Aaron's Rod - D. H. Lawrence (poetry books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: D. H. Lawrence
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âThe Germans were wonderful with the machine gunsâitâs a wicked thing, a machine gun. But they couldnât touch us with the bayonet. Every time the men came back they had bayonet practice, and they got awfully good. You know when you thrust at the Germansâsoâif you miss him, you bring your rifle back sharp, with a round swing, so that the butt comes up and hits up under the jaw. Itâs one movement, following on with the stab, you see, if you miss him. It was too quick for themâ But bayonet charge was worst, you know. Because your man cries out when you catch him, when you get him, you know. Thatâs what does you. . . .
âNo, oh no, this was no war like other wars. All the machinery of it. No, you couldnât stand it, but for the men. The men are wonderful, you know. Theyâll be wiped out. . . . No, itâs your men who keep you going, if youâre an officer. . . . But thereâll never be another war like this. Because the Germans are the only people who could make a war like thisâand I donât think theyâll ever do it again, do you?
âOh, they were wonderful, the Germans. They were amazing. It was incredible, what they invented and did. We had to learn from them, in the first two years. But they were too methodical. Thatâs why they lost the war. They were too methodical. Theyâd fire their guns every ten minutesâregular. Think of it. Of course we knew when to run, and when to lie down. You got so that you knew almost exactly what theyâd doâif youâd been out long enough. And then you could time what you wanted to do yourselves.
âThey were a lot more nervous than we were, at the last. They sent up enough light at night from their trenchesâyou know, those things that burst in the air like electric lightâwe had none of that to doâthey did it all for usâlit up everything. They were more nervous than we were. . . .â
It was nearly two oâclock when Herbertson left. Lilly, depressed, remained before the fire. Aaron got out of bed and came uneasily to the fire.
âIt gives me the bellyache, that damned war,â he said.
âSo it does me,â said Lilly. âAll unreal.â
âReal enough for those that had to go through it.â
âNo, least of all for them,â said Lilly sullenly. âNot as real as a bad dream. Why the hell donât they wake up and realise it!â
âThatâs a fact,â said Aaron. âTheyâre hypnotised by it.â
âAnd they want to hypnotise me. And I wonât be hypnotised. The war was a lie and is a lie and will go on being a lie till somebody busts it.â
âIt was a factâyou canât bust that. You canât bust the fact that it happened.â
âYes you can. It never happened. It never happened to me. No more than my dreams happen. My dreams donât happen: they only seem.â
âBut the war did happen, right enough,â smiled Aaron palely.
âNo, it didnât. Not to me or to any man, in his own self. It took place in the automatic sphere, like dreams do. But the ACTUAL MAN in every man was just absentâasleepâor druggedâinertâdream-logged. Thatâs it.â
âYou tell âem so,â said Aaron.
âI do. But itâs no good. Because they wonât wake up now evenâperhaps never. Theyâll all kill themselves in their sleep.â
âThey wouldnât be any better if they did wake up and be themselvesâ that is, supposing they are asleep, which I canât see. They are what they areâand theyâre all alikeâand never very different from what they are now.â
Lilly stared at Aaron with black eyes.
âDo you believe in them less than I do, Aaron?â he asked slowly.
âI donât even want to believe in them.â
âBut in yourself?â Lilly was almost wistfulâand Aaron uneasy.
âI donât know that Iâve any more right to believe in myself than in them,â he replied. Lilly watched and pondered.
âNo,â he said. âThatâs not trueâI KNEW the war was false: humanly quite false. I always knew it was false. The Germans were false, we were false, everybody was false.â
âAnd not you?â asked Aaron shrewishly.
âThere was a wakeful, self-possessed bit of me which knew that the war and all that horrible movement was false for me. And so I wasnât going to be dragged in. The Germans could have shot my mother or me or what they liked: I wouldnât have joined the WAR. I would like to kill my enemy. But become a bit of that huge obscene machine they called the war, that I never would, no, not if I died ten deaths and had eleven mothers violated. But I would like to kill my enemy: Oh, yes, more than one enemy. But not as a unit in a vast obscene mechanism. That never: no, never.â
Poor Lilly was too earnest and vehement. Aaron made a fine nose. It seemed to him like a lot of words and a bit of wriggling out of a hole.
âWell,â he said, âyouâve got men and nations, and youâve got the machines of warâso how are you going to get out of it? League of Nations?â
âDamn all leagues. Damn all masses and groups, anyhow. All I want is to get MYSELF out of their horrible heap: to get out of the swarm. The swarm to me is nightmare and nullityâhorrible helpless writhing in a dream. I want to get myself awake, out of it allâall that mass- consciousness, all that mass-activityâitâs the most horrible nightmare to me. No man is awake and himself. No man who was awake and in possession of himself would use poison gases: no man. His own awake self would scorn such a thing. Itâs only when the ghastly mob-sleep, the dream helplessness of the mass-psyche overcomes him, that he becomes completely base and obscene.â
âHaâwell,â said Aaron. âItâs the wide-awake ones that invent the poison gas, and use it. Where should we be without it?â
Lilly started, went stiff and hostile.
âDo you mean that, Aaron?â he said, looking into Aaronâs face with a hard, inflexible look.
Aaron turned aside half sheepishly.
âThatâs how it looks on the face of it, isnât it?â he said.
âLook here, my friend, itâs too late for you to be talking to me about the face of things. If thatâs how you feel, put your things on and follow Herbertson. Yesâgo out of my room. I donât put up with the face of things here.â
Aaron looked at him in cold amazement.
âItâll do tomorrow morning, wonât it?â he asked rather mocking.
âYes,â said Lilly coldly. âBut please go tomorrow morning.â
âOh, Iâll go all right,â said Aaron. âEverybodyâs got to agree with youâthatâs your price.â
But Lilly did not answer. Aaron turned into bed, his satirical smile under his nose. Somewhat surprised, however, at this sudden turn of affairs.
As he was just going to sleep, dismissing the matter, Lilly came once more to his bedside, and said, in a hard voice:
âIâm NOT going to pretend to have friends on the face of things. No, and I donât have friends who donât fundamentally agree with me. A friend means one who is at one with me in matters of life and death. And if youâre at one with all the rest, then youâre THEIR friend, not mine. So be their friend. And please leave me in the morning. You owe me nothing, you have nothing more to do with me. I have had enough of these friendships where I pay the piper and the mob calls the tune.
âLet me tell you, moreover, your heroic Herbertsons lost us more than ever they won. A brave ant is a damned cowardly individual. Your heroic officers are a sad sight AFTERWARDS, when they come home. Bah, your Herbertson! The only justification for war is what we learn from it. And what have they learnt?âWhy did so many of them have presentiments, as he called it? Because they could feel inside them, there was nothing to come after. There was no life-courage: only death-courage. Nothing beyond this hellâonly death or loveâ languishingââ
âWhat could they have seen, anyhow?â said Aaron.
âItâs not what you see, actually. Itâs the kind of spirit you keep inside you: the life spirit. When Wallace had presentiments, Herbertson, being officer, should have said: âNone of that, Wallace. You and I, weâve got to live and make life smoke.ââInstead of which he let Wallace be killed and his own heart be broken. Always the death-choiceâ And we wonât, we simply will not face the world as weâve made it, and our own souls as we find them, and take the responsibility. Weâll never get anywhere till we stand up man to man and face EVERYTHING out, and break the old forms, but never let our own pride and courage of life be broken.â
Lilly broke off, and went silently to bed. Aaron turned over to sleep, rather resenting the sound of so many words. What difference did it make, anyhow? In the morning, however, when he saw the other manâs pale, closed, rather haughty face, he realised that something had happened. Lilly was courteous and even affable: but with a curious cold space between him and Aaron. Breakfast passed, and Aaron knew that he must leave. There was something in Lillyâs bearing which just showed him the door. In some surprise and confusion, and in some anger, not unmingled with humorous irony, he put his things in his bag. He put on his hat and coat. Lilly was seated rather stiffly writing.
âWell,â said Aaron. âI suppose we shall meet again.â
âOh, sure to,â said Lilly, rising from his chair. âWe are sure to run across one another.â
âWhen are you going?â asked Aaron.
âIn a few daysâ time.â
âOh, well, Iâll run in and see you before you go, shall I?â
âYes, do.â
Lilly escorted his guest to the top of the stairs, shook hands, and then returned into his own room, closing the door on himself.
Aaron did not find his friend at home when he called. He took it rather as a slap in the face. But then he knew quite well that Lilly had made a certain call on his, Aaronâs soul: a call which he, Aaron, did not at all intend to obey. If in return the soul-caller chose to shut his street-door in the face of the world-friendâwell, let it be quits. He was not sure whether he felt superior to his unworldly enemy or not. He rather thought he did.
CHAPTER XI
MORE PILLAR OF SALT
The opera season ended, Aaron was invited by Cyril Scott to join a group of
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