They drew near to their home.They saw a man come from the dark building, with a lighted lantern which swung golden, and made that his dark feet walked in a halo of snow.He was a small, dark figure in the darkened snow.
He unlatched the door of an outhouse.A smell of cows, hot, animal, almost like beef, came out on the heavily cold air.There was a glimpse of two cattle in their dark stalls, then the door was shut again, and not a chink of light showed.It had reminded Ursula again of home, of the Marsh, of her childhood, and of the journey to Brussels, and, strangely, of Anton Skrebensky.
Oh, God, could one bear it, this past which was gone down the abyss?
Could she bear, that it ever had been! She looked round this silent, upper world of snow and stars and powerful cold.There was another world, like views on a magic lantern; The Marsh, Cossethay, Ilkeston, lit up with a common, unreal light.There was a shadowy unreal Ursula, a whole shadow-play of an unreal life.It was as unreal, and circumscribed, as a magic-lantern show.She wished the slides could all be broken.She wished it could be gone for ever, like a lantern-slide which was broken.She wanted to have no past.She wanted to have come down from the slopes of heaven to this place, with Birkin, not to have toiled out of the murk of her childhood and her upbringing, slowly, all soiled.She felt that memory was a dirty trick played upon her.What was this decree, that she should `remember'!
Why not a bath of pure oblivion, a new birth, without any recollections or blemish of a past life.She was with Birkin, she had just come into life, here in the high snow, against the stars.What had she to do with parents and antecedents? She knew herself new and unbegotten, she had no father, no mother, no anterior connections, she was herself, pure and silvery, she belonged only to the oneness with Birkin, a oneness that struck deeper notes, sounding into the heart of the universe, the heart of reality, where she had never existed before.
Even Gudrun was a separate unit, separate, separate, having nothing to do with this self, this Ursula, in her new world of reality.That old shadow-world, the actuality of the past -- ah, let it go! She rose free on the wings of her new condition.
Gudrun and Gerald had not come in.They had walked up the valley straight in front of the house, not like Ursula and Birkin, on to the little hill at the right.Gudrun was driven by a strange desire.She wanted to plunge on and on, till she came to the end of the valley of snow.Then she wanted to climb the wall of white finality, climb over, into the peaks that sprang up like sharp petals in the heart of the frozen, mysterious navel of the world.She felt that there, over the strange blind, terrible wall of rocky snow, there in the navel of the mystic world, among the final cluster of peaks, there, in the infolded navel of it all, was her consummation.If she could but come there, alone, and pass into the infolded navel of eternal snow and of uprising, immortal peaks of snow and rock, she would be a oneness with all, she would be herself the eternal, infinite silence, the sleeping, timeless, frozen centre of the All.
They went back to the house, to the Reunionsaal.She was curious to see what was going on.The men there made her alert, roused her curiosity.
It was a new taste of life for her, they were so prostrate before her, yet so full of life.
The party was boisterous; they were dancing all together, dancing the Schuhplatteln, the Tyrolese dance of the clapping hands and tossing the partner in the air at the crisis.The Germans were all proficient -- they were from Munich chiefly.Gerald also was quite passable.There were three zithers twanging away in a corner.It was a scene of great animation and confusion.The Professor was initiating Ursula into the dance, stamping, clapping, and swinging her high, with amazing force and zest.When the crisis came even Birkin was behaving manfully with one of the Professor's fresh, strong daughters, who was exceedingly happy.Everybody was dancing, there was the most boisterous turmoil.
Gudrun looked on with delight.The solid wooden floor resounded to the knocking heels of the men, the air quivered with the clapping hands and the zither music, there was a golden dust about the hanging lamps.
Suddenly the dance finished, Loerke and the students rushed out to bring in drinks.There was an excited clamour of voices, a clinking of mug-lids, a great crying of `Prosit -- Prosit!' Loerke was everywhere at once, like a gnome, suggesting drinks for the women, making an obscure, slightly risky joke with the men, confusing and mystifying the waiter.
He wanted very much to dance with Gudrun.From the first moment he had seen her, he wanted to make a connection with her.Instinctively she felt this, and she waited for him to come up.But a kind of sulkiness kept him away from her, so she thought he disliked her.
`Will you schuhplatteln, gnadige Frau?' said the large, fair youth, Loerke's companion.He was too soft, too humble for Gudrun's taste.But she wanted to dance, and the fair youth, who was called Leitner, was handsome enough in his uneasy, slightly abject fashion, a humility that covered a certain fear.She accepted him as a partner.
The zithers sounded out again, the dance began.Gerald led them, laughing, with one of the Professor's daughters.Ursula danced with one of the students, Birkin with the other daughter of the Professor, the Professor with Frau Kramer, and the rest of the men danced together, with quite as much zest as if they had had women partners.
