Page 668 - women-in-love

about.’
It was curious what a sense of elation and freedom
Gudrun found in this communication. She felt established
for ever. Of course Gerald was BAGATELLE. Love was one
of the temporal things in her life, except in so far as she was
an artist. She thought of Cleopatra—Cleopatra must have
been an artist; she reaped the essential from a man, she har-
vested the ultimate sensation, and threw away the husk; and
Mary Stuart, and the great Rachel, panting with her lovers
after the theatre, these were the exoteric exponents of love.
After all, what was the lover but fuel for the transport of this
subtle knowledge, for a female art, the art of pure, perfect
knowledge in sensuous understanding.
One evening Gerald was arguing with Loerke about Italy
and Tripoli. The Englishman was in a strange, inflammable
state, the German was excited. It was a contest of words, but
it meant a conflict of spirit between the two men. And all
the while Gudrun could see in Gerald an arrogant English
contempt for a foreigner. Although Gerald was quivering,
his eyes flashing, his face flushed, in his argument there was
a brusqueness, a savage contempt in his manner, that made
Gudrun’s blood flare up, and made Loerke keen and morti-
fied. For Gerald came down like a sledge-hammer with his
assertions, anything the little German said was merely con-
temptible rubbish.
At last Loerke turned to Gudrun, raising his hands in
helpless irony, a shrug of ironical dismissal, something ap-
pealing and child-like.
‘Sehen sie, gnadige Frau-’ he began.

668 Women in Love