Sons and Lovers: A Facsimile of a Manuscript [Reprint 2020 ed.] 9780520375956

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D. H. LAWRENCE

A F A C S I M I L E OF THE

MANUSCRIPT

Edited, with an Introduction by

MARK SCHORER

University of California Press Berkeley • Los Angeles • London

University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California University of California Press, Ltd. London, England Copyright © 1977 by The Regents of the University of California ISBN 0-520-03190-3 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 75-46037 Printed in the United States of America Designed by Theo Jung 123456789

Introduction, 1 Paul Morel: A Facsimile of Six Fragments, 11 Sons and Lovers: A Facsimile of the Manuscript, T Supplement: Textual Variants, 609

T

H E H I S T O R Y of these manuscripts—Lawrence's final version of Sons and Lovers (indeed, the printers' copy) and six fragments from the early chapters of the penultimate version—this history is as entertaining, as full of drama, whim, and accident, as the manuscripts themselves are fascinating. In 1910, some months before his mother's death, Lawrence began writing his "collier novel," or Paul Morel, as he thought of it almost until its publication. On October 18 of that year he wrote Sydney S. Pauling at Heinemann's, the firm which was about to bring out his first novel, The White Peacock, and which had just received the manuscript of his second, The Trespasser (then still called The Saga of Siegmund), to say that he was working on "my third novel, Paul Morel, which is plotted out very interestingly (to me), and about one-eighth of which is written." He continued then to praise the new effort at the expense of the first two. "Paul Morel will be a novel— not a florid prose poem, or a decorated idyll running to seed in realism: but a restrained, somewhat impersonal novel. It interests me very much." This is a surprising description: Sons and Lovers may be a relatively "restrained" work, but if by "personal" one means "autobiographical," it is surely the most profoundly personal of all Lawrence's fictions, long and short. His mother, the prototype of Gertrude Morel, died in December of 1910, an event that shook Lawrence as nothing ever had and as nothing would again. In this state of mind, he scrapped the earliest efforts with Paul Morel, and it is probable that in the following developments of the novel, the writings and re-writings, the process of personalization took over and deepened as he went on. In early 1911 he wrote enigmatically to his friend, Helen Corke, that he was not "inactive altogether. My soul has strenuous work in intimacies to do. But then I scorn the intimacy, when it's formed; it is always a lot s h o r t . . . " And very soon after that he wrote her, " . . . I have begun Paul Morel again—glory, you should see it! The British public will stone me if ever it catches s i g h t . . . " In August of 1911 Lawrence made one of the most important editorial associations he was ever to enjoy—that with Edward Garnett. Garnett was an editor at the firm of Duckworth and a British representative of a number of American periodicals. He wrote Lawrence to ask if he had any stories that Garnett might submit on the American market, and this inquiry began a long and intimate correspondence. He was soon telling Garnett that Heinemann "wants me

[1]

INTRODUCTION

definitely to promise the next novel—the one that is half done—for March," and in November he was hoping to have finished it by the following June. At about this time he sent all that he had written of Paul Morel, perhaps two-thirds of it, to Jessie Chambers, the prototype of Miriam Lievers. Their friendship was already impossibly strained but he wanted her opinion, which he had always valued. She found the writing tired, forced, even sentimental, and entirely lacking in that animation that she had come to expect in his prose. Much of the real story was entirely missing. The affecting life and death of the older brother, Ernest (William in the novel), was not there. Her own family and Haggs' Farm (Willey Farm) were absent. Miriam herself had been placed in a bourgeois home as "a kind of foundling". She returned the manuscript and begged him to start all over and to try to tell the story as it had really happened. He asked her to send him notes of her recollections of the early years of their friendship and took her advice. So began what we may designate as PM3. That radical re-writing, no mere revision, was interrupted by a bout of illness, which fortunately for literature terminated his teaching position at Croyden, and by The Treaspasser. Lawrence had decided that he did not really want to publish that novel, it was too charge, as he repeatedly said, and he recalled it from Heinemann and sent it to Garnett for his opinion, citing Ford Madox Heuffer's view that it was a "rotten work of genius." But Garnett saw its possibilities, suggested certain revisions, and presently accepted it for publication at Duckworth. Then back to PM3. February 24,1912: "I think I shall finish it by May." March 6,1912: "I have done two thirds or more." April 3,1912: "I shall finish my collier novel this week—the first draft. It'll want a bit of revising. It's by far the best thing I've done." As he wrote away, swiftly, with really furious concentration, he sent batches of manuscript to Jessie Chambers. She was delighted with the early portions, but—"The break came in the treatment of Miriam. As the sheets of manuscript came rapidly to me I was bewildered and dismayed at that treatment. I began to perceive that I had set Lawrence a task far beyond his strength It was his old inability to face his problem squarely. His mother had to be supreme, and for the sake of that supremacy every disloyalty was permissible. In Sons and Lovers Lawrence handed his mother the laurels of victory I was hurt beyond all expression. I didn't know how to bear it." They met on a Monday in March, 1912. "I made some notes on minor points and took the manuscript with me," but she felt that any serious comment would be of no use, she could not bring herself to talk about it at all and, because of the presence of others, she did not need to. Then, of course, came the great interruption: his meeting in April with the incomparable Frieda Weekley-Richthofen and their almost immediate elopement to Germany. This extraordinary experience, ecstatic and anguished from the beginning, did not deter Lawrence for long. In mid-May, to Garnett: "I write in the morning," and on May 21, "I am . . . revising my immortal Heinemann novel, Paul Morel." And to Jessie Chambers:"! am going through Paul

[2]

INTRODUCTION

Morel. I'm sorry it turned out as it has. You'll have to go on forgiving me." On June 2 he announced to Garnett that he was sending the finished novel to Heinemann—"it's rather great." But in July he wrote him in a rage: Heinemann had declined the novel! Lawrence's view was that this was an act of pique because he had given The Trespasser to Duckworth, and apparently the Heinemann offices did send the rejected manuscript to Garnett at the Duckworth offices. Garnett read it and returned it to Lawrence with a list of notes for revision and Lawrence responded gratefully: "I am going to slave like a Turk at the novel." On August 4 he wrote that he was "going to write Paul Morel over again—it'll take me 3 months." Thus began the final version of Sons and Lovers as reproduced here.* On October 3, 1912, from Lago di Garda: "It's half done." On October 30: "I've done all but the last hundred or so pages of that great work. . . . I've written 400 pages of Paul Morel. . . . Will Sons and Lovers do for a title? I've made the book heaps better—a million times." On November 13,1912, he shipped off the completed manuscript to Garnett and next day wrote to tell him so, to defend the novel for its "form," and to write out a famous, often-quoted plot summary which ends, curiously, unlike either the manuscript or the published novel, with Paul "naked of everything," caught in "the drift toward death." And he asks: "Have I made those naked scenes in Paul Morel tame enough? You can cut them if you like. Yet they are so clean—and I have patiently and laboriously constructed that novel."**

* The six fragments have the following page relation to the full manuscript:

PM3

S&L

1. pp. 1-8 pp. 1-8 2. pp. 26-36 pp. 2 6 - 3 4 3. pp. 44-58 pp. 41a-60 4. pp. 68-69 p. 70 5. pp. 68-82 pp. 74-78 6. pp. 83-85 pp. 78-79 In Fragment 3, the pages numbered 46a, 47a, 48a, 49a, obviously precede those numbered simply 4 6 , 4 7 , 4 8 , 4 9 . It is difficult to understand why the two page numbers of Fragment 4 should be repeated at the beginning of Fragment 5, but so they stand. It should be said that Lawrence's pagination in the final manuscript is quite erratic: some numbers are skipped (at one point, nine of them), others are repeated. ** "those naked scenes": This phrase is curious. I can find only two scenes in the manuscript to which the label might apply. O n page 473, Lawrence struck out the word naked and, a few lines later, substituted violently for convulsively, neither having to do with nakedness. On page 474 he deleted a passage in which Paul held Clara's breasts "like big fruits in their cups" and sank down to kiss her bare knees. In the beach scene on page 491, Paul kisses "her neck" instead of "the two white glistening globes she cradled," and Lawrence deleted entirely the innocent sentence, "She was a rich, white body moving with heavy grace across the foreshore," and that might have gone on the grounds, not of nakedness, but of simple bad prose.

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INTRODUCTION

In his final manuscript, Lawrence, beyond the many rewritten passages, had made many relatively brief deletions without additions, but a postcard to Garnett dated December 1 makes it clear that Garnett had warned Lawrence that Garnett himself must now make additional cuts, and these were to be extensive. Lawrence's deletions were made with a clean horizontal line drawn through the passages that were to go, but Garnett's were made with large X-figures and a signal to delete in the margin. There are seventy-nine such X'd cuts, five of them restored with stets in the margin. Garnett's son, David, has examined a copy of this manuscript and is certain that, with the possible exception of two, these were made by his father. Those two, at the bottom of page 292 and the top of page 293, were in fact made by Lawrence and then later confirmed for the printers by Garnett's XX's. So, too, were the passages on pages 5, 14, 19, 32, 33, 35, and 43. Lawrence's straight line deletions (not his revisions) probably run to only about two thousand words. I have not counted. But Garnett's (again, I have not counted) must run to at least ten or even fifteen thousand words. This drastic trimming by Garnett was motivated, examination of the deleted passages makes clear, not at all on moralistic grounds, as has been suggested by a critic or two who base their judgment on Lawrence's letters, but probably in order to reduce the manuscript to a length that was then regarded as the maximum for a one-volume publication, and—as we shall presently see—to make it a better novel. In his postcard, Lawrence lamented the need of these deletions, but in later communications he was complacent enough, and finally, when he read the proofs, even grateful. As he should have been. The galley proofs began to arrive in mid-February of 1913 and had all been corrected and returned to Garnett by March 3. Lawrence had apparently been sent two sets of proofs, for another set he sent to Jessie Chambers with a letter that included the request that after she had read them, she send them on to his sister, Ada. Jessie Chambers later said that she did not read them; she merely glanced through them to see if he had made any significant changes; he had not, and she sent them on to Ada. As for Lawrence's letter (which told her that he and Frieda talked about her a good deal and hoped that she would come to visit them)—it "suffocated" her, and she returned it to him without a word. That was the end of their association. A letter of March 11 to Garnett suggests that there was a threat of still further deletions, these to be made by Duckworth himself. "I don't mind if Duckworth crosses out a hundred shady pages of Sons and Lovers. It's got to sell, I've got to live." This sounds drastic. Such further deletions would have to have been made on the galley proofs that Lawrence had already returned, or perhaps on the page proofs which he had not yet seen, and neither of which, of course, were kept by anyone. A collation of the manuscript with the first edition of the novel shows endless variants and, among them, a few deletions that should probably be attributed to Duckworth's cautious blue pencil.

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INTRODUCTION

On Ms. page 370, the text reads "as if he were pressed against her, and was full of he warmth;" on page 264 of the British first edition, it reads, "as if he were in contact wit her"—hardly an improvement! On Ms. page 386, Clara looks at Paul's hands and "she felt whs they would be like, caressing her," but in the published text, page 273, they merely "seemed t live for her." On Ms. page 462 Paul embraces Clara "in a long kiss," but on page 328 of th published text, he "held her fast." These changes are trivial and only the first weakens th original. However, there is at least one change of importance: the whole paragraph in the firs "naked scene" that Lawrence had tried to tone down (Ms. pp. 473-474) disappears entirely o the published page 339. We should observe one other important deletion, although we can only speculate as to wh made it. I suspect that it was Duckworth. In the scene on Ms. page 472 where Paul is upstairs i: Clara's bedroom just before going downstairs to find her naked in the kitchen, he sees a pair o her stockings on a chair, and he puts them on. Duckworth might well have found this gestur perverse, but is it in fact not a rather brilliant bit of characterization, given Paul's ambiguou state of mind about "sex" and "soul"? In early April Lawrence seems to have been going over page proofs. He wrote Davi< Garnett on April 5: "I still have not corrected all the proofs—I tell you I am mightily sick of it. But when a finished copy of Sons and Lovers reached him at Irschenhausen, Germany on Ma 19,1913, he was elated. He wrote Garnett: "I am fearfully proud of it. I reckon it is quite a grea book. I shall not write quite in that style any more. It's the end of my youthful period. Thanks hundred times." Very soon then Lawrence and Frieda, resuming their tireless peregrinations, returned t England. The manuscript of Sons and Lovers, which Lawrence had given to Frieda and whicl was now a thing of the past, was left behind in Munich with Frieda's sister, Else. Nearly ten years pass. Then, in 1922, when the Lawrences were about to leave Sicily fc Ceylon, he was summoned by an unknown voice out of the American southwest. Mabel Dodg Sterne, as she then still was, had just read Lawrence's Sea and Sardinia and had decided that h was the only writer alive who could capture in language the quality of the world she lived in, nc to say the quality of her own life in that world. She wrote and invited him to Taos; he hesitatec she lay in bed, night after night, compressing her will and thrusting it out to him over half th world as he moved on to Australia from Ceylon, "willing" him to come so that she might, as sh later wrote, "seduce his spirit." He came, arriving in San Francisco in early September, an then, with their railroad fare to New Mexico sent ahead by their hostess, in Taos. Mabel's "will" had triumphed, but her extra senses had not perceived Frieda. Fried Lawrence was no longer the lovely, sprightly young German creature who, ten years befor< had recklessly deserted her three children and her stuffy professor-husband in Nottingham fc

[5]

INTRODUCTION

an unknown young writer, but a rather hefty matron, quite formidably possessive of her own, i.e., Lorenzo, famous now, or infamous, even if not yet (nor ever in his lifetime) "successful," but an object of compelling magic for a lot of rather nutty ladies. Well, there was to be no nonsense with Madam Mabel! So from the outset this strange alliance was doomed. Mabel Dodge Luhan (it was, in fact, only in the next year that she married her large impassive Indian, Tony) reigned over an establishment a mile out of Taos village that we would today call a compound—a large central house, her own, and then a number of small houses on its periphery. She put the Lawrences in Tony Luhan's house and almost at once she and Lawrence began their sessions about "the Mabel novel" that he was to write. This miguided project, for which she was to provide the autobiographical details about a woman who chooses to abandon the artificialities of European and New York salon life for the realities of a freer, more primitive culture, came to a quick end, largely, by Mabel's own account, because of the intervention, oblique when not overt, of Frieda. But it would almost certainly have come to a quick end under any circumstances. Mabel's queenly domination wearied both the Lawrences. They endured life in the compound for less than three months before they moved up Mt. Lobo to a five-room cabin on the Del Monte Ranch, owned by a family named Hawks, agreeable, quiet people. There they stayed until mid-March of 1923 when they were off once more, to Mexico and to Europe. For a time Lawrence went back to Mexico from New York without Frieda, but at the end of the year he joined her in England. Now the manuscript of Sons and Lovers enters the narrative again. Frieda Lawrence, in "Not I, But the Wind . . .", tells the story in one way, inaccurately. "Just before Christmas he came and we had some parties and saw some friends, but we wanted to go back to America in the spring and live at the ranch that Mabel Luhan had given me. She had taken me to the little ranch near Taos and I said: 'This is the loveliest place I have ever seen.' And she told me: 'I give it you.' But Lawrence said: 'We can't accept such a present from anybody.' I had a letter from my sister that very morning telling me she had sent the manuscript of Sons and Lovers, so I told Lawrence 'I will give Mabel the MS. for the ranch.' So I did." None of the women who have written memoirs about Lawrence is noted for her accuracy in matters of detail, but Mabel Luhan's account in Lorenzo in Taos is probably closer to the facts than Frieda's. There is no evidence that she had given Frieda the ranch above Del Monte before they left for Mexico, but rather that in her eagerness to have them if possible permanently within her call, after they returned to Taos late in March of 1924. They arrived with "the Brett" (Frieda's questionably fond name for the Honorable Dorothy) in tow, a deaf painter armed with an ear trumpet that was to prove a constant irritant to Mabel, the only acolyte who chose to follow this prophet into that wilderness. But her's, entertaining as it may be, is another story and must not deflect us from ours. Mabel put up the Lawrences in another house on the compound and the Brett in a studio next to it. There they stayed for about six weeks, but toward the end of that time they began to talk about moving up

[6]

INTRODUCTION

to the Flying Heart, the ranch that Mrs. Luhan had given her son, John Evans. It consisted of a three-room, a two-room, and a one-room cabin plus a hay-house and a corral. She urged them to stay with her but they could not be persuaded. "Very well," she wrote. "I helped them." "I persuaded John to trade the ranch back to me for a buffalo-hide overcoat and a small sum of money! Then I gave it to Frieda. I wanted to give it to Lorenzo, but I knew he would rather I gave it to her, so I did so. They moved up.* "Lawrence had a new toy to play with. He loved getting the place all in order, building porches and an outdoor oven. Almost as soon as they arrived there [on May 5,1924], Frieda sent me a note to say she had written to her sister in Germany for the handwritten manuscript of Sons and Lovers because she wanted to give it to me for the ranch. Of course I was thrilled to have that coming to me, but something in the way Frieda put it to me had a sting in it: it was as though they didn't want to be under any obligation to me and sought to balance my gift with another. There was something cold and distrustful about Frieda's gesture—something that really spoiled the exchange. "I never altered my opinion about this, or ever cared for that manuscript, once I had it. Too bad that people can't do things more beautifully. I cared so little for that great bundle of finely written pages that Lorenzo had sweated out long ago that two years later I gave it to Brill in payment for helping a friend of mine. I suppose he still [1931] has it. I never asked him." Dr. Abraham Arden Brill was Mrs. Luhan's distinguished New York analyst, one of the earliest followers of Freud and his first American translator. A letter from her to Dr. Brill dated April 24, 1925, announces this gift. But then a mysterious "Philadelphia dealer" enters the picture. On May 25,1930, Dr. Brill, apparently in response to some question from her, wrote to remind her about the details of the transaction because she seemed "to be hazy about the Mss." "I have your note which you have written to the Philadelphia dealer telling him that the MSS belonged to me, and it was upon this note that he surrendered it to me. Now, as a matter of fact, at the time you offered it to me you also told me that about $2000 was offered by the Phila book dealer. I would have been very glad at the time to have let him have it for that sum, but when I spoke to him he thought that he might be able to sell it to someone who collects manuscripts, but that this someone had not yet accepted his offer. He promised to inform me as soon as he could get a customer for it, and asked me to give him 10% commission which I was willing to do, but so far I have heard nothing from him. Since Lawrence died I have been approached by two people who somehow knew of my having this manuscript. They claimed to represent the best dealers in New York, and the best offer was $600.1 told them I do not care to sell it, which is true." Thus the manuscript remained in his possession until his death in 1948, when it passed on to his son and heir, Dr. Edmund R. Brill. * Lawrence changed the name of the ranch to Lobo, then again to Kiowa, as it is still known today.

[7]

INTRODUCTION

In the early 1960's, Edmund Brill's attorney was approached by the representative of a university with a famous manuscript collection and offered an absurdly low sum for the Lawrence materials. Dr. Brill necessarily declined the offer, but it apparently suggested to him the probability of more reasonable offers from other quarters. With that in mind, he asked a friend, Mr. Roberts Jackson, then associated with the Bettman Archives, to act as his agent in the matter. Mr. Jackson approached a number of wealthy acquaintances in New York and California and the director of the Berg Collection of the New York Public Library, but there were no immediate offers. He was next going to approach a number of New England college libraries, and certainly Yale, which had expressed interest in the manuscripts to Mrs. Luhan in 1951 when she gave her papers to that institution, would have seized the opportunity to own it. But a happy accident intervened. The late Dr. Mary Alice Sarvis, then a lecturer in Public Health at the University of California and an old college friend of Mrs. Jackson, was visiting her in Greenwich Village, and Mr. Jackson told her about his charge. Dr. Sarvis immediately telephoned a friend in Berkeley who had social connections with people in the Department of English and knew of my interest in D. H. Lawrence. She tried to telephone me in turn but I, coincidentally enough, was in Mexico, following the trail laid down by Lawrence forty years earlier. She reached a colleague and friend of mine who, upon my return a few days later, gave me the word. I immediately telephoned Dr. Donald Coney, then the University Librarian, and within hours Mr. Jackson was negotiating with the acquisitions department of the Rare Books Collection of the General Library (this collection was absorbed by The Bancroft Library in 1970). At this point, other bids came in, but Berkeley managed to cover them. Negotiations were held up briefly until I was next in New York and could examine the manuscripts for the Berkeley library. I met Mr. Jackson in the bowels of a Chase Manhattan Bank and it required, of course, only a glance to know that I was looking at Lawrence's handwriting. On April 10 of 1963, the manuscripts were ours for $17,000-a paltry sum now for a treasure as priceless then as it is today. To the many scholars who have wished to work with these materials and have been denied access to them, I want to say that it has taken nearly thirteen years to cut through the barbed wire maze of permissions necessary to make the present publication possible. What is most fascinating about the manuscripts, of course, is the fact that one can almost always read Lawrence's deletions as easily as one can read the words that he wrote in their place, and all the many deletions by Edward Garnett are still entirely legible. On the evidence of this manuscript alone, one must conclude that Edward Garnett was a brilliant editor. He was cutting for reasons of length, to be sure, but in those cuttings he was also considering matters of tone, texture, thematic unity, reader response, even plausibility. Going through these deleted passages, one has no difficulty generally in inferring his motives. Out would go unnecessary bits of expository prose (pp. 26-27), merely repetitious scenes that did

[8]

INTRODUCTION

nothing to deepen characterization already established (pp. 52-53), awkward and tonally inept authorial intrusions (like the final sentence of the second deletion on p. 62). He would cut passages in which the characterization (especially of Mrs. Morel) was so unattractive that Lawrence risked the loss of his readers' sympathy for her (pp. 72-73). He would cut passages of shaky psychology as in the episode on page 77 where Lawrence imputes to the infant-in-arms his own adolescent revulsion from his father. Out would go material that was simply irrelevant to the novel's central concerns, like a long passage about William on pages 87-90, and simply rather pointless scenes as on page 220. Then there are matters of taste, as in the scene on pages 177-178, in which Paul and his mother are being only foolishly flirtatious, and rather repellent. And finally—for this catalogue—mere verbiage, the best example of which is Paul's endless letter to Miriam on pages 349-355: the compressed version as it appears in the published novel is powerful whereas its force was almost totally lost when it was buried in Paul's original, protracted meanderings. Every deletion that Garnett made seems to me to have been to the novel's advantage. Nothing important is lost, ineptitudes disappear, and the novel emerges as tighter and more smoothly paced than it would otherwise have been. A final interesting fact about these deleted passages, a fact that suggests that they were indeed extraneous, is that they could simply be lifted out, almost never involving Lawrence in the necessity of writing in little transitional bridges. As for Lawrence's manuscript revisions, they provide us with a most astonishing laboratory for stylistic studies. Anyone interested in the operations of the literary intelligence at a high level can only exclaim with delight as he examines these changes. It is more than merely exciting to observe how Lawrence activates prose, his own, that was at first rather inert, makes specific the more abstract, censures his own youthful impulse to write purple prose and to overwrite in general, changes passive authorial descriptions into dramatic character participations, sharpens throughout and deepens his character delineation. These are only some of the kinds of changes that his manuscript reveals. His alterations require and will certainly have much closer examination than this and infinitely more detailed analysis. I wish that I could be one of those who will make them, but—reluctantly, I confess, and yet happily—I leave that challenge to younger people. "I have a journey, sir, shortly to go . . . " M A R K SCHORER

Summer 1976 Berkeley, California

[9]

P ^ U M o A d

A F A C S I M I L E OF S I X F R A G M E N T S

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