D.H. Lawrence's Short Stories Thread

[Janine]

Ok, let's get it done by the end of January. I think there are about three more sections to go. How about one tomorrow night, one Sunday night, and one mid week? That should cover it.

Ok, good; then I will try to answer your last post of comments on my comments now.

[Janine]

Complaining, complaining.

Well, you complained I was slow keeping this going or posting too much and you keep us waiting and waiting and waiting... Just giving your back a little of your own medicine.

Yes, that's a good way to put it, pushing the situation to the priorities of life. Actually to an animal's existance, naturalism in the extreme.

Yeah, the basics become more clear to you when put into a totally natural environment. One feels quite transformed/altered.

I copied it off the web site. It looks like a typo. I don't have my hard text with me. Perhaps someone can look it up and see if it's the same in the print.

Oh, I didn't check it; I will later to night. No big deal though.

Yes, that is a good way to look at it.

Thanks, glad you agree...

Actually more like the way Lawrence thinks.

Probably true...he is the author. The writing usually does reflect his own attitudes. I somehow get the impression with this story though that Romero is more like Tony Luhan who married Mable. I think I may have read that somewhere.

Hehe, I love it when the feminists start howling.

I bet you do. I think Romero would have liked Dolly to do a little howling, too....

Do you do more than dance? I guess Dollie doesn't want to.

Who me, personally? oh I get it ...the song...haha...I guess Dollie doesn't want to though. She just wants to stop at the dance steps.

Oh I haven't read The V&G. Sounds like there are parallels.

No kidding? I would have though you would have read it. I have the film version as well. It is pretty good; sort of reminds one of LCL in some aspects. Only one thing bugs me about it. The gyspy man is married. I don't quite get the promiscuity there since I thought Lawrence a little more monogamous thinking, but you know Lawrence sure does surprise me sometimes.

I can't help but feel that Lawrence is unclear. Does he really dig into Dollie's mind as he does with other characters? I don't think so. This was already a fairly long story and I bet he was trying to cut corners. But I think you're interpretation of Dollie's actions is correct.

Maybe being as close as he was to the real person, Brett, he felt it an invasion to go too deeply into the character's mind. Also, remember, although this is long for a short story, still it is his short fiction. In a novel he goes more deeply into the psyche of a woman character's mind; well also with men characters as well. I don't think this story is underdeveloped; I don't think he cut corners; Lawrence was always re-writing and perfecting his work. I can't imagine a work this long and ambitious, being one that he skimped on.

Perhaps so.

I believe so.

Well, that could explain the initial sex. But there is more to the actions which I'll post tonight.

So will you post 'the more to the actions' with the next body of text?

I did notice something else in this section just now that I should have mentioned. Look at this paragraph:

Notice the word "annihilate." Lawrence uses that word a lot. There are two manners in which he uses it. One, as a climax to a battle of wills where one will destroys the other. Or two in a moment of sexual climax where the will just disappears for a moment and one is in a moment of mindlessness, the will being temporarily destroyed. Not sure how Lawrence is using it here. It seems to come around the sexual moment. But it also seems to come at a point where his will over comes her resistance.

In this case I see it as the first - "the battle of wills where one will destroy the other"...good way of putting that. But then again, if the second is only momentary perhaps that is part of it. I don't know that; Dolly seems totally braced against accepting the sexual furfillment of this experience. I still think it the first. She experiences a temporary loss of her own will, probably the first time in her life she has encountered or experienced this. That is why it is so earth-shattering to her; traumatic. Your last statement seems accurate to me 'But it also seems to come at a point where his will over comes her resistance".

[Virgil]

Next section:

When dawn came, he was fast asleep. She sat up suddenly.

"I want a fire," she said.

He opened his brown eyes wide, and smiled with a curious tender luxuriousness.

"I want you to make a fire," she said.

He glanced at the chinks of light. His brown face hardened to the day.

"All right," he said. "I'll make it."

She did her face while he dressed. She could not bear to look at him. He was so suffused with pride and luxury. She hid her face almost in despair. But feeling the cold blast of air as he opened the door, she wriggled down into the warm place where he had been. How soon the warmth ebbed, when he had gone!

He made a fire and went out, returning after a while with water.

"You stay in bed till the sun comes," he said. "It very cold."

"Hand me my cloak."

She wrapped the cloak fast round her, and sat up among the blankets. The warmth was already spreading from the fire.

"I suppose we will start back as soon as we've had breakfast?"

He was crouching at his camp-stove making scrambled eggs. He looked up suddenly, transfixed, and his brown eyes, so soft and luxuriously widened, looked straight at her.

"You want to?" he said.

"We'd better get back as soon as possible," she said, turning aside from his eyes.

"You want to get away from me?" he asked, repeating the question of the night in a sort of dread.

"I want to get away from here," she said decisively. And it was true. She wanted supremely to get away, back to the world of people.

He rose slowly to his feet, holding the aluminium frying-pan.

"Don't you like last night?" he asked.

"Not really," she said. "Why? Do you?"

He put down the frying-pan and stood staring at the wall. She could see she had given him a cruel blow. But she did not relent. She was getting her own back. She wanted to regain possession of all herself, and in some mysterious way she felt that he possessed some part of her still.

He looked round at her slowly, his face greyish and heavy.

"You Americans," he said, "you always want to do a man down."

"I am not American," she said. "I am British. And I don't want to do any man down. I only want to go back now."

"And what will you say about me, down there?"

"That you were very kind to me, and very good."

He crouched down again, and went on turning the eggs. He gave her her plate, and her coffee, and sat down to his own food.

But again he seemed not to be able to swallow. He looked up at her.

"You don't like last night?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, though with some difficulty. "I don't care for that kind of thing."

A blank sort of wonder spread over his face at these words, followed immediately by a black look of anger, and then a stony, sinister despair.

"You don't?" he said, looking her in the eyes.

"Not really," she replied, looking back with steady hostility into his eyes.

Then a dark flame seemed to come from his face.

"I make you," he said, as if to himself.

He rose and reached her clothes, that hung on a peg: the fine linen underwear, the orange breeches, the fleecy jumper, the blue-and-bluff kerchief; then he took up her riding-boots and her bead moccasins. Crushing everything in his arms, he opened the door. Sitting up, she saw him stride down to the dark-green pool in the frozen shadow of that deep cup of a valley. He tossed the clothing and the boots out on the pool. Ice had formed. And on the pure, dark green mirror, in the slaty shadow, the Princess saw her things lying, the white linen, the orange breeches, the black boots, the blue moccasins, a tangled heap of colour. Romero picked up rocks and heaved them out at the ice, till the surface broke and the fluttering clothing disappeared in the rattling water, while the valley echoed and shouted again with the sound.

She sat in despair among the blankets, hugging tight her pale-blue cloak. Romero strode straight back to the cabin.

"Now you stay here with me," he said.

She was furious. Her blue eyes met his. They were like two demons watching one another. In his face, beyond a sort of unrelieved gloom, was a demonish desire for death.

He saw her looking round the cabin, scheming. He saw her eyes on his rifle. He took the gun and went out with it. Returning, he pulled out her saddle, carried it to the tarn, and threw it in. Then he fetched his own saddle, and did the same.

"Now will you go away?" he said, looking at her with a smile.

She debated within herself whether to coax him and wheedle him. But she knew he was already beyond it. She sat among her blankets in a frozen sort of despair, hard as hard ice with anger.

I guess a couple of points. Obviously his male ego is extremely proud in the morning: "He opened his brown eyes wide, and smiled with a curious tender luxuriousness." But she is grieved by the whole experience: "She could not bear to look at him. He was so suffused with pride and luxury. She hid her face almost in despair." And it's this split between them that drives the dialogue, he thinking his maleness has pleased the female, she feeling violated. Her rejection of him is rejection of his maleness, and this is what makes him go off.

"I suppose we will start back as soon as we've had breakfast?"

He was crouching at his camp-stove making scrambled eggs. He looked up suddenly, transfixed, and his brown eyes, so soft and luxuriously widened, looked straight at her.

"You want to?" he said.

"We'd better get back as soon as possible," she said, turning aside from his eyes.

"You want to get away from me?" he asked, repeating the question of the night in a sort of dread.

"I want to get away from here," she said decisively. And it was true. She wanted supremely to get away, back to the world of people.

He rose slowly to his feet, holding the aluminium frying-pan.

"Don't you like last night?" he asked.

"Not really," she said. "Why? Do you?"

He put down the frying-pan and stood staring at the wall. She could see she had given him a cruel blow. But she did not relent. She was getting her own back. She wanted to regain possession of all herself, and in some mysterious way she felt that he possessed some part of her still.

His will had anihlated hers and she is trying to regain her will back and use it to anhilate his. Notice that he feels an attack to his masculinity:

You Americans," he said, "you always want to do a man down."

To Romero, the sex was a transformative experience, and perhaps for her too but in a different, neagtive way:

"You don't like last night?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, though with some difficulty. "I don't care for that kind of thing."

A blank sort of wonder spread over his face at these words, followed immediately by a black look of anger, and then a stony, sinister despair.

"You don't?" he said, looking her in the eyes.

"Not really," she replied, looking back with steady hostility into his eyes.

Then a dark flame seemed to come from his face.

And then Romero says something that I think is critical: ""I make you," he said, as if to himself." I make you like it is what he is saying. He will impose his will on her. This becomes a battle of wills, his will awakened by the natural elements, the cold and the remoteness and the sex. And so he tosses her clothes out and she is left naked, down to a bare animal.

[Janine]

Next section:

I guess a couple of points. Obviously his male ego is extremely proud in the morning: "He opened his brown eyes wide, and smiled with a curious tender luxuriousness." But she is grieved by the whole experience: "She could not bear to look at him. He was so suffused with pride and luxury. She hid her face almost in despair." And it's this split between them that drives the dialogue, he thinking his maleness has pleased the female, she feeling violated. Her rejection of him is rejection of his maleness, and this is what makes him go off.

I think most men would feel that way naturally. He is proud of his maleness and she bashes his ego to the ground. She is totally cold to him. I don't know how she was in the night, but apparently he did not read her as she is now - braced dead against him. The sunlight seems to have brought on this split and distance between them. In the darkness all can see mysterious and unread, then day dawned and reality hits her right between the eyes. She realises she lost her will temporarily and she wants it back. She fights for it the only way she knows by rejecting his maleness entirely. You can see why he flips out and get entirely angry and willful with her.

His will had anihlated hers and she is trying to regain her will back and use it to anhilate his. Notice that he feels an attack to his masculinity:

Absolutely - it must have been how he felt at that moment - anihilated. Lots of anihilting going around here. It would definitely be a huge attack to his masculinity and his male ego.

To Romero, the sex was a transformative experience, and perhaps for her too but in a different, neagtive way:

Most likely - yes it was to him. How so in a negative way for her? Not sure I quite get your idea here.

And then Romero says something that I think is critical: ""I make you," he said, as if to himself." I make you like it is what he is saying. He will impose his will on her. This becomes a battle of wills, his will awakened by the natural elements, the cold and the remoteness and the sex. And so he tosses her clothes out and she is left naked, down to a bare animal.

Again, I think this whole story ends up being a battleground of the two wills....so I agree with you. His only way to lash out at her and maintain control is to toss her clothes into the river. Interesting thought - that "she is left naked, down to a bare animal".....I believe 'naked and vulnerable' were Lawrence's words exactly, when conversing with a friend and decribing Michelanglo's 'David' in all his male pride and naturalness. Romero is this and wants to force Dolly to meet him on his terms; of course we know this will not happen in this story.

[Dark Muse]

"I want a fire," she said.

He opened his brown eyes wide, and smiled with a curious tender luxuriousness.

"I want you to make a fire," she said.

He glanced at the chinks of light. His brown face hardened to the day.

"All right," he said. "I'll make it."

This made me think of the fire, and the role of fire in the story Witch la mode (I think that is what it was called or close anyway) Fire is linked to sex for some obvious reasons, though in the stories we have read thus far where it seems to come into play the "passions" as it were in connection to fire do not seem to be shed in a very positive light. Considering the nature of fire, it does seem to be linked to a very primal and lust based sexuality.

It also seems to be used as a barrier as well as a symbol. In Witch la mode it was what eventually ended the potential affair and came between the two lovers driving them finally apart from each other, and here, the Princess now seeks to replace the warmth of Romero with the fire instead, as she no longer has need or "want" of him.

[Janine]

This made me think of the fire, and the role of fire in the story Witch la mode (I think that is what it was called or close anyway) Fire is linked to sex for some obvious reasons, though in the stories we have read thus far where it seems to come into play the "passions" as it were in connection to fire do not seem to be shed in a very positive light. Considering the nature of fire, it does seem to be linked to a very primal and lust based sexuality.

It also seems to be used as a barrier as well as a symbol. In Witch la mode it was what eventually ended the potential affair and came between the two lovers driving them finally apart from each other, and here, the Princess now seeks to replace the warmth of Romero with the fire instead, as she no longer has need or "want" of him.

'Hey, those are good observations and points you made, Dark Muse. This story also recalls me to the other story 'Witch a la Mode' probably because the man is lead on and then ultimately rejected. And you are right, fire plays prominently in both stories. I keep recalling another story we did way back -'Horse-Dealer's Daughter'. I believe the young man made a fire in the story and indeed the two people enter into a transfiguration as he brings her back to life getting her warm. In that story the transfiguration is accomplished; whereas in these other two stories the result is just the opposite. Interesting to compare the stories.

[Virgil]

Good associations from both you ladies. I hadn't considered any of those thoughts.

What happened to Quark?

[Janine]

Good associations from both you ladies. I hadn't considered any of those thoughts.

Thanks Virgil, are you trying to get on my good side. DM thought of the fire association. I think that set me thinking further. Fire is also light and warmth to Lawrence; so the mere mention of it is interesting. Now that I think of it Lawrence often refers to fires; campfires such as in "The Virgin and the Gypsy" and other stories. I think the fire in this story is particularly significant. Interesting that Romero points out the fact they use a certain type of branch or twig since it burns long without making a lot of smoke. I wonder what Lawrence's intentions were there.

What happened to Quark?

Yeah, where did he run off to...again? I miss seeing his comments. I also miss our Chekhov Short Story thread. That was a good discussion group.

[Virgil]

Next section.

He did the chores, and disappeared with the gun. She got up in her blue pyjamas, huddled in her cloak, and stood in the doorway. The dark-green pool was motionless again, the stony slopes were pallid and frozen. Shadow still lay, like an after-death, deep in this valley. Always in the distance she saw the horses feeding. If she could catch one! The brilliant yellow sun was half-way down the mountain. It was nine o'clock.

All day she was alone, and she was frightened. What she was frightened of she didn't know. Perhaps the crackling in the dark spruce wood. Perhaps just the savage, heartless wildness of the mountains. But all day she sat in the sun in the doorway of the cabin, watching, watching for hope. And all the time her bowels were cramped with fear.

She saw a dark spot that probably was a bear, roving across the pale grassy slope in the far distance, in the sun.

When, in the afternoon, she saw Romero approaching, with silent suddenness, carrying his gun and a dead deer, the cramp in her bowels relaxed, then became colder. She dreaded him with a cold dread.

"There is deer-meat," he said, throwing the dead doe at her feet.

"You don't want to go away from here," he said. "This is a nice place."

She shrank into the cabin.

"Come into the sun," he said, following her. She looked up at him with hostile, frightened eyes.

"Come into the sun," he repeated, taking her gently by the arm, in a powerful grasp.

She knew it was useless to rebel. Quietly he led her out, and seated himself in the doorway, holding her still by the arm.

"In the sun it is warm," he said. "Look, this is a nice place. You are such a pretty white woman, why do you want to act mean to me? Isn't this a nice place? Come! Come here! It is sure warm here."

He drew her to him, and in spite of her stony resistance, he took her cloak from her, holding her in her thin blue pyjamas.

"You sure are a pretty little white woman, small and pretty," he said. "You sure won't act mean to me--you don't want to, I know you don't."

She, stony and powerless, had to submit to him. The sun shone on her white, delicate skin.

"I sure don't mind hell fire," he said. "After this."

A queer, luxurious good humour seemed to possess him again. But though outwardly she was powerless, inwardly she resisted him, absolutely and stonily.

When later he was leaving her again, she said to him suddenly:

"You think you can conquer me this way. But you can't. You can never conquer me."

He stood arrested, looking back at her, with many emotions conflicting in his face--wonder, surprise, a touch of horror, and an unconscious pain that crumpled his face till it was like a mask. Then he went out without saying a word, hung the dead deer on a bough, and started to flay it. While he was at this butcher's work, the sun sank and cold night came on again.

"You see," he said to her as he crouched, cooking the supper, "I ain't going to let you go. I reckon you called to me in the night, and I've some right. If you want to fix it up right now with me, and say you want to be with me, we'll fix it up now and go down to the ranch to-morrow and get married or whatever you want. But you've got to say you want to be with me. Else I shall stay right here, till something happens."

She waited a while before she answered:

"I don't want to be with anybody against my will. I don't dislike you; at least, I didn't, till you tried to put your will over mine. I won't have anybody's will put over me. You can't succeed. Nobody could. You can never get me under your will. And you won't have long to try, because soon they will send someone to look for me."

He pondered this last, and she regretted having said it. Then, sombre, he bent to the cooking again.

He could not conquer her, however much he violated her. Because her spirit was hard and flawless as a diamond. But he could shatter her. This she knew. Much more, and she would be shattered.

In a sombre, violent excess he tried to expend his desire for her. And she was racked with an agony, and felt each time she would die. Because, in some peculiar way, he had got hold of her, some unrealised part of her which she never wished to realise. Racked with a burning, tearing anguish, she felt that the thread of her being would break, and she would die. The burning heat that racked her inwardly.

If only, only she could be alone again, cool and intact! If only she could recover herself again, cool and intact! Would she ever, ever, ever be able to bear herself again?

Even now she did not hate him. It was beyond that. Like some racking, hot doom. Personally he hardly existed.

Wow, I didn't realize how powerful this section was until now. Two things to highlight I think.

First, his hunting of the deer shows his masculine and natural character. He brings back the deer and flays it. I wonder if the deer is meant to represent Dollie. But that may be a stretch, though the deer is a doe. But certainly he's master of the natural elements and she shows no dexterity at all and in fact is fearful. Interesting how he gets a certain power from the sun.

"There is deer-meat," he said, throwing the dead doe at her feet.

"You don't want to go away from here," he said. "This is a nice place."

She shrank into the cabin.

"Come into the sun," he said, following her. She looked up at him with hostile, frightened eyes.

"Come into the sun," he repeated, taking her gently by the arm, in a powerful grasp.

She knew it was useless to rebel. Quietly he led her out, and seated himself in the doorway, holding her still by the arm.

"In the sun it is warm," he said. "Look, this is a nice place. You are such a pretty white woman, why do you want to act mean to me? Isn't this a nice place? Come! Come here! It is sure warm here."

Second, the battle of wills comes into full consciousness here. It is no longer subconscious.

He drew her to him, and in spite of her stony resistance, he took her cloak from her, holding her in her thin blue pyjamas.

"You sure are a pretty little white woman, small and pretty," he said. "You sure won't act mean to me--you don't want to, I know you don't."

She, stony and powerless, had to submit to him. The sun shone on her white, delicate skin.

"I sure don't mind hell fire," he said. "After this."

A queer, luxurious good humour seemed to possess him again. But though outwardly she was powerless, inwardly she resisted him, absolutely and stonily.

When later he was leaving her again, she said to him suddenly:

"You think you can conquer me this way. But you can't. You can never conquer me."

And she is correct, her will is "stony," hard. It's a strange paradox Lawrence has created, she being "stony and powerless," which is an unusual combination, but I do think the paradox is earned here. It could have come across as fake, but Lawrence is convincing, at least for me. And Romero's response is to attle her will; his masculinity is at stake.

He stood arrested, looking back at her, with many emotions conflicting in his face--wonder, surprise, a touch of horror, and an unconscious pain that crumpled his face till it was like a mask. Then he went out without saying a word, hung the dead deer on a bough, and started to flay it. While he was at this butcher's work, the sun sank and cold night came on again.

"You see," he said to her as he crouched, cooking the supper, "I ain't going to let you go. I reckon you called to me in the night, and I've some right. If you want to fix it up right now with me, and say you want to be with me, we'll fix it up now and go down to the ranch to-morrow and get married or whatever you want. But you've got to say you want to be with me. Else I shall stay right here, till something happens."

He's actually trying to find a solution that will satisfy both, marriage, a social institution but a religious one as well, though I think he considers they are married in a natural sort of way at this point. She doesn't see it that way. Marriage to her is his will overpowering hers:

"I don't want to be with anybody against my will. I don't dislike you; at least, I didn't, till you tried to put your will over mine. I won't have anybody's will put over me. You can't succeed. Nobody could. You can never get me under your will. And you won't have long to try, because soon they will send someone to look for me."

And he realizes that he cannot over come her will.

He could not conquer her, however much he violated her. Because her spirit was hard and flawless as a diamond. But he could shatter her. This she knew. Much more, and she would be shattered.

"Hard," a "diamond," Lawrence uses those metaphors for people's wills frequently. In The Plumed Serpent, Kate is hard but she utimately "melts." Dollie does no such thing. She is incapable of transfiguration. She is hard to the end. And that is the tragedy for Lawrence in this story. So Romero in order to preserve his manhood must take the events to where one of them will be smashed.

[Dark Muse]

I wonder just how powerless she really is though. Physically she might be powerless against him, but then she does not seem to be overly concerned with the physical. She is being kept prisoner, and yet in the end Romero is not gaining any true satisfaction from the arrangement either.

There is some power that the Princess can hold over him. For him it is not enough just to physically possess as he shows, he wants to "win" her over. He wants to make her admit that she likes being with him, that she wants to be with him. He is disturbed and wounded when she will not give him this. In a way she is keeping him prisoner there just as much as he keeps her.

While he physical holds here there, he refuses to relent and through her willful defiance of him he is bounded to stay instead of acknowledging that he cannot truly win over her. When he offers his compromise, she could easily have agreed to it, and then gotten away from him as soon as they returned to civilization, but she denies him because she refuses to give him even a false victory in return for her freedom.

She has the power of her inner demon. While Romero is physically stronger then she is. Her demon is stronger then his is. She holds his masculinity in her hands as much as he holds her life in his.

[Virgil]

Yes, very good D-M. Her will is certainly stronger, and perhaps Lawrence equates deomn with will. That is interesting and maybe a connection I never made. If you remember I asked what I thought he meant by demon.

[Dark Muse]

At first I was thinking demon was akin to soul, or something of that nature, but reading particuarly this section, it seems that demon could indeed be tied into Will, since both the idea of the demon and the idea of the Will play strong parts in this story.

[Janine]

Dark Muse, that is one of the best posts you ever wrote. I entirely agree with you. "In a way she is keeping him prisoner there just as much as he keeps her."...that's excellent. I do believe you are right there and also that demon is identified with the 'will'. I think that L used that word to describe his own 'will'. Now, more than this specific story, the idea makes perfect sense to me. This war of the wills is a recurrent theme in L's body of work. It begins with his own parents, both with strong wills set against each other; thus "Sons and Lovers". Throughout every book I have read, I think I can see this demon and this strong sense of 'will' between one or two of the characters...interesting.

Virgil, your post above was good, too. I liked some of the fine points you brought out directly related to the text. I will try and answer that one more specifically tomorrow. Going now to watch a film and relax a bit.

[Janine]

Next section.

Good, thanks for posting it.

Wow, I didn't realize how powerful this section was until now. Two things to highlight I think.

It is really powerful writing, isn't it? I thought it all throughout the accend to the summit.

First, his hunting of the deer shows his masculine and natural character. He brings back the deer and flays it. I wonder if the deer is meant to represent Dollie. But that may be a stretch, though the deer is a doe. But certainly he's master of the natural elements and she shows no dexterity at all and in fact is fearful. Interesting how he gets a certain power from the sun.

Yes, I totally agree with all you pointed out here...good observation. Perhaps since it is a doe it emphasis' his mastery over the female but don't think the flaying it quite so connected although I maybe wrong. Someone told me recently that 'knives' have sexual references; so if you think of it in that way; I guess this would fit the story.

Second, the battle of wills comes into full consciousness here. It is no longer subconscious.

Definitely the battle of wills...here it does indeed come into the consciousness.

And she is correct, her will is "stony," hard. It's a strange paradox Lawrence has created, she being "stony and powerless," which is an unusual combination, but I do think the paradox is earned here. It could have come across as fake, but Lawrence is convincing, at least for me. And Romero's response is to attle her will; his masculinity is at stake.

Yes, that is curious and yet it is a paradox and fits. I like the impression it conveys to the reader -"stony and powerless". I find it very convincing, but then I usually do believe Lawrence to be true in his writing, but I am prejudiced by now. So, Virgil, is his response to 'attle' her will? what does the word attle mean? Most certainly is masculinity is at stake and it is pretty much deflated abruptly with the rejection he feels in the morning.

He's actually trying to find a solution that will satisfy both, marriage, a social institution but a religious one as well, though I think he considers they are married in a natural sort of way at this point. She doesn't see it that way. Marriage to her is his will overpowering hers:

And he realizes that he cannot over come her will.

Very well stated; I fully agree.

"Hard," a "diamond," Lawrence uses those metaphors for people's wills frequently. In The Plumed Serpent, Kate is hard but she utimately "melts." Dollie does no such thing. She is incapable of transfiguration. She is hard to the end. And that is the tragedy for Lawrence in this story. So Romero in order to preserve his manhood must take the events to where one of them will be smashed.

Exactly, well stated!

Also, diamonds are formed out of carbon, right? carbon is coal, am I correct? Interesting since Lawrence came from the salt of the earth - his father being in the pits and a coal miner. It is like the carbon in the earth gives way to the hard diamond. I have to think further on this idea and just how that specifically relates to the story.

[Virgil]

"attle" is a special word, a typo for battle.