome man of forty, brown moustache, dark brown eyes, greying at the temples. He hesitates at the door.
FREDERICK (ironically): May I come in?
BARBARA (frightened): What do you want?
FREDERICK: Merely permission to speak to you.
BARBARA: You know you may speak to me.
They hesitate — enter WESSON, followed by LADY CHARLCOTE.
WESSON: Barbara, do you want me to go with Lady Charlcote to the Hotel Cervo for half an hour?
BARBARA: I don’t know. (Sinks on to the couch.)
WESSON: You must tell me to go.
DR TRESSIDER looks at him sideways and shows his teeth, but does not speak — BARBARA watches the two men in terror.
BARBARA: Perhaps you’d better go — Mama can stay with me.
LADY CHARLCOTE: I think Frederick has the right to speak to you alone, Barbara.
BARBARA (almost whispering): But why — ?
FREDERICK: Are you afraid that I may abduct you?
LADY CHARLCOTE: No, Frederick, I don’t think it is fair to leave her alone with you.
FREDERICK (nastily): Don’t you? Perhaps it isn’t safe —
LADY CHARLCOTE: You might not be responsible for what you did.
FREDERICK: So the only place for me is the lunatic asylum.
BARBARA: If you are like that, Frederick, I don’t know what you can want to speak to me at all for.
FREDERICK: It is a question for surprise.
BARBARA: I’d much rather you did treat me as dirt, and left me alone.
WESSON: Will you sit down, Lady Charlcote?
FREDERICK (to WESSON): Will you please take yourself away, while I speak to my wife?
BARBARA: Yes, go, Wesson.
LADY CHARLCOTE: I would go for a few minutes, Mr Wesson. It can’t do you any harm. Things will settle themselves then.
WESSON (to BARBARA): Must I?
BARBARA: Only to the — to one of the other rooms.
WESSON: I’ll go to the bedroom, then.
Exit sullenly.
FREDERICK (taking a seat): I’m glad you look so well, Barbara.
LADY CHARLCOTE: You won’t do any good that way, Frederick.
FREDERICK (turning slowly to her): Perhaps you’ll tell me what to say!
LADY CHARLCOTE: You needn’t behave like a fool, at any rate.
BARBARA: I’m afraid you’ve been ill, Frederick.
FREDERICK: Yes — I am ill! I am glad to see you are so well.
BARBARA: Don’t, Frederick — what is the good of this — what is the good of it? Let us make the best we can now —
FREDERICK: Exactly!
BARBARA: Then the only sane thing would be to say what you came to say and let us get it over.
FREDERICK: I came for your instructions, of course.
BARBARA: It seems rather stupid, don’t you think?
FREDERICK: I’ve no doubt I always was stupid — a trusting fool —
BARBARA: You know it wasn’t like that. Do you really wish to speak to me?
FREDERICK: Yes, I think I can honestly say I do. It, no doubt, surprises you.
BARBARA: Then for God’s sake don’t torture me any longer.
FREDERICK: It would be a pity! But what I have to say I have to say to my wife, not to the world at large, or even to my mother-in-law, or your paramour.
BARBARA: Perhaps you had better leave us alone, Mama.
FREDERICK: Hadn’t you better consider again, Barbara? Wouldn’t that be giving me too much encouragement? I might take a liberty. I might even ask you to gallivant with me, like a seductive footman, or dustman. (There is silence.)
LADY CHARLCOTE: I can go into another room. (Making signs to BARBARA.) Where can I go, Barbara?
BARBARA rises — they go out together — FREDERICK looks round — gnaws the ends of his moustache. Re-enter BARBARA — she leaves the door open — he glances, sees it, but makes no remark.
BARBARA (taking her former seat): Mama is in my bedroom.
FREDERICK: Anything to say to me?
BARBARA: Don’t be horrid with me, Frederick. I know I deserve it —
FREDERICK: I’ll try not to be. (He sits devouring her with his eyes.)You’re in full-dress to-night, madam! Was it a great occasion?
BARBARA: No — I put it on — it’s the first time.
FREDERICK: You look the thing in it. I turned up to see you on your mettle, by good luck.
BARBARA: Don’t.
FREDERICK: Beautiful good luck. War-paint, I suppose!
BARBARA: You told me once you’d never be hard on a woman.
FREDERICK: I’m sorry if I’m hard on you — that would be unjust!
BARBARA: Don’t talk like that — Frederick.
FREDERICK: What shall we talk about — you or me?
BARBARA: Tell me about yourself —
FREDERICK: Ha! — how I suffered, you mean?
BARBARA: I know it’s been awful for you.
FREDERICK: Do you really — I shouldn’t have thought it.
BARBARA: Oh, but I do! It’s nearly driven me cracked sometimes.
FREDERICK: Ha! It was kind of you.
BARBARA (going forward impulsively and putting her hand on his knee): Don’t —
FREDERICK: I won’t — but tell me what — I must —
BARBARA: Don’t be like this — I can’t bear it.
FREDERICK: You might tell me what you can bear.
BARBARA: Why can’t you cast me off — why can’t you find some other woman — there’s Annabel, who adores you — or Lizzie Burroughs —
FREDERICK: You think they’d make good successors to you?
BARBARA: You might love them better than me — you might! See, I was not faithful to you.
FREDERICK (laughing): I wouldn’t rub it in, if I were you.
BARBARA (frightened): But I’m not!
FREDERICK: So you think I might do well to marry again?
BARBARA: I thought — I can’t bear — to think of you being lonely.
FREDERICK: And you’d give me a wedding present, I dare say, and give the woman advice how to fool me.
BARBARA: No — no — I won’t let you say these things —
FREDERICK: I dare say. You were wasted on me, weren’t you?
BARBARA: You were good to me — but you never understood me —
FREDERICK: I’m sorry! I understood you wanted a decent life, and I worked hard for you. I understood you wanted some amusement — you did exactly as you liked — you had everything I had — and had your own way. I was faithful to you from the day I saw you — and before that. You might have called me a model husband. I suppose that was my fault.
BARBARA (crying): No — it wasn’t your fault to be a good husband — that’s why I love you still — in a way — you were so good to me — but — you weren’t near to me —
FREDERICK: I think I was as near as ever you’d let me come.
BARBARA: No — no — can’t you remember — when we were first married — I thought marriage would be a jolly thing — I thought I could have lovely games with the man. Can you remember, when I climbed to the top of the cupboard, in Lucerne? I thought you’d look for me, and laugh, and fetch me down. No, you were terrified. You daren’t even come in the room. You stood in the door looking frightened to death. And I climbed down. And that’s how it always was. I had to climb down.
FREDERICK: And so you left me?
BARBARA: Yes! I couldn’t live with you.
FREDERICK: Because I didn’t drag you by the ankle from the cupboard tops!
BARBARA: Yes — that’s it.
FREDERICK: And how long did it take you to find this out?
BARBARA: You know very well that I was only introduced to Wesson about a month before — you knew all about it.
FREDERICK: And may I inquire after the predecessors of this clown?
BARBARA: Yourself.
FREDERICK: I enjoy that honour alone, do I — with the miserable clown —
BARBARA: You were not going to speak of him.
FREDERICK: And pray, when did you find out then that I had not — not found the real you.
BARBARA: The first night of our marriage — when I stood on that balcony and wanted to drown myself — and you were asleep.
FREDERICK: And afterwards — I suppose you forgot it?
BARBARA: Sometimes. You were good to me — and I didn’t think then there could be anything else.
FREDERICK: Than what?
BARBARA: Than going on as I was — as your wife.
FREDERICK: And you never loved me?
BARBARA: Sometimes — when you were so nice to me —
FREDERICK: Out of gratitude, as it were, and feeling you ought to love me.
BARBARA: I always felt I ought to love you.
FREDERICK: But could never bring it off. Ha! — thank you for the try, at any rate.
BARBARA: And of course sometimes I hated you.
FREDERICK: Naturally.
BARBARA: And now it’s over.
FREDERICK: As you say — it’s over.
There is a long silence.
FREDERICK (in a sudden outburst): Woman, do you know I’ve given my life to you? Do you know, everything I did, everything I thought, everywhere I went, was for you? I have worked till I reeled, I was so tired. I have been your slave —
BARBARA: That’s it — I didn’t want you to be my slave —
FREDERICK: I — I — I have done everything. How often have I asked you, “What do you want of me?” Why didn’t you tell me then? Why didn’t you say? Why have you deceived me all this while, letting me think you loved me?
BARBARA: I didn’t deceive you; (crying) I didn’t know myself.
FREDERICK: How many times have you had your arms round my neck, and said, “Do you love me?” — I might well answer, “Malheureusement.” What was that but deceit —
BARBARA: It wasn’t lying to you, Frederick — you did love me, and I wanted you to love me —
FREDERICK: What right had you to want me to love you, when you cared not a couple of straws about me?
BARBARA: I did want you to love me — you were all I had —
FREDERICK: Until another came along, and then you threw my love away like a piece of dirty paper wrapping.
BARBARA: No — no — I didn’t!
FREDERICK: What else have you done? You have thrown me away like a bit of paper off a parcel. You got all the goods out of the packet, and threw me away — I gave you everything, my life, everything, and it is not worth the stump of a cigarette, when it comes to — I tell you, this is the end of me. I could work then, but now my brain has gone.
BARBARA: No, Frederick, no — you will work again.
FREDERICK: I tell you I can no more work now than you can row a boat when you have lost the oars. I am done for — as a man you see me here a ruin. Some nights I sleep, some nights I never close my eyes. I force myself to keep sane. But in the end my brain will go — and then I shall make an end —
BARBARA (going over to him, kneeling with her hand on his knee, crying): No — no, Frederick — no — no!
FREDERICK: Then I shall go to Wood Norton — do you remember, where I saw you first — a girl of eighteen with a sash? I shall go to that pine wood where the little grove of larches is, and I shall make an end.
BARBARA (her head on his knee — weeping): Oh, what can I do — what can I do?
FREDERICK: I’ve no doubt it all sounds very melodramatic — but it’s the truth for me. Then your work will be finished. I have loved you. I would have spilt my blood on every paving stone in Bromley for you, if you had wanted me to —
BARBARA: But I didn’t want you to. I wanted you to come near to me and make me yours and you be mine. But you went on worshipping me instead of loving me — kissing my feet instead of helping me. You put me on a pedestal, and I was miserable.
FREDERICK: And you never loved me all the time!
BARBARA: I did love you — I did love you!
FREDERICK (his fists clenched — shuddering): I could strangle you!
BARBARA (terrified): Don’t — don’t — I shall scream! (She gets up afraid and draws back. He gets hold of one of her arms.)
FREDERICK: You devil — you devil — you devil! But you belong to me, do you hear? — you belong to me!
BARBARA (pushing him away): Don’t — don’t — let me go — I shall call Mama — oh —
He releases her — she flings herself face down on the sofa — he sits crouching, glaring. Silence for some time.
FREDERICK: Well, have you been there long enough?
BARBARA (sitting up): Yes — long enough to know that it never was any good, and it never would be any good.
FREDERICK: “It never was any good, and never would be any good” — what?
BARBARA: You and me.
FREDERICK: You and me! Do you mean to tell me that my life has been a lie and a falsity?
BARBARA: Why?
FREDERICK: You were my life — you — and you say it was never any good between us.
BARBARA: But you had your work. Think, if you had to choose between me and your work.
FREDERICK: You might as well ask an apple-tree to choose between enjoying the sunshine and growing its own apples: the one depends on the other and is the result of the other.
BARBARA: No, Frederick. Why, look how happy you could be with your work when I was miserable.
FREDERICK: But you had no reason to be. I gave you everything you asked for. What did you want?
BARBARA: I suppose I wanted something you could not give.
FREDERICK (glaring at her — after a silence, suddenly): I had a good mind to murder you.
BARBARA (frightened): Why?
FREDERICK: I had a good mind to murder you as you sit there.
BARBARA (frightened): See — see how you loved me!
FREDERICK: How I loved you! Yes — you see! You see how I loved you, you callous devil! Haven’t I loved you with every breath I’ve fetched — haven’t I?
BARBARA: But what was the good of loving me if you had all the fun out of it? It didn’t seem anything to me because I didn’t realize — I didn’t know —
FREDERICK: You didn’t love me!
