The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第50章

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was　succeeding　to　the　farm。

Between　the　elder　brother　and　the　younger　existed　an　almost
passionate　love。　Tom　watched　over　Fred　with　a　woman's　poignant
attention　and　selfless　care。　Fred　looked　up　to　Tom　as　to
something　miraculous；　that　which　he　himself　would　aspire　to　be；
were　he　great　also。

So　that　after　Anna's　departure；　the　Marsh　began　to　take　on　a
new　tone。　The　boys　were　gentlemen；　Tom　had　a　rare　nature　and　had
risen　high。　Fred　was　sensitive　and　fond　of　reading；　he　pondered
Ruskin　and　then　the　Agnostic　writings。　Like　all　the　Brangwens；
he　was　very　much　a　thing　to　himself；　though　fond　of　people；　and
indulgent　to　them；　having　an　exaggerated　respect　for　them。

There　was　a　rather　uneasy　friendship　between　him　and　one　of
the　young　Hardys　at　the　Hall。　The　two　households　were　different；
yet　the　young　men　met　on　shy　terms　of　equality。

It　was　young　Tom　Brangwen；　with　his　dark　lashes　and　beautiful
colouring；　his　soft；　inscrutable　nature；　his　strange　repose　and
his　informed　air；　added　to　his　position　in　London；　who　seemed　to
emphasize　the　superior　foreign　element　in　the　Marsh。　When　he
appeared；　perfectly　dressed；　as　if　soft　and　affable；　and　yet
quite　removed　from　everybody；　he　created　an　uneasiness　in
people；　he　was　reserved　in　the　minds　of　the　Cossethay　and
Ilkeston　acquaintances　to　a　different；　remote　world。

He　and　his　mother　had　a　kind　of　affinity。　The　affection
between　them　was　of　a　mute；　distant　character；　but　radical。　His
father　was　always　uneasy　and　slightly　deferential　to　his　eldest
son。　Tom　also　formed　the　link　that　kept　the　Marsh　in　real
connection　with　the　Skrebenskys；　noportant　people　in
their　own　district。

So　a　change　in　tone　came　over　the　Marsh。　Tom　Brangwen　the
father；　as　he　grew　older；　seemed　to　mature　into　a
gentlemanfarmer。　His　figure　lent　itself：　burly　and　handsome。
His　face　remained　fresh　and　his　blue　eyes　as　full　of　light；　his
thick　hair　and　beard　had　turned　gradually　to　a　silky　whiteness。
It　was　his　custom　to　laugh　a　great　deal；　in　his　acquiescent；
wilful　manner。　Things　had　puzzled　him　very　much；　so　he　had　taken
the　line　of　easy；　goodhumoured　acceptance。　He　was　not
responsible　for　the　frame　of　things。　Yet　he　was　afraid　of　the
unknown　in　life。

He　was　fairly　welloff。　His　wife　was　there　with　him；　a
different　being　from　himself；　yet　somewhere　vitally　connected
with　him：who　was　he　to　understand　where　and　how？　His　two
sons　were　gentlemen。　They　were　men　distinct　from　himself；　they
had　separate　beings　of　their　own；　yet　they　were　connected　with
himself。　It　was　all　adventurous　and　puzzling。　Yet　one　remained
vital　within　one's　own　existence；　whatever　the　offshoots。

So；　handsome　and　puzzled；　he　laughed　and　stuck　to　himself　as
the　only　thing　he　could　stick　to。　His　youngness　and　the　wonder
remained　almost　the　same　in　him。　He　became　indolent；　he
developed　a　luxuriant　ease。　Fred　did　most　of　the　farmwork；　the
father　saw　to　the　more　important　transactions。　He　drove　a　good
mare；　and　sometimes　he　rode　his　cob。　He　drank　in　the　hotels　and
the　inns　with　betterclass　farmers　and　proprietors；　he　had
en。　But　one　class　suited　him　no
better　than　another。

His　wife；　as　ever；　had　no　acquaintances。　Her　hair　was
threaded　now　with　grey；　her　face　grew　older　in　form　without
changing　in　expression。　She　seemed　the　same　as　when　she　had　e
to　the　Marsh　twentyfive　years　ago；　save　that　her　health　was
more　fragile。　She　seemed　always　to　haunt　the　Marsh　rather　than
to　live　there。　She　was　never　part　of　the　life。　Something　she
represented　was　alien　there；　she　remained　a　stranger　within　the
gates；　in　some　ways　fixed　and　impervious；　in　some　ways　curiously
refining。　She　caused　the　separateness　and　individuality　of　all
the　Marsh　inmates；　the　friability　of　the　household。

When　young　Tom　Brangwen　was　twentythree　years　old　there　was
some　breach　between　him　and　his　chief　which　was　never　explained；
and　he　went　away　to　Italy；　then　to　America。　He　came　home　for　a
while；　then　went　to　Germany；　always　the　same　goodlooking；
carefullydressed；　attractive　young　man；　in　perfect　health；　yet
somehow　outside　of　everything。　In　his　dark　eyes　was　a　deep
misery　which　he　wore　with　the　same　ease　and　pleasantness　as　he
wore　his　closesitting　clothes。

To　Ursula　he　was　a　romantic；　alluring　figure。　He　had　a　grace
of　bringing　beautiful　presents：　a　box　of　expensive　sweets；　such
as　Cossethay　had　never　seen；　or　he　gave　her　a　hairbrush　and　a
long　slim　mirror　of　motherofpearl；　all　pale　and　glimmering　and
exquisite；　or　he　sent　her　a　little　necklace　of　rough　stones；
amethyst　and　opal　and　brilliants　and　gar。　He　spoke　other
languages　easily　and　fluently；　his　nature　was　curiously　gracious
and　insinuating。　With　all　that；　he　was　undefinably　an　outsider。
He　belonged　to　nowhere；　to　no　society。

Anna　Brangwen　had　left　her　intimacy　with　her　father
undeveloped　since　the　time　of　her　marriage。　At　her　marriage　it
had　been　abandoned。　He　and　she　had　drawn　a　reserve　between　them。
Anna　went　more　to　her　mother。

Then　suddenly　the　father　died。

It　happened　one　springtime　when　Ursula　was　about　eight　years
old；　he；　Tom　Brangwen；　drove　off　on　a　Saturday　morning　to　the
market　in　Nottingham；　saying　he　might　not　be　back　till　late；　as
there　was　a　special　show　and　then　a　meeting　he　had　to　attend。
His　family　understood　that　he　would　enjoy　himself。

The　season　had　been　rainy　and　dreary。　In　the　evening　it　was
pouring　with　rain。　Fred　Brangwen；　unsettled；　uneasy；　did　not　go
out；　as　was　his　wont。　He　smoked　and　read　and　fidgeted；　hearing
always　the　trickling　of　water　outside。　This　wet；　black　night
seemed　to　cut　him　off　and　make　him　unsettled；　aware　of　himself；
aware　that　he　wanted　something　else；　aware　that　he　was　scarcely
living。　There　seemed　to　him　to　be　no　root　to　his　life；　no　place
for　him　to　get　satisfied　in。　He　dreamed　of　going　abroad。　But　his
instinct　knew　that　change　of　place　would　not　solve　his　problem。
He　wanted　change；　deep；　vital　change　of　living。　And　he　did　not
know　how　to　get　it。

Tilly；　an　old　woman　now；　came　in　saying　that　the　labourers
who　had　been　suppering　up　said　the　yard　and　everywhere　was　just
a　slew　of　water。　He　heard　in　indifference。　But　he　hated　a
desolate；　raw　wetness　in　the　world。　He　would　leave　the
Marsh。

His　mother　was　in　bed。　At　last　he　shut　his　book；　his　mind　was
blank；　he　walked　upstairs　intoxicated　with　depression　and　anger；
and；　intoxicated　with　depression　and　anger；　locked　himself　into
sleep。

Tilly　set　slippers　before　the　kitchen　fire；　and　she　also　went
to　bed；　leaving　the　door　unlocked。　Then　the　farm　was　in
darkness；　in　the　rain。

At　eleven　o'clock　it　was　still　raining。　Tom　Brangwen　stood　in
the　yard　of　the　〃Angel〃；　Nottingham；　and　buttoned　his　coat。

〃Oh；　well；〃　he　said　cheerfully；　〃it's　rained　on　me　before。
Put　'er　in；　Jack；　my　lad；　put　her　inTha'rt　a　rare　old
cock；　Jackyboy；　wi'　a　belly　on　thee　as　does　credit　to　thy
drink；　if　not　to　thy　corn。　Co'　up　lass；　let's　get　off　ter　th'
old　homestead。　Oh；　my　heart；　what　a　wetness　in　the　night！
There'll　be　no　volcanoes　after　this。　Hey；　Jack；　my　beautiful
young　slender　feller；　which　of　us　is　Noah？　It　seems　as　though
the　waterworks　is　bursted。　Ducks　and　ayquatic　fowl　'll　be　king
o'　the　castle　at　this　ratedove　an'　olive　branch　an'　all。
Stand　up　then；　gel；　stand　up；　we're　not　stoppin'　here　all　night；
even　if　you　thought　we　was。　I'm　dashed　if　the　jumping　rain
wouldn't　make　anybody　think　they　was　drunk。　Hey；　Jackdoes
rainwater　wash　the　sense　in；　or　does　it　wash　it　out？〃　And　he
laughed　to　himself　at　the　joke。

He　was　always　ashamed　when　he　had　to　drive　after　he　had　been
drinking；　always　apologetic　to　the　horse。　His　apologetic　frame
made　him　facetious。　He　was　aware　of　his　inability　to　walk　quite
straight。　Nevertheless　his　will　kept　stiff　and　attentive；　in　all
his　fuddleness。

He　mounted　and　bowled　off　through　the　gates　of　the　innyard。
The　mare　went　well；　he　sat　fixed；　the　rain　beating　on　his　face。
His　heavy　body　rode　motionless　in　a　kind　of　sleep；　one　centre　of
attention　was　kept　fitfully　burning；　the　rest　was　dark。　He
concentrated　his　last　attention　on　the　fact　of　driving　along　the
road　he　knew　so　well。　He　knew　it　so　well；　he　watched　for　it
attentively；　with　an　effort　of　will。

He　talked　aloud　to　himself；　sententious　in　his　anxiety；　as　if
he　were　perfectly　sober；　whilst　the　mare　bowled　along　and　the
rain　beat　on　him。　He　watched　the　rain　before　the　giglamps；　the
faint　gleaming　of　the　shadowy　horse's　body；　the　passing　of　the
dark　hedges。

〃It's　not　a　fit　night　to　turn　a　dog　out；〃　he　said　to　himself；
aloud。　〃It's　high　time　as　it　did　a　bit　of　clearing　up；　I'll　be
damned　if　it　isn't。　It　was　a　lot　of　use　putting　those　ten　loads
of　cinders　on　th'　road。　They'll　be　washed　to　kingdome　if　it
doesn't　alter。　Well；　it's　our　Fred's　lookout；　if　they　are。　He's
topsawyer　as　far　as　those　things　go。　I　don't　see　why　I　should
concern　myself。　They　can　wash　to　kingdome　and　back　again　for
what　I　care。　I　suppose　they　would　be　washed　back　again　some　day。
That's　how　things　are。　Th'　rain　tumbles　down　just　to　mount　up　in
clouds　again。　So　they　say。　There's　no　more　water　on　the　earth
than　there　was　in　the　year　naught。　That's　the　story；　my　boy；　if
you　understand　it。　There's　no　more　today　than　there　was　a
thousand　years　agonor　no　less　either。　You　can't　wear
water　out。　No；　my　boy：　it'll　give　you　the　goby。　Try　to　wear　it
out；　and　it　takes　its　hook　into　vapour；　it　has　its　fingers　at
its　nose　to　you。　It　turns　into　cloud　and　falleth　as　rain　on　the
just　and　unjust。　I　wonder　if　I'm　the　just　or　the　unjust。〃

He　started　awake　as　the　trap　lurched　deep　into　a　rut。　And　he
wakened　to　the　point　in　his　journey。　He　had　travelled　some
distance　since　he　was　last　conscious。

But　at　length　he　reached　the　gate；　and　stumbled　heavily　down；
reeling；　gripping　fast　to　the　trap。　He　descended　into　several
inches　of　water。

〃Be　damned！〃　he　said　angrily。　〃Be　damned　to　the　miserable
slop。〃

And　he　led　the　horse　washing　through　the　gate。　He　was　quite
drunk　now；　moving　blindly；　in　habit。　Everywhere　there　was　water
underfoot。

The　raised　causeway　of　the　house　and　the　farmstead　was　dry；
however。　But　there　was　a　curious　roar　in　the　night　which　seemed
to　be　made　in　the　darkness　of　his　own　intoxication。　Reeling；
blinded；　almost　without