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A BRACE AND A HALF OF GAMEKEEPERS
A discussion of the three published versions of
Lady Chatterley novels by D.H. Lawrence
©Helen Croom
November 1993 (slightly amended Oct '96)
CHAPTER ONE The First Lady Chatterley
CHAPTER TWO John Thomas and Lady Jane
CHAPTER THREE Lady Chatterley's Lover
CHAPTER FOUR Ken Russell's Lady Chatterley
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In this study I propose to discuss the three published versions of D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley books. These books, all written between 1926 and 1928, share the common theme of the relationship between the wife of a crippled baronet and a gamekeeper, but Lawrence's treatment of this theme differs in many respects between the three versions. The characters, although fundamentally similar, have different temperaments, each book concludes differently and the overall emphasis of each book seems changed. I first read Lady Chatterley's Lover (LCL), which is the third version of the novel, in 1991. I borrowed it from the library knowing virtually nothing about the book other than it had been considered controversial. I did not know about the struggle to publish or the exact nature of the controversy. I had previously read only one other of Lawrence's novels, that being Sons and Lovers. Therefore, I read the novel with a completely open mind, quickly and without close study, as one would read any novel chosen for light reading.
I found LCL compelling and captivating. My first reaction, on finishing the book, was that Lawrence had depicted a relationship which seemed real. The characters behaved, for the most part, as I felt they should behave, given their circumstances, and the author kept hope alive at the end, although there seemed no clear or easy path to the future for the lovers. I certainly found nothing in the book which I would have said would "tend to deprave and corrupt persons... likely... to read ...it."1 In fact, not realising the extent of the furore that this book had caused, it didn't occur to me that it was controversially explicit - after all, one can read the word 'fuck' in any number of novels today, both light and literary - I was more struck by, what I felt to be, Lawrence's mastery of the fluctuating emotions of lovers.
In the early summer of 1993 a dramatisation of Lawrence's story was made for television. Produced by Ken Russell, himself a controversial figure, it attracted wide media attention: TV interviews; newspaper criticisms; letters from the viewing public and a repeat of a radio production of the trial of Regina v. Penguin Books Ltd. I did not watch the TV production, though I have now seen it on video and will comment in Chapter Four. I didn't watch the television version at the time because, having read the book, I was aware of the way in which it would be possible to decimate Lawrence's story and I didn't feel that I wanted my impression of the book violated. However, I did read the criticisms and articles and was interested to discover that Lawrence had written the novel three times. (It was quite usual for Lawrence to write more than one version of his works. He did not merely revise his work, but rewrote the whole piece.) My curiosity aroused, I then bought all three versions of the story.
Firstly, I re-read LCL, which I again found enjoyable. Next, I read The First Lady Chatterley (TFLC) which, on first impression, did not come alive for me in the way that the first one I read did. Finally, I read the second version John Thomas and Lady Jane (JTLJ) which has become my personal favourite, for reasons which I will discuss later.
In the first three chapters, I intend to look at the three versions, to discuss some of the author's perceived aims and my interpretation of some of the points put forward. In a work of this length I cannot discuss every issue dealt with in these novels, they are wide-ranging and profound, and so I have chosen to comment upon the issues which I found most interesting and thought-provoking. In the fourth chapter I will discuss the TV dramatisation. Finally, in my conclusion I will sum up my views and attempt to explain the reason for my preference for JTLJ.
(Throughout this work numbers in parenthesis refer to pages in the book being discussed in any particular chapter)
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CHAPTER ONE - The First Lady Chatterley
"Why Lawrence altered the novel three times is a matter mainly for speculation. But that he altered it disastrously is, in my view, beyond question."1
This statement is from an essay entitled The First Lady Chatterley by Geoffrey Strickland. Mr Strickland's point is that as the novels progressed Lawrence narrowed the class gap between Lady Chatterley and the gamekeeper.
This chapter will attempt to define this version of Lawrence's work, paying particular attention to the point made above. Examined from the class distinction angle, this version shows the enormous gulf between the middle and working classes, and does so in style. However, having portrayed this incompatibility Lawrence is then left with the difficulty of how to conclude the story. He has the task of either narrowing the breach or allowing the lovers to recognise the impossibility of their relationship and admit defeat. The novel ends with Constance escaping from Wragby; but to what we are not told.
In TFLC, Parkin (the gamekeeper) is very much a working class man. He speaks solely in dialect and although he has a profound dislike for Sir Clifford's 'governing classes' he treats him with a respect absent in the gamekeeper, Mellors, in the final novel. When Parkin notices Connie for the first time he is aware of her troubled look, thinking "ay, the war hit the gentry hard," (23) a thought unlikely to occur to the rather bitter Mellors, perhaps.
Connie is very definitely a 'Lady' in this version; she feels a shrinking horror of the common people, is dismayed by the ugliness of Tevershall and wonders that such surroundings can occasionally produce someone with Oliver Parkin's individuality. Whilst finding solace in Parkin's arms she realises, when out of them, the futility of trying to make a life together. She cannot reconcile their differences, even in her mind. She feels that if he lived with her he would be bound to change and with that change would come resentment on his side and a lessening of his attraction for her. In the same way she cannot become a gamekeeper's wife; denied her books, music, theatre and stimulating conversation she would become resentful and she would no longer be the same person. In a humorous passage, Connie imagines them together in the cottage, eating the most common meal she can think of (grilled bloaters), but outside of her imagination such a scene is impossible. Whereas her relationship with Clifford is solely reliant on language for communication, her relationship with Parkin is purely sensual. Each relationship is exclusive, with all the limitations that this imposes. The conflict which Lawrence so often portrays between the sexes is much more in evidence in this version than in the later ones.
Lawrence poignantly portrays the powerlessness of the working man when Parkin tells her passionately of the torture of being entirely at her mercy:
"But what about me, when I wait and watch across the park, an' you never come? An' I say to myself: 'She wants none o' thee tonight lad!'...But I know right enough... You look down on me." (95)
He too, sees the impossibility of them bridging the social gap which separates them.
Lawrence's insistence on the working man sticking to his principles means that there is little that can be done by way of uniting the lovers; it seems to be a complete impasse. Parkin insists that he, and he alone, must provide for his woman, but there is no hope of him being able to support Connie in the manner which he feels is necessary. Likewise, he cannot accept her offer of a farm which they could work together because the Communist in him feels that this would be a betrayal of all the other working men, who have no means of escape from their drudgery.
Once the lovers are unable to meet in the sanctuary of the wood, and are subject to the world around them, they are less easy with each other. At the Tewson's they are both ill at ease; Connie is pained by the deterioration of his physical condition that the unaccustomed hard manual labour has caused, and irritated by his obstinacy about her giving him a start somewhere else. Even the matter of tea emphasises the distance between the classes; 'tea' to Connie is a ritual, whereas it will be the last meal of the day for the Tewsons and they eat heartily. Lady Chatterley is totally ignorant of the fact that Mrs Tewson despises her for omitting the 'mister' when referring to Parkin; to Connie it is a normal form of address, to Mrs Tewson a gross insult and insinuation of superiority.
Lawrence makes plain that the working man (in the form of Bill Tewson) is interested in the mind of the governing class, whereas the representative of that class, Sir Clifford, doesn't believe the working man has a mind: "He's just a half-tamed animal with a certain animal niceness and a certain half-tame nastiness." (115)
The story ends when Parkin tells Duncan Forbes (a radical but middle class young man, definitely on the side of the lovers in this version) that he cannot leave the steelworks as he has become secretary to the Communist League there and feels strongly about it. Connie realises that she must get away from Wragby, whether or not she has a future with Parkin as she passionately wants her child to "be born into life" (249) which would not be possible at Wragby. Whether this ending is successful or not depends on what Lawrence was trying to show. If he intended to show a way in which the classes might be brought together, then the attempt has failed; it seems unlikely that Connie and Parkin could ever live together. However, Lawrence has succeeded in showing a way in which one insignificant (in class terms) person has freed the mind of a socially superior one and opened her eyes to the shallowness of the middle classes. (This, however, is a favourite gripe of the feminists; it took a man's sexuality to free a woman.) Lawrence himself made the point in A propos Lady Chatterley's Lover that there was never intended to be any certainty about the lovers living together. This, however, begs the question of where in the social scale their child will fit.
This draft, then, was a tentative forming of ideas and solutions; it was not altogether successful and so Lawrence 'had another go'. It is this which makes it so interesting to compare the three versions of Lady Chatterley, as it gives a unique insight into the author's thought processes.
There are no explicit sexual descriptions in this book, as there are in the others, and it must be said that if the book is read after either of the others then the omission is noticeable. The want of these descriptions detracts from the feeling of the book, until it is tempting to suspect that Parkin is no more than 'My Lady's Fucker'.
There is also much less of the 'plain language' in this version and, interestingly, Lawrence develops the way in which it is used along the lines of his stated intentions in his defence of its use in A propos:
"'What do you call me, in your sort of talk?' 'My lover!' she stammered. 'Lover!' he re-echoed. A queer flash went over his face. 'Fucker!' he said, and his eyes darted a flash at her, as if he had shot her. The word, she knew from Clifford, was obscene, and she flushed deeply and then went pale. But since the word itself had so little association to her, it made very little impression on her. Only she was amazed at the diabolic hate - or fury - she did not know which it was - that flashed out of him all at once, like a cobra striking." (127)
Here then, Parkin is using the word as an intended insult and profanity. It is Connie's unselfconscious use of the word which makes him see that words get their meaning from associated use.
"'But,' she stammered, 'even if you are - are you ashamed of it?'... 'Am I ashamed of it?' he questioned vaguely. 'Yes! Even if you are my 'fucker' as you call it, are you ashamed of it?'... 'Why shouldn't you take me if we both want it?' she said. 'Why shouldn't I fuck thee when we both want it?' he repeated in broad dialect, smiling all over his body with amusement as a dog does. 'Yes, why not!' she re-echoed... 'What amuses you so?... 'Yo' do!' he said. 'How?' 'Say it again! he said. 'Say it again! - What does it matter if I -' he tempted her. 'Yes! What does it matter if you fuck me, as you call it? - when you know I want you to!'" (128)
And so, Lawrence demonstrates his point that this word, disassociated from its profanity and given its literal meaning is purified - after this Parkin continues to use the word, but now simply as any other word, it has lost its association with anger for him. This seems to work better than the approach which Lawrence uses in the third version, in which he tends to bombard the reader with such words in the hope that familiarity will purify the word. Instead of which, it tends to become tedious.
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CHAPTER TWO - John Thomas and Lady Jane
"He wanted... to give a glimpse of the living spontaneous tenderness in a man... He wanted to do away with the nasty thrill of dirty stories."1
It is easy to believe this statement when one reads JTLJ. The predominant feeling of the novel is one of tenderness, gentle emotions and great beauty, but it also incorporates the passionate sexual descriptions of the third version Lawrence has abandoned the politics of TFLC to a greater extent; Parkin no longer has any faith in political reform:
"I shouldn't care if the bolshevists blew up one half of the world and the capitalists blew up the other half, to spite them, so long as they left me and you a rabbit-hole apiece to creep in, and meet underground like the rabbits do." (369)
Individuality, separateness, is the important thing.
Neither does class feature strongly in this novel. In fact, Lawrence now denies that a class system any longer exists:
"Vitally, organically, in the old organic sense of society, there were no more classes. That organic system had collapsed. So she need not have any class-mistrust of Parkin and he need have none of her." (301)
Thus, Lawrence avoids some of the difficulties with the relationship which were evident in TFLC because of that version's preoccupation with class. As Lawrence's emphasis shifts towards the curative powers of sex, it is more important for there to be the possibility of a future for the lovers, otherwise these tender people will wither amongst the masses and Lawrence's prophecy of doom for the human race will be realised. He and Connie have accepted the fact that he is an individual, and as such cannot survive according to the customs of the proletariat. Lawrence makes this point through Connies eyes when she feels that she can see the inexplicable 'danger of death' (325) on Parkin when he is working at the steelworks, and also in Mrs Bolton's story of her sensitive man, Ted, whose spirit was wounded by such close contact with people, leaving him open to the danger, which then became the reality, of death at the age of twenty eight.
Connie feels that sex is egoism, acquisitiveness, self-seeking and they both consciously withdraw from each other whilst unconsciously coming together. Following the inevitability of their first sexual encounter Lawrence uses the imagery of the spring forest to portray Connie's awakening feelings: "the trees making the silent effort to open their buds... the heave of the great weight of powerful sap in all the trees, upwards, outwards, to the bud-tips." (124) This style of imagery is used throughout this version and always to beautiful effect:
"She could feel her body, like the dark interlacing of the boughs of the oak-wood, humming inaudibly with myriad, unfolding buds. Meanwhile the birds of desire had their heads on their shoulders, asleep in delight, in the vast interlaced intricacy of her body." (139)
Immediately after Parkin has made, almost brutal, love to her in the forest (culminating in Lawrence's paramount achievement of the sex act, simultaneous orgasm) Connie's emotions and thoughts are volatile. Her lover is at once: a mere sex object; a god; an awakener of her whole self and an oppressor. Lawrence is probably at his best when describing the complex emotions one can feel at any moment in time. When Parkin is discussing the poachers with Clifford, Connie feels aroused by his presence; impressed by his coolness in her presence; aggrieved by this coolness and, finally, scornful of his self- important striding down the drive: "yet she went that very evening to the hut." (169) Similarly, the contrast between the seemingly ridiculousness of the sex act until she is overcome by passion, when everything takes on a new beauty. But just as suddenly she feels irritated by his satisfaction and forces herself to keep apart, "the body of her loved it, but her spirit wanted to get away." (174) The split between body and spirit is, of course, a favourite theme with Lawrence.
But it is the tenderness which really shines through in this novel. In both of the other versions Connie and the gamekeeper's relationship seems rooted in lust with affection coming later, but in this version the tenderness is plain from the beginning. The first time he sees her in the clearing near the hut "he looked at her, and seeing her so thin and so lost-seeming, something stirred in his bowels." (93) When Connie goes to the cottage to look for him one afternoon they have a very gentle experience of each other: she begs him "kiss me, because you like me, not because you want me", (183) and they sit silent, she on his lap, in perfect peace for the whole afternoon, he dozing while she sleeps contentedly. This is one of the most tender passages in all three of the books. Likewise, again in the cottage, but on another occasion, she asks him why he married Bertha Coutts. His reluctant description of his sexual difficulty, and Bertha's tenderness in helping him to conquer it, adds to the reader's understanding of his sensitive character and his ability to view bjectively someone he has come, for other reasons, to despise.
When Parkin is going to Sheffield, to the steelworks, Connie extracts a promise from him that if he cannot thrive on the work he must let her set him up on a farm or in some other business. She tells him that he has a gift for life which he must be careful of. He suggests that his character is too feminine but rejects the idea of manliness with its connotation of brutality. He rationalises his beliefs about accepting her money by saying that if he has to work for a capitalist then she may as well be the capitalist, but he must first try the steelworks to see if he can manage like other men. But he makes an impassioned plea to Connie regarding their future:
"Ah luv thee!... But tha wunna want ter ma'e me feel sma', shall ter? Let me be mysen, an' let me feel as if tha wor littler than me! Dunna ma'e me feel sma', and down! - else I canna stop wi' thee... I've got ter feel as if I was bringin' the money 'ome, I canna help it. Tha can laugh at me... I like thee ter laugh at me! But be nice to me, an' dunna be big! For I feel I've got no place in the world, an' no mortal worth to nobody, if not to thee." (334)
Not a speech for the feminists, perhaps! Parkin eventually comes to see that they are necessary to each other and that to deny this destiny because of circumstance is to lose everything, possibly even life itself. He writes:
"'I've always felt cooped in and small, except with you... I don't really care about money, though I'll earn my living somehow... But if you can set me up, next year, so that I can be my own boss, and keep to myself, I'll take it from you... and I know there won't be anything lost because I trust you." (370)
and that he believes, "I should soon be dead, even then, but for thee just now." (334)
Connie does indeed find Parkin "dulled, stupefied, almost extinguished", by the work in Sheffield and his contact with the masses' battle with life. Lawrence makes clear his feelings in the passage below, which is rather long, but which is quoted in full because it is not only indicative of the author's philosophy but is also typical of the delicate descriptions in this version.
"The wood was like a sanctuary of life itself... Life is so soft and quiet, and cannot be seized... Whoever wants life must go softly towards life, softly as one would go towards a deer and a fawn that was nestling under a tree. One gesture of violence, one violent assertion of self-will, and life is gone... And softly, gently, with infinitely sensitive hands and feet, and a heart that is full and free from self-will, you must approach life again, and come at last into touch... Come with greed and the will-to-self towards another human being, and you clutch a thorny demon that will leave poisonous stings. But with quietness, with an abandon of self-assertion and a fullness of the deep, true self one can approach another human being and know the delicate best of life, the touch... Fight one does and must, against the enemies of life. But when you come to life itself, you must come as the flower does, naked and defenceless and infinitely in touch."
And so it is seen that Lawrence feels that some people, the individuals of life, cannot live amongst the general people without losing their tenderness and separateness, their gift for life which if only it could be harnessed would make the world a better place, but which, by its very nature, cannot be harnessed.
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CHAPTER THREE - Lady Chatterley's Lover
"Only from the middle classes one gets ideas and from the common people - life itself, warmth. You feel their hates and loves."1
This novel, the third and authorised version, by virtue of the fact that Lawrence paid for its private publication, is the definitive book which caused such controversy, both on its initial publication and again, when Penguin published it thirty-two years later. Not recognised as Lawrence's best or most successful novel, it is nevertheless the one for which Lawrence is best known. It doubtless influenced many of the cruel obituaries which appeared on Lawrence's death, two years after the completion of the book, Lawrence's last full-length novel. Although he had, of course, been a controversial figure for most of his literary career and his exhibition of paintings seized by the police in 1929 added to his notoriety.
LCL was not published in an unexpurgated version in this country until 1960, thirty years after the author's death, and then only after an Old Bailey trial and acquittal under the Obscene Publications Act (1959). This trial received great media attention and 3,225,000 copies of the book were sold within eight months. The novel was tried on Lawrence's explicit descriptions of sex, his use of "good old Anglo- Saxon four-letter words"2 and, not least, on Lady Chatterley's morals.
The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from Lawrence's Sons and Lovers, and this assertion forms one of LCL's main messages. Thus, from the bodily crippled Clifford Chatterley come ideas: his literary 'pieces'; his long talks with his cronies; improvements for the profitability of his mines; Connie's conceiving of another (unspecified) man's child in order to give Wragby an heir and Connie something to do. Conversely, from Oliver Mellors, Clifford's gamekeeper, comes life: rejuvenation for Connie; tenderness of feeling; forthrightness. Although of the common people, Mellors is not, strictly speaking, 'a common man'; a grammar school boy, he has also been a lieutenant in the army, a position which has given him a certain self- assurance. He has, however, withdrawn from life. His world's perimeter is the edge of the Wragby forest and he bitterly resents the intrusion of his domain, be it by poachers, Connie (at first) or the sights and sounds of Tevershall village and the pits. Clifford Chatterley is portrayed with a potent mind to counteract the uselessness of his legs but, spiritually, he is impotent. He has no feelings at all, merely words for emotions. Hence he feels in the words of the great philosophers and if, as when he receives Connie's letter telling him she wants a divorce, he has no words to articulate a particular feeling, then he is unable to experience anything but a blank emptiness.
When Clifford suggests that Connie takes a lover in order to provide an heir for Wragby, and to ward off any future breakdown which may be brought on my the denial of her sexual impulses, he dismisses the unknown father's feelings completely, remarking that these "little acts and little connexions... pass like the mating of birds." (49) He believes that he and Connie are married in the sense of their habit of each other and this would be unaffected by a man to whom she went for sexual relief which he says could be arranged as one may "arrange going to the dentist." (50)
When Connie does in fact take a lover, a playwright named Michaelis who strives for nothing but the material trappings of success, she feels herself horrified at the thought of bearing his child. Their sexual encounters are not a success, they use each other for their own physical satisfaction but it doesn't bring them closer together. Lawrence felt strongly about this point, commenting in a letter to Bertrand Russell that:
"when a [modern] man takes a woman, he is merely repeating a known reaction upon himself, not seeking a new reaction, a discovery. And this is like self-abuse or masturbation."3
And this is demonstrated strongly in Mellors' character. After his wife left he had, and wanted, no woman. When he is apart from Connie he finds "it is so good to be chaste" and he wonders that men can "want wearisomely to philander" (342). His sexual relations with Connie have soothed and rested his soul, he does not need sexual relief, as Clifford suggests because for Mellors the sex act is only connected with desire, it is not merely a bodily function. In another letter, to Ottoline Morrell, Lawrence wrote:
"when [sex] is out of place as an activity there still should be the large and quiet space in the consciousness where it lives quiescent."4
In contrast to Clifford's coldly analytical mind Mellors, the gamekeeper, has tried to cut himself off from people and from language. When Connie weeps over the pheasant chick he instinctively uses his body in his attempt to heal her, no words of comfort are spoken and Lawrence uses the words "blind instinctive caress" and "the helplessly desirous hand" (130) to portray the spontaneity of Mellors' action. In fact, the gamekeeper had set his mind against this course of action, he didn't want to be brought back into contact with people.
The so-called 'purple passages', given so much attention at the Old Bailey trial, are indeed explicitly portrayed. However, Lawrence does this in such a way, with such obvious respect for his characters and the sacredness of sex, that it can be argued that if the reader finds the passages offensive then they have perhaps not grasped the intrinsic purpose of the passages. This purpose seems to be to put the sex act on the highest plane of sharing between two people - not one giving the other (or even each other) relief but each becoming a part of the other, as when Connie feels herself "all open to him and helpless... she held nothing." (196) Lawrence skilfully portrays the feelings of awe and reverence which Connie feels as her subconscious is awakened to her lover and her articulated thoughts about her experiences diminish. Mellors too, realises the impotence of words compared with the solace of touch: "so many words because I can't touch you. If I could sleep with my arms around you, the ink could stay in the bottle." (342)
Later in Mellors' and Connie's acquaintance Lawrence introduces the other controversial element of this version; the use of the 'four letter words'. These words are heard much more widely today than in Lawrence's time, but they are generally used in just the way Lawrence said he wished to them not to be used: as expletives, words of anger and contempt. Lawrence wished to purify these words by appropriate use, to enable people to discuss sex simply and without euphemism. (However, Lawrence was not above using the words in anger himself - Rhys Davies records his shock at hearing Lawrence, in a crowded restaurant, "use publicly to his wife the conjugal four- letter word."5) In the context of the novel these words generally seem quite natural as the language between two intimately connected people. They work well when combined with Mellors' use of dialect in his tender moments with Connie. However, it is open to serious question whether they serve Lawrence's purpose of 'purifying'. They do not seem to work at all in Mellors' final, very articulate, letter to Connie. In the letter he uses the words 'fuck' or 'fucking' no less than eight times in the space of three paragraphs and, arguably, the word becomes tedious, a little ridiculous, when it is no longer in the context of passionate speech. In some ways similar to when Connie cannot feel involved in their love-making and so the "butting... of his... haunches" (194) seems ridiculous.
However, despite his comments that he wished people to be able to discuss sex cleanly, Lawrence demonstrates that sex is beyond words. When Connie goes to the hut with Mellors after he has accused her of only wanting him to father her a child, she feels herself detached from the sex act; she holds herself back and sees it as a "ridiculous performance." (194) But afterwards she feels that she has denied something and yields herself to him and this is when they share each other and suddenly she experiences in terms of the senses rather than in articulated thought: he is beautiful; the feel of his flesh; the warmth of him; "the strange weight of the balls between his legs." (197) Finally, when they make love for the third time it is pure feeling which words cannot describe:
"she could not know what it was. She could not remember what it had been... she was utterly still... and he was still with her... and of this they would never speak." (198)
Thus, Lawrence has, in a matter of seven pages encapsulated his feelings about sex. The fact that to articulate the sex act, to analyse it, debases it and makes it dirty, whereas when two people share the sensual aspects of sex, words and thought become unnecessary - they are at peace. Connie takes a long time to realise this, she questions Mellors about his love for her, even though she feels her words are driving them apart, because the reliance on words is so deeply ingrained in her. And, likewise, Lawrence produces a long novel to demonstrate the impossibility of writing about sex.
Mellors has strong feelings about the materialism of the mechanized world. He believes that all human feeling is being killed off in the desperate rush for money. If people would be satisfied with the least amount they could possibly live on, be happy with each other, they would have time to live.
Clifford is the antithesis of this idea. At the beginning of the trip into the forest Clifford is proud that he rides "upon the achievements of the mind of man", and belongs to the "bossing classes". But on their way back to Wragby, when the engine is not powerful enough, he has to rely on the limited strength of man, Oliver Mellors who he has treated with contempt. His determination to boss the engine, leaves the spring flowers mutilated, the engine ruined and his pride shaken; though he refuses to show it. Conversely, Mellors, of "the servant class" comes out of the episode with dignity.
Mellors' sarcasm is sometimes amusing; his comment, "Surely you might ma'e a scandal out o' me an' my bitch Flossie. You've missed summat there," (304) when Clifford questions him about the Tevershall gossip is typical of the way in which he shows his inner disdain for people he has no time for. The conversation with Hilda at his cottage also runs in this vein.
Lawrence has been caustically criticised by certain feminists for his portrayal of women. Kate Millett in her essay, Sexual Politics, pours scorn on Lawrence's disdain for sexually dominant women. He is so obviously recommending mutual sex (in the sense of the quotation from the letter above about self-abuse) that it may be argued that he is requiring corresponding commitment from both parties. Has Connie had to "relinquish... self, ego, will, individuality"4 to Mellors by the end of the book? Mrs Bolton makes plain that in her marriage to the individual Ted, he was no Lord and Master; she tells Connie that theirs was a partnership involving give and take, sometimes he would give in to her when she was set on something and sometimes she gave in to him "else you break something." (266) Both Connie and Mellors are able to contemplate living alone by the end of the book. At the beginning, both are somnambulant; they only awake after their physical contact with each other. Not only do they wake, but they become whole: capable of individual existence. That Constance has made this possible for Mellors is shown clearly in his final letter to her. Connie sees herself as much more attractive since she has glimpsed her body through her lover's eyes and it is not true that LCL glorifies the man's body at the expense of the woman's.
Ms Millett goes on to say that: "Although the male is displayed and admired so often, there is, apart from the word cunt, no reference to or description of the female genitals."6 and the editor of the book, Peter Widdowson has added a footnote asserting the truth of this. However, during the thunder storm, Mellors says "'Look at Jane, in all her blossoms!...Pretty little Lady Jane'... and kissed her maidenhair." (258) Again, "he kissed her belly and her mound of Venus." (315) He tells her she has "'the nicest, nicest woman's arse as is.'" (251) "He laid his hand close and firm over her secret places, in a kind of close greeting." (252) Lawrence may not glorify the woman's body to the extent of the man's but it is possible to refute Mr Widdowson's remark that "Lawrence's silence as regards to female genitals is most remarkable, and evidence, I believe, of considerable inhibition and very probably of strongly negative feeling."7
Lawrence did not believe in equality of the sexes. He believed very strongly that the male must be the dominant partner in a relationship for the simple reason that women are intrinsically stronger than men; if they are allowed to dominate, the male goes under. This philosophy, however, does not debase the importance of being a woman: Mellors was not living before he came into contact with Connie any more than she was - they each live from their contact with the other.
The final point which must be raised is: was this book a commercial
exercise?
Lawrence published it privately, at his own expense, when he knew
he had but little time left to him; the money it brought in kept his widow,
Frieda, quite comfortably until her death in 1956. The 'purple passages'
undoubtedly sold the book - and are still doing so - so that it is tempting to
conclude that was the reason for including them. It was also, in part, a
reaction against James Joyce's Ulysses. However, Lawrence's outlook on
life, his opinions on sex, his own background, must all be taken into account
when looking at this question. If Lawrence wrote the story to make money (which
of course was his primary reason for writing anything - he had no other income),
he also wrote sincerely about something which he felt strongly about. Rhys
Davies says 'But Lady Chatterley was really his beloved, and his bible,
banner and trumpet.'8
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CHAPTER FOUR - Ken Russell's Lady Chatterley
[It is rather difficult to appraise a film when you already know the story so well. I didn't watch the video until I had completed all of the chapters on the books as I didn't want the film to influence my opinions. But, of course, this had the effect of influencing my interpretation of the film.]
"Lady Chatterley is a passionate love story which portrays the tempestuous and scandalous affair between an aristocratic young woman and her husband's gamekeeper."1
The television dramatisation was shown in the UK in the early summer of 1993 on BBC1. It promised to be a faithful adaptation of Lawrence's story (all three versions were used in the writing of the screenplay) retaining as much of the original dialogue as possible. Most of the main events were there, little other than some additional dialogue seemed to have been added, so it be could said that the story was Lawrence's own. Although the gamekeeper was called Mellors his character seemed to owe more to the Parkin of JTLJ, he was not educated and no mention was made of him having been an officer in the war and he did not have Mellors' rather didactic manner.
In the main it was well acted. Sean Bean was very convincing in the role of Mellors, and Lawrence's dialogue came over well. However, Joely Richardson seemed to be hampered somewhat by the dialogue which often sounded unnatural or even silly, it was not entirely clear whether this was due to Ms Richardson's acting or Lawrence's dialogue. James Wilby was excellent in the role of Sir Clifford, portraying his steely arrogance, determined cheerfulness and childish petulance brilliantly. Another excellent performance was given by Shirley Ann Field, who was Lawrence's Mrs Bolton to a T.
Inexplicably, some characters names were changed: Connie Mellors became Betty; Sir Malcolm became Sir Michael (played enthusiastically by Russell himself) and Duncan Forbes became Donald.
Would Ken Russell's portrayal of the feeling between Connie and Mellors be successful? If Lawrence's emphasis on the naturalness and inevitability of their relationship was not portrayed then the film would merely show "a tempestuous and scandalous affair." It is, of course difficult to portray in a visual image the intrinsic ideas within the author's text.
Russell's success with regard to his portrayal of Lawrence's ideas varies rather; there is a dream sequence which works well. It follows Connie and Clifford's discussion of whether the black horse should be allowed his reasonable desires or denied them. In the sequence Connie is riding slowly through the park on a black horse. All around are young men gracefully stretched out, with naked torsos decorated with garlands of flowers. She dismounts by the lake to reach for a young man who is holding his hand out to her from the middle of the lake, where he is submerged to the waist; as he turns the viewer sees that it is Clifford. He tries to pull her in too but she lets him go, (so as not to be submerged to her waist) and he disappears under the water, when the camera cuts to Mellors (fully dressed) standing at the opposite side of the lake. The black horse rears and is set free and Connie awakens. Conversely, there is another scene of imagery which doesn't seem to work well at all. This scene is when Connie is going to see the 'daffs'. On the way to the cottage she leans against a tree, feeling the bark with her hands (this scene is very reminiscent of one with Birkin (Alan Bates), in Russell's "Women in Love") and looking up at the sun piercing through the new leaves. This is where the limitations of film detract from the story. Lawrence's imagery of the parallel between her feelings and the awakening wood works well in print, but in the film she merely looked rather foolish. It is difficult to see how it could be done visually at all.
Russell indeed manages to show the helplessness of the gamekeeper; his complete absence of control over the relationship. Connie frequently leaves him with a nonchalant "I must go" and on the occasion where Mellors calls "goodnight your Ladyship" there is a shot of him forlornly watching through the gate as she crosses the park. The viewer is given the impression that there is perhaps more feeling on his part than on Connie's and it was responsible of Russell to portray this as it gives depth to the characters.
No appraisal of a Ken Russell/Lawrence film would be complete without a discussion of the sex scenes. There were complaints from some members of the public following the screening. Necessarily, there were fewer sex scenes than in the novels but those that were shown were in keeping with Lawrence's descriptions (the scene which caused most complaints was the rather rough one when Mellors stops her on the way home from Marehay Farm, but Russell was true to the author on this point). Possibly, the tenderness of the novels did not come over so well on film as in the narrative, although, again, it is obvious that an attempt was made. After the encounter mentioned above, Mellors' gently brushes the leaves from Connie's hat and tidies her hair. It is difficult to be objective about the film when the story is so well known; each viewer will be looking for different emphases. Russell has included few of Lawrence's four letter words but these were not really missed. The censors would no doubt have precluded the inclusion of the long discourses between Connie and Mellors during their love scenes and so these words were largely redundant. Sean Bean is reported to have said, "If we had done every scene in the book, the BBC would never have shown it."2
The film ends with Connie, having rushed to Southampton, joining Mellors on a ship bound for Canada. Although this seemed an outright contradiction of Lawrence's intentions, to have left the lovers' future in doubt in this version, where the importance of their relationship was undoubtedly weakened by the medium, would have indeed made the whole affair seem not only "scandalous", but also promiscuous, which would have been a complete betrayal of Lawrence's wishes.
To sum up, it would seem that Ken Russell has been extremely faithful to Lawrence. While the film does not have the impact of the novels, it is entertaining, does not trivialise the relationships between the characters and makes as good a job of telling the story as is possible on film.
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I have now read and re-read each of the three novels several times. I have found it very interesting to look at the way in which Lawrence has developed the theme, extending some parts, dropping others and even changing the overall aim of the story. I feel that Lawrence began TFLC with the intention of highlighting the differences between the classes. The complete lack of understanding between the middle and working classes, the resentments on both sides and, presumably, the way that a love affair between two members of these classes could flourish. The trouble is, it cannot flourish. The gap between them is non-existent when they are united in passion - but when consciousness returns there is a gulf. Lawrence tentatively introduces the four letter words in TFLC and I feel that they probably work best of all in this version. The author does not highlight the lovers' sexual relationship, though it is obvious they have one, and this 'drawing of the curtain' indeed suggests, as the author felt it would, something improper about a sexual relationship. I do not feel that there is much affection between Connie and Parkin in this novel.
In JTLJ, Lawrence has abandoned the bolshevism and communism, it is dismissed as just another panacea for the lack of humanity in society. Parkin is more sensitive than in TFLC, one feels that there is love between Connie and the gamekeeper and through the descriptions of their love-making the author is able to portray his belief in the necessity of good, sensual relationships. Both Connie and Parkin decry egoism, acquisitiveness and materialism and recommend that people take up a simple life, where human relationships are the most important thing.
LCL is quite different from either of the other two versions. The gamekeeper has become Mellors, an educated man and ex-army officer with all the self-assurance that these positions have given him. Lawrence portrays his life/ideas theory in many ways throughout the book, taking in Aunt Eva/Mrs Bolton and Tommy Dukes/Jack Strangeways as well as Mellors/Sir Clifford. The other large issue in this version is the relationship between tactile and verbal communication. Nowhere is this better demonstrated than in the passage I quoted in Chapter Three where Connie experiences the sequence of articulated thought transferred to feeling, bearing out what Mellors' says - that sex is only touch, "the closest of all touch." (LCL, 313) Mellors' several outbursts of venom against the world at large spoil this novel. These almost invariably make the gamekeeper seem hard and bitter, surely a contradiction of the author's intention. I feel that Lawrence, in his endeavour to voice his frustrations with life, creates an inconsistent character in Mellors.
I shall follow this very brief summary of the three books with some views which I have formed whilst studying the novels and other works about Lawrence.
Firstly, I would like to comment on Lawrence's depiction of the individual. Lawrence believed that the tender, aware man (or woman) is in mortal danger from the rest of society. These people, with an isolation apparent whether they are alone or in a crowd, are trampled underfoot by the materialistic, acquisitive masses. This, I believe, is as true today as it was seventy years ago. Weekly, it seems, one reads of teenagers who have committed suicide because they are bullied at school; these 'mis-fits' are too tender to live amongst the 'ordinary' people and there are even fewer places of refuge now than in Lawrence's day.
Mellors declares that people are so busy working for money, for things which they want but don't need, that they never have time to live, or look around them. When I see children, on expensive cycles and wearing designer trainers, roaming the streets because their parents are working to get money for holidays and games, I wonder if they are luckier than the child who is at home with an unemployed parent making papier mache models. In the same way, I reflect upon the New Age Travellers, those much maligned mis-fits of our day; are they, whose vacated site may be littered and soiled for months, worse than the architect who designs a concrete monstrosity which may stand for a hundred years? The points that Lawrence made in the nineteen twenties seem to me to be as relevant now as when he wrote them and I feel that, in a week when the western world has been horrified by the story of two ten year olds who stoned a two year old to death [the James Bulger case, 1993], his despair for the future of humanity was chillingly prophetic.
Whether or not Lawrence denigrates women (and I very firmly believe that he does not), he genuinely believed that women and men have clearly defined roles in a relationship - which is not to say that he thought women less important. He also believed that deviations from these roles would cause a breakdown in human relationships - and who is to say what has caused it? Hence, Mellors' remark that "it's because th' men aren't men, that th' women have to be." (LCL,248) I feel that I must stress that Lawrence's ideas about this male/female balance in relationships did not affect his opinion of women as independent people in everyday life. Ursula Brangwen (The Rainbow) is an independent young woman - going against her family to become a teacher. Lawrence's views on sex have caused much controversy and it must be said that he seems to have had a very narrow view of what constitutes desirable sexual performance. However, practicalities aside, the feelings behind Lawrence's prescriptions for sexual harmony are good. I believe that he is recommending tenderness for each other, a sharing of bodies - not for physical satisfaction but as an act of faith in each other. I feel that accusations of obscenity about these books are absurd. Lawrence's views are so obviously sincere that they cannot be misconstrued, even if one does not agree with them. He is not advocating anything which would harm anyone, he is calling for tenderness and a reversal of avariciousness. If these books are obscene then sex itself is obscene. I feel very strongly that an adolescent would gain a deeper understanding of, and a healthier attitude towards, sex from these novels than from the plethora of sex manuals available today, too many of which concentrate on the biological aspects of the sex act and the 'right' of each individual to expect satisfaction from the other.
When one compares the sex scenes in Russell's Lady Chatterley with a film which was released on video at about the same time, it is interesting to speculate on what Lawrence's reaction would have been. In the first five minutes one sees a man and woman apparently making passionate love; the (dominant) woman astride the man, who is tied to the bed-head. Suddenly she repeatedly stabs her partner with an ice-pick... in my opinion this is obscene; i.e. likely to deprave and corrupt; at least more so than Lawrence type of love.
Lawrence, never under a misapprehension about the reception his book would receive, was nevertheless hurt and angered by the public's view of him as a writer of 'dirty books'. In LCL, Duncan Forbes makes a speech which I feel comes straight from Lawrence's heart;
"'they'll never rest till they've pulled the man down and done him in... it's the one thing they won't let you be, straight and open in your sex. You can be as dirty as you like. In fact the more dirt you do on sex the better they like it... You have a snivel and feel sinful or awful about your sex, before you're allowed to have any.'" (LCL, 299)
Lawrence himself probably appeared in everything he ever wrote, but I find it poignant to consider that in the Lady Chatterley books he was both Clifford Chatterley and the gamekeeper. A man with a brilliant mind, he loved a furious debate with his 'cronies' and, by the time he wrote these books, almost certainly impotent due to ill-health he too longed for an heir. Set against this, he was an individual; he fitted in at neither school nor university. He lived close to nature, with few possessions and fewer ties and once he had found his mate he stuck to her faithfully.
As I stated at the beginning of this study, I enjoyed LCL when I read it for the first time but when I began to study closely the three versions for this work I was quite prepared to change my opinion. I have read several harsh criticisms of the novels, and in each case the author has put forth valid points. I feel that LCL does not stand up well to close reading; having read JTLJ, I find it difficult to maintain my original enthusiasm for the final version. With regard to the charges of pornography. Brenda Maddox says,
"The third Lady Chatterley is unquestionably the most pornographic of the three, its plot punctuated... by seven scenes of sexual intercourse...with much graphic undressing: the classic formula for writing intended to arouse."1 [my emphasis]
Whilst I accept her definition of pornography, I believe that there is another consideration which has to be made: male and female are about to make love, in many cases the male will enjoy watching the female undress - this is a part of sexual foreplay. Lawrence's aim is to portray the love-making of his couple; he needs, therefore, to describe what the lovers are experiencing, be it Connie's tenderness for the wilted penis or Mellors' arousal from visual stimuli. Lawrence's encompassing descriptions of their emotions and experiences allow us to be more than voyeurs.
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Introduction
1 The Trial of Lady Chatterley, Regina v. Penguin Books Ltd., (p.10)
Chapter One
1 The First Lady Chatterley: Geoffrey Strickland, in D.H. Lawrence (p.169)
Chapter Two
1 Foreward to The First Lady Chatterley, Frieda Lawrence, (p.10)
Chapter Three
1 Sons and Lovers, D.H. Lawrence, (p.313)
2 D.H. Lawrence, J. Meyers, (p.212)
3 Ibid., (p.360)
4 Print of a Hare's Foot, Rhys Davies, (p.145)
5 Sexual Politics, Kate Millett, (in Longman's Critical Reader)(p.76)
6 Footnote to Sexual Politics, Peter Widdowson, (p.87)
7 Print of a Hare's Foot, Rhys Davies, (p.141)
Chapter Four
1 Cover of video, Lady Chatterley
2 TV TIMES, p.53, Oct19-25 1996
Conclusion
1 The Married Man: a life of D.H. Lawrence, Brenda Maddox, (p.443)
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Davies, Rhys Print of a Hare's Foot, Heinemann, London (1969)
Gomme, A.H. (Ed.) D.H. Lawrence, The Harvester Press Ltd., Sussex (1968)
Lawrence, DH. A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover and other Essays, Penguin Books, London (1961)
Lawrence, D.H. First Lady Chatterley, The, Penguin Books, London (1973)
Lawrence, D.H. John Thomas and Lady Jane, Penguin Books, London (1973)
Lawrence, D.H. Lady Chatterley's Lover, BCA, London (1993)
Lawrence, D.H. Sons and Lovers, Penguin Books, London 1969)
Maddox, Brenda The Married Man: A life of D.H. Lawrence, Sinclair Stevenson (1994)
Meyers, Jeffrey D.H. Lawrence: A Biography, Macmillan, London (1990)
Rolph, C.H. (Ed.) Trial of Lady Chatterley, The, Penguin Books, London (1961)
Sagar, Keith Art of D.H. Lawrence, The, Cambridge University Press, England (1966)
Sagar, Keith D.H. Lawrence: Life into Art, Viking Penguin Books, London (1985)
Widdowson, Peter (Ed.) D.H. Lawrence, Longman Critical Reader, Longman, Essex (1992)
VIDEO
Lady Chatterley, London Films/Global Arts Production for BBC TV (1993)