He was silent for a time.
'I don't feel as if we were, ALTOGETHER,' he replied. 'Some people are
pure flowers of dark corruption--lilies. But there ought to be some
roses, warm and flamy. You know Herakleitos says "a dry soul is best."
I know so well what that means. Do you?' 'I'm not sure,' Ursula replied. 'But what if people ARE all flowers of
dissolution--when they're flowers at all--what difference does it
make?' 'No difference--and all the difference. Dissolution rolls on, just as
production does,' he said. 'It is a progressive process--and it ends in
universal nothing--the end of the world, if you like. But why isn't the
end of the world as good as the beginning?' 'I suppose it isn't,' said Ursula, rather angry.
'Oh yes, ultimately,' he said. 'It means a new cycle of creation
after--but not for us. If it is the end, then we are of the end--fleurs
du mal if you like. If we are fleurs du mal, we are not roses of
happiness, and there you are.' 'But I think I am,' said Ursula. 'I think I am a rose of happiness.' 'Ready-made?' he asked ironically.
'No--real,' she said, hurt.
'If we are the end, we are not the beginning,' he said.
'Yes we are,' she said. 'The beginning comes out of the end.' 'After it, not out of it. After us, not out of us.' 'You are a devil, you know, really,' she said. 'You want to destroy our
hope. You WANT US to be deathly.' 'No,' he said, 'I only want us to KNOW what we are.' 'Ha!' she cried in anger. 'You only want us to know death.' 'You're quite right,' said the soft voice of Gerald, out of the dusk
behind.
Birkin rose. Gerald and Gudrun came up. They all began to smoke, in the
moments of silence. One after another, Birkin lighted their cigarettes.
The match flickered in the twilight, and they were all smoking
peacefully by the water-side. The lake was dim, the light dying from
off it, in the midst of the dark land. The air all round was
intangible, neither here nor there, and there was an unreal noise of
banjoes, or suchlike music.
As the golden swim of light overhead died out, the moon gained
brightness, and seemed to begin to smile forth her ascendancy. The dark
woods on the opposite shore melted into universal shadow. And amid this
universal under-shadow, there was a scattered intrusion of lights. Far
down the lake were fantastic pale strings of colour, like beads of wan
fire, green and red and yellow. The music came out in a little puff, as
the launch, all illuminated, veered into the great shadow, stirring her
outlines of half-living lights, puffing out her music in little drifts.