The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第73章

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One　night　Winifred　came　all　burning　into　Ursula's　bed；　and
put　her　arms　round　the　girl；　holding　her　to　herself　in　spite　of
unwillingness；　and　said；

〃Dear；　my　dearshall　I　marry　Mr。　Brangwenshall
I？〃

The　clinging；　heavy；　muddy　question　weighed　on　Ursula
intolerably。

〃Has　he　asked　you？〃　she　said；　using　all　her　might　of　hard
resistance。

〃He's　asked　me；〃　said　Winifred。　〃Do　you　want　me　to　marry　him；
Ursula？〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Ursula。

The　arms　tightened　more　on　her。

〃I　knew　you　did；　my　sweetand　I　will　marry　him。　You're
fond　of　him；　aren't　you？〃

〃I've　been　awfully　fond　of　himever　since　I　was
a　child。〃

〃I　knowI　know。　I　can　see　what　you　like　in　him。　He　is　a
man　by　himself；　he　has　something　apart　from　the　rest。〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Ursula。

〃But　he's　not　like　you；　my　dearha；　he's　not　as　good　as
you。　There's　something　even　objectionable　in　himhis　thick
thighs〃

Ursula　was　silent。

〃But　I'll　marry　him；　my　dearit　will　be　best。　Now　say
you　love　me。〃

A　sort　of　profession　was　extorted　out　of　the　girl。
Nevertheless　her　mistress　went　away　sighing；　to　weep　in　her　own
chamber。

In　two　days'　time　Ursula　left　Wiggiston。　Miss　Inger　went　to
Nottingham。　There　was　an　engagement　between　her　and　Tom
Brangwen；　which　the　uncle　seemed　to　vaunt　as　if　it　were　an
assurance　of　his　validity。

Brangwen　and　Winifred　Inger　continued　engaged　for　another
term。　Then　they　married。　Brangwen　had　reached　the　age　when　he
wanted　children。　He　wanted　children。　Neither　marriage　nor　the
domestic　establishment　meant　anything　to　him。　He　wanted　to
propagate　himself。　He　knew　what　he　was　doing。　He　had　the
instinct　of　a　growing　inertia；　of　a　thing　that　chooses　its　place
of　rest　in　which　to　lapse　into　apathy；　plete；　profound
indifference。　He　would　let　the　machinery　carry　him；　husband；
father；　pitmanager；　warm　clay　lifted　through　the　recurrent
action　of　day　after　day　by　the　great　machine　from　which　it
derived　its　motion。　As　for　Winifred；　she　was　an　educated　woman；
and　of　the　same　sort　as　himself。　She　would　make　a　good
panion。　She　was　his　mate。



CHAPTER　XIII

THE　MAN'S　WORLD

Ursula　came　back　to　Cossethay　to　fight　with　her　mother。　Her
schooldays　were　over。　She　had　passed　the　matriculation
examination。　Now　she　came　home　to　face　that　empty　period　between
school　and　possible　marriage。

At　first　she　thought　it　would　be　just　like　holidays　all　the
time；　she　would　feel　just　free。　Her　soul　was　in　chaos；　blinded
suffering；　maimed。　She　had　no　will　left　to　think　about　herself。
For　a　time　she　must　just　lapse。

But　very　shortly　she　found　herself　up　against　her　mother。　Her
mother　had；　at　this　time；　the　power　to　irritate　and　madden　the
girl　continuously。　There　were　already　seven　children；　yet　Mrs。
Brangwen　was　again　with　child；　the　ninth　she　had　borne。　One　had
died　of　diphtheria　in　infancy。

Even　this　fact　of　her　mother's　pregnancy　enraged　the　eldest
girl。　Mrs。　Brangwen　was　so　placent；　so　utterly　fulfilled　in
her　breeding。　She　would　not　have　the　existence　at　all　of
anything　but　the　immediate；　physical；　mon　things。　Ursula
inflamed　in　soul；　was　suffering　all　the　anguish　of　youth's
reaching　for　some　unknown　ordeal；　that　it　can't　grasp；　can't
even　distinguish　or　conceive。　Maddened；　she　was　fighting　all　the
darkness　she　was　up　against。　And　part　of　this　darkness　was　her
mother。　To　limit；　as　her　mother　did；　everything　to　the　ring　of
physical　considerations；　and　placently　to　reject　the　reality
of　anything　else；　was　horrible。　Not　a　thing　did　Mrs。　Brangwen
care　about；　but　the　children；　the　house；　and　a　little　local
gossip。　And　she　would　not　be　touched；　she　would　let
nothing　else　live　near　her。　She　went　about；　big　with　child；
slovenly；　easy；　having　a　certain　lax　dignity；　taking　her　own
time；　pleasing　herself；　always；　always　doing　things　for　the
children；　and　feeling　that　she　thereby　fulfilled　the　whole　of
womanhood。

This　long　trance　of　placent　childbearing　had　kept　her
young　and　undeveloped。　She　was　scarcely　a　day　older　than　when
Gudrun　was　born。　All　these　years　nothing　had　happened　save　the
ing　of　the　children；　nothing　had　mattered　but　the　bodies　of
her　babies。　As　her　children　came　into　consciousness；　as　they
began　to　suffer　their　own　fulfilment；　she　cast　them　off。　But　she
remained　dominant　in　the　house。　Brangwen　continued　in　a　kind　of
rich　drowse　of　physical　heat；　in　connection　with　his　wife。　They
were　neither　of　them　quite　personal；　quite　defined　as
individuals；　so　much　were　they　pervaded　by　the　physical　heat　of
breeding　and　rearing　their　young。

How　Ursula　resented　it；　how　she　fought　against　the　close；
physical；　limited　life　of　herded　domesticity！　Calm；　placid；
unshakeable　as　ever；　Mrs。　Brangwen　went　about　in　her　dominance
of　physical　maternity。

There　were　battles。　Ursula　would　fight　for　things　that
mattered　to　her。　She　would　have　the　children　less　rude　and
tyrannical；　she　would　have　a　place　in　the　house。　But　her
mother　pulled　her　down；　pulled　her　down。　With　all　the　cunning
instinct　of　a　breeding　animal；　Mrs。　Brangwen　ridiculed　and　held
cheap　Ursula's　passions；　her　ideas；　her　pronunciations。　Ursula
would　try　to　insist；　in　her　own　home；　on　the　right　of　women　to
take　equal　place　with　men　in　the　field　of　action　and　work。

〃Ay；〃　said　the　mother；　〃there's　a　good　crop　of　stockings
lying　ripe　for　mending。　Let　that　be　your　field　of　action。〃

Ursula　disliked　mending　stockings；　and　this　retort　maddened
her。　She　hated　her　mother　bitterly。　After　a　few　weeks　of
enforced　domestic　life；　she　had　had　enough　of　her　home。　The
monness；　the　triviality；　the　immediate　meaninglessness　of　it
all　drove　her　to　frenzy。　She　talked　and　stormed　ideas；　she
corrected　and　nagged　at　the　children；　she　turned　her　back　in
silent　contempt　on　her　breeding　mother；　who　treated　her　with
supercilious　indifference；　as　if　she　were　a　pretentious　child
not　to　be　taken　seriously。

Brangwen　was　sometimes　dragged　into　the　trouble。　He　loved
Ursula；　therefore　he　always　had　a　sense　of　shame；　almost　of
betrayal；　when　he　turned　on　her。　So　he　turned　fiercely　and
scathingly；　and　with　a　wholesale　brutality　that　made　Ursula　go
white；　mute；　and　numb。　Her　feelings　seemed　to　be　being
deadened　in　her；　her　temper　hard　and　cold。

Brangwen　himself　was　in　one　of　his　states　or　flux。　After　all
these　years；　he　began　to　see　a　loophole　of　freedom。　For　twenty
years　he　had　gone　on　at　this　office　as　a　draughtsman；　doing　work
in　which　he　had　no　interest；　because　it　seemed　his　allotted
work。　The　growing　up　of　his　daughters；　their　developing
rejection　of　old　forms　set　him　also　free。

He　was　a　man　of　ceaseless　activity。　Blindly；　like　a　mole；　he
pushed　his　way　out　of　the　earth　that　covered　him；　working　always
away　from　the　physical　element　in　which　his　life　was　captured。
Slowly；　blindly；　gropingly；　with　what　initiative　was　left　to
him；　he　made　his　way　towards　individual　expression　and
individual　form。

At　last；　after　twenty　years；　he　came　back　to　his　woodcarving；
almost　to　the　point　where　he　had　left　off　his　Adam　and　Eve
panel；　when　he　was　courting。　But　now　he　had　knowledge　and　skill
without　vision。　He　saw　the　puerility　of　his　young　conceptions；
he　saw　the　unreal　world　in　which　they　had　been　conceived。　He　now
had　a　new　strength　in　his　sense　of　reality。　He　felt　as　if　he
were　real；　as　if　he　handled　real　things。　He　had　worked　for　many
years　at　Cossethay；　building　the　an　for　the　church；　restoring
the　woodwork；　gradually　ing　to　a　knowledge　of　beauty　in　the
plain　labours。　Now　he　wanted　again　to　carve　things　that　were
utterances　of　himself。

But　he　could　not　quite　hitch　onalways　he　was　too　busy；
too　uncertain；　confused。　Wavering；　he　began　to　study　modelling。
To　his　surprise　he　found　he　could　do　it。　Modelling　in　clay；　in
plaster；　he　produced　beautiful　reproductions；　really　beautiful。
Then　he　setto　to　make　a　head　of　Ursula；　in　high　relief；　in　the
Donatello　manner。　In　his　first　passion；　he　got　a　beautiful
suggestion　of　his　desire。　But　the　pitch　of　concentration　would
not　e。　With　a　little　ash　in　his　mouth　he　gave　up。　He
continued　to　copy；　or　to　make　designs　by　selecting　motives　from
classic　stuff。　He　loved　the　Della　Robbia　and　Donatello　as　he　had
loved　Fra　Angelico　when　he　was　a　young　man。　His　work　had　some　of
the　freshness；　the　naive　alertness　of　the　early　Italians。　But　it
was　only　reproduction。

Having　reached　his　limit　in　modelling；　he　turned　to　painting。
But　he　tried　watercolour　painting　after　the　manner　of　any　other
amateur。　He　got　his　results　but　was　not　much　interested。　After
one　or　two　drawings　of　his　beloved　church；　which　had　the　same
alertness　as　his　modelling；　he　seemed　to　be　incongruous　with　the
modern　atmospheric　way　of　painting；　so　that　his　church　tower
stood　up；　really　stood　and　asserted　its　standing；　but　was
ashamed　of　its　own　lack　of　meaning；　he　turned　away　again。

He　took　up　jewellery；　read　Benvenuto　Cellini；　pored　over
reproductions　of　ornament；　and　began　to　make　pendants　in　silver
and　pearl　and　matrix。　The　first　things　he　did；　in　his　start　of
discovery；　were　really　beautiful。　Those　later　were　more
imitative。　But；　starting　with　his　wife；　he　made　a　pendant　each
for　all　his　womenfolk。　Then　he　made　rings　and　bracelets。

Then　he　took　up　beaten　and　chiselled　metal　work。　When　Ursula
left　school；　he　was　making　a　silver　bowl　of　lovely　shape。　How　he
delighted　in　it；　almost　lusted　after　it。

All　this　time　his　only　connection　with　the　real　outer　world
was　through　his　winter　evening　classes；　which　brought　him　into
contact　with　state　education。　About　all　the　rest；　he　was
oblivious；　and　entirely　indifferenteven　about　the　war。
The　nation　did　not　exist　to　him。　He　was　in　a　private　retreat　of
his　own；　that　had　neither　nationality；　nor　any　great
adherent。

Ursula　watched　the　newspapers；　vaguely；　concerning　the　war　in
South　Africa。　They　made　her　miserable；　and　she　tried　to　have　as
little　to　do　with　them　as　possible。　But　Skrebensky　was　out
there。　He　sent　her　an　occasional　postcard。　But　it　was　as　if　she
were　a　blank　wall　in　his　direction；　without　windows　or　outgoing。
She　adhered　to　the　Skrebensky　of　her　memory。

Her　love　for　Winifred　Inger　wrenched　her　life　as　it　seemed
from　the　roots　and　native　soil　where　Skrebensky　had　belonged　to
it；　and　she　was　aridly　transplanted。　He　was　really　only　a
m