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Updated: June 25, 2025
'I haven't got a husband, said Gudrun in English. In German she answered, 'He is thirty-one. But Loerke was watching closely, with his uncanny, full, suspicious eyes. Something in Gudrun seemed to accord with him. He was really like one of the 'little people' who have no soul, who has found his mate in a human being. But he suffered in his discovery.
But he Loerke, could he not penetrate into the inner darkness, find the spirit of the woman in its inner recess, and wrestle with it there, the central serpent that is coiled at the core of life. What was it, after all, that a woman wanted? Was it mere social effect, fulfilment of ambition in the social world, in the community of mankind? Was it even a union in love and goodness?
It seemed like a rising above the dreariness of actuality, the monotony of contingencies. They played till the sun went down, in pure amusement, careless and timeless. Then, as the little sledge twirled riskily to rest at the bottom of the slope, 'Wait! he said suddenly, and he produced from somewhere a large thermos flask, a packet of Keks, and a bottle of Schnapps. 'Oh Loerke, she cried.
Luckily there came a day of snow, when they must all stay indoors: otherwise Birkin said, they would all lose their faculties, and begin to utter themselves in cries and shrieks, like some strange, unknown species of snow-creatures. It happened in the afternoon that Ursula sat in the Reunionsaal talking to Loerke. The latter had seemed unhappy lately.
The deep resolve formed in her, to combat him. One of them must triumph over the other. Which should it be? Her soul steeled itself with strength. Almost she laughed within herself, at her confidence. It woke a certain keen, half contemptuous pity, tenderness for him: she was so ruthless. Everybody retired early. The Professor and Loerke went into a small lounge to drink.
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.
I had better know, so that I can satisfy the authorities, if necessary. Gudrun looked up at him, white, childlike, mute with trouble. 'There weren't even any words, she said. 'He knocked Loerke down and stunned him, he half strangled me, then he went away.
'I know it is his idea. I know it is a picture of himself, really Loerke snorted with rage. 'A picture of myself! he repeated, in derision. 'Wissen sie, gnadige Frau, that is a Kunstwerk, a work of art. It is a work of art, it is a picture of nothing, of absolutely nothing.
Really, the fathomless conceit of these men, it is ridiculous the little strutters. 'They are all alike. Look at Birkin. Built out of the limitation of conceit they are, and nothing else. Really, nothing but their ridiculous limitation and intrinsic insignificance could make them so conceited. 'As for Loerke, there is a thousand times more in him than in a Gerald.
The world of art is only the truth about the real world, that's all but you are too far gone to see it. She was white and trembling, intent. Gudrun and Loerke sat in stiff dislike of her. Gerald too, who had come up in the beginning of the speech, stood looking at her in complete disapproval and opposition.
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