The talk was very often political or sociological, and interesting,
curiously anarchistic. There was an accumulation of powerful force in
the room, powerful and destructive. Everything seemed to be thrown into
the melting pot, and it seemed to Ursula they were all witches, helping
the pot to bubble. There was an elation and a satisfaction in it all,
but it was cruelly exhausting for the new-comers, this ruthless mental
pressure, this powerful, consuming, destructive mentality that emanated
from Joshua and Hermione and Birkin and dominated the rest.
But a sickness, a fearful nausea gathered possession of Hermione. There
was a lull in the talk, as it was arrested by her unconscious but
all-powerful will.
'Salsie, won't you play something?' said Hermione, breaking off
completely. 'Won't somebody dance? Gudrun, you will dance, won't you? I
wish you would. Anche tu, Palestra, ballerai?--si, per piacere. You
too, Ursula.' Hermione rose and slowly pulled the gold-embroidered band that hung by
the mantel, clinging to it for a moment, then releasing it suddenly.
Like a priestess she looked, unconscious, sunk in a heavy half-trance.
A servant came, and soon reappeared with armfuls of silk robes and
shawls and scarves, mostly oriental, things that Hermione, with her
love for beautiful extravagant dress, had collected gradually.
'The three women will dance together,' she said.
'What shall it be?' asked Alexander, rising briskly.
'Vergini Delle Rocchette,' said the Contessa at once.
'They are so languid,' said Ursula.
'The three witches from Macbeth,' suggested Fraulein usefully. It was
finally decided to do Naomi and Ruth and Orpah. Ursula was Naomi,
Gudrun was Ruth, the Contessa was Orpah. The idea was to make a little
ballet, in the style of the Russian Ballet of Pavlova and Nijinsky.
The Contessa was ready first, Alexander went to the piano, a space was
cleared. Orpah, in beautiful oriental clothes, began slowly to dance
the death of her husband. Then Ruth came, and they wept together, and
lamented, then Naomi came to comfort them. It was all done in dumb
show, the women danced their emotion in gesture and motion. The little
drama went on for a quarter of an hour.
Ursula was beautiful as Naomi. All her men were dead, it remained to
her only to stand alone in indomitable assertion, demanding nothing.
Ruth, woman-loving, loved her. Orpah, a vivid, sensational, subtle
widow, would go back to the former life, a repetition. The interplay
between the women was real and rather frightening. It was strange to
see how Gudrun clung with heavy, desperate passion to Ursula, yet
smiled with subtle malevolence against her, how Ursula accepted
silently, unable to provide any more either for herself or for the
other, but dangerous and indomitable, refuting her grief.