The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第84章

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shuddered。　She　went　into　the　school　again。

The　next　morning　Williams　turned　up；　looking　paler　than　ever；
very　neat　and　nicely　dressed　in　his　sailor　blouse。　He　glanced　at
Ursula　with　a　halfsmile：　cunning；　subdued；　ready　to　do　as　she
told　him。　There　was　something　about　him　that　made　her　shiver。
She　loathed　the　idea　of　having　laid　hands　on　him。　His　elder
brother　was　standing　outside　the　gate　at　playtime；　a　youth　of
about　fifteen；　tall　and　thin　and　pale。　He　raised　his　hat；　almost
like　a　gentleman。　But　there　was　something　subdued；　insidious
about　him　too。

〃Who　is　it？〃　said　Ursula。

〃It's　the　big　Williams；〃　said　Violet　Harby　roughly。
〃She　was　here　yesterday；　wasn't　she？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃It's　no　good　her　ingher　character's　not　good
enough　for　her　to　make　any　trouble。〃

Ursula　shrank　from　the　brutality　and　the　scandal。　But　it　had
some　vague；　horrid　fascination。　How　sordid　everything　seemed！
She　felt　sorry　for　the　queer　woman　with　the　lingering　walk；　and
those　queer；　insidious　boys。　The　Williams　in　her　class　was　wrong
somewhere。　How　nasty　it　was　altogether。

So　the　battle　went　on　till　her　heart　was　sick。　She　had
several　more　boys　to　subjugate　before　she　could　establish
herself。　And　Mr。　Harby　hated　her　almost　as　if　she　were　a　man。
She　knew　now　that　nothing　but　a　thrashing　would　settle　some　of
the　big　louts　who　wanted　to　play　cat　and　mouse　with　her。　Mr。
Harby　would　not　give　them　the　thrashing　if　he　could　help　it。　For
he　hated　the　teacher；　the　stuckup；　insolent　highschool　miss
with　her　independence。

〃Now；　Wright；　what　have　you　done　this　time？〃　he　would　say
genially　to　the　boy　who　was　sent　to　him　from　Standard　Five　for
punishment。　And　he　left　the　lad　standing；　lounging；　wasting　his
time。

So　that　Ursula　would　appeal　no　more　to　the　headmaster；　but；
when　she　was　driven　wild；　she　seized　her　cane；　and　slashed　the
boy　who　was　insolent　to　her；　over　head　and　ears　and　hands。　And
at　length　they　were　afraid　of　her；　she　had　them　in　order。

But　she　had　paid　a　great　price　out　of　her　own　soul；　to　do
this。　It　seemed　as　if　a　great　flame　had　gone　through　her　and
burnt　her　sensitive　tissue。　She　who　shrank　from　the　thought　of
physical　suffering　in　any　form；　had　been　forced　to　fight　and
beat　with　a　cane　and　rouse　all　her　instincts　to　hurt。　And
afterwards　she　had　been　forced　to　endure　the　sound　of　their
blubbering　and　desolation；　when　she　had　broken　them　to
order。

Oh；　and　sometimes　she　felt　as　if　she　would　go　mad。　What　did
it　matter；　what　did　it　matter　if　their　books　were　dirty　and　they
did　not　obey？　She　would　rather；　in　reality；　that　they　disobeyed
the　whole　rules　of　the　school；　than　that　they　should　be　beaten；
broken；　reduced　to　this　crying；　hopeless　state。　She　would　rather
bear　all　their　insults　and　insolences　a　thousand　times　than
reduce　herself　and　them　to　this。　Bitterly　she　repented　having
got　beside　herself；　and　having　tackled　the　boy　she　had
beaten。

Yet　it　had　to　be　so。　She　did　not　want　to　do　it。　Yet　she　had
to。　Oh；　why；　why　had　she　leagued　herself　to　this　evil　system
where　she　must　brutalize　herself　to　live？　Why　had　she　bee　a
schoolteacher；　why；　why？

The　children　had　forced　her　to　the　beatings。　No；　she　did　not
pity　them。　She　had　e　to　them　full　of　kindness　and　love；　and
they　would　have　torn　her　to　pieces。　They　chose　Mr。　Harby。　Well
then；　they　must　know　her　as　well　as　Mr。　Harby；　they　must　first
be　subjugate　to　her。　For　she　was　not　going　to　be　made　nought；
no；　neither　by　them；　nor　by　Mr。　Harby；　nor　by　all　the　system
around　her。　She　was　not　going　to　be　put　down；　prevented　from
standing　free。　It　was　not　to　be　said　of　her；　she　could　not　take
her　place　and　carry　out　her　task。　She　would　fight　and　hold　her
place　in　this　state　also；　in　the　world　of　work　and　man's
convention。

She　was　isolated　now　from　the　life　of　her　childhood；　a
foreigner　in　a　new　life；　of　work　and　mechanical　consideration。
She　and　Maggie；　in　their　dinnerhours　and　their　occasional　teas
at　the　little　restaurant；　discussed　life　and　ideas。　Maggie　was　a
great　suffragette；　trusting　in　the　vote。　To　Ursula　the　vote　was
never　a　reality。　She　had　within　her　the　strange；　passionate
knowledge　of　religion　and　living　far　transcending　the　limits　of
the　automatic　system　that　contained　the　vote。　But　her
fundamental；　anic　knowledge　had　as　yet　to　take　form　and　rise
to　utterance。　For　her；　as　for　Maggie；　the　liberty　of　woman　meant
something　real　and　deep。　She　felt　that　somewhere；　in　something；
she　was　not　free。　And　she　wanted　to　be。　She　was　in　revolt。　For
once　she　were　free　she　could　get　somewhere。　Ah；　the　wonderful；
real　somewhere　that　was　beyond　her；　the　somewhere　that　she　felt
deep；　deep　inside　her。

In　ing　out　and　earning　her　own　living　she　had　made　a
strong；　cruel　move　towards　freeing　herself。　But　having　more
freedom　she　only　became　more　profoundly　aware　of　the　big　want。
She　wanted　so　many　things。　She　wanted　to　read　great；　beautiful
books；　and　be　rich　with　them；　she　wanted　to　see　beautiful
things；　and　have　the　joy　of　them　for　ever；　she　wanted　to　know
big；　free　people；　and　there　remained　always　the　want　she　could
put　no　name　to。

It　was　so　difficult。　There　were　so　many　things；　so　much　to
meet　and　surpass。　And　one　never　knew　where　one　was　going。　It　was
a　blind　fight。　She　had　suffered　bitterly　in　this　school　of　St。
Philip's。　She　was　like　a　young　filly　that　has　been　broken　in　to
the　shafts；　and　has　lost　its　freedom。　And　now　she　was　suffering
bitterly　from　the　agony　of　the　shafts。　The　agony；　the　galling；
the　ignominy　of　her　breaking　in。　This　wore　into　her　soul。　But
she　would　never　submit。　To　shafts　like　these　she　would　never
submit　for　long。　But　she　would　know　them。　She　would　serve　them
that　she　might　destroy　them。

She　and　Maggie　went　to　all　kinds　of　places　together；　to　big
suffrage　meetings　in　Nottingham；　to　concerts；　to　theatres；　to
exhibitions　of　pictures。　Ursula　saved　her　money　and　bought　a
bicycle；　and　the　two　girls　rode　to　Lincoln；　to　Southwell；　and
into　Derbyshire。　They　had　an　endless　wealth　of　things　to　talk
about。　And　it　was　a　great　joy；　finding；　discovering。

But　Ursula　never　told　about　Winifred　Inger。　That　was　a　sort
of　secret　sideshow　to　her　life；　never　to　be　opened。　She　did　not
even　think　of　it。　It　was　the　closed　door　she　had　not　the
strength　to　open。

Once　she　was　broken　in　to　her　teaching；　Ursula　began
gradually　to　have　a　new　life　of　her　own　again。　She　was　going　to
college　in　eighteen　months'　time。　Then　she　would　take　her
degree；　and　she　wouldah；　she　would　perhaps　be　a　big
woman；　and　lead　a　movement。　Who　knows？At　any　rate　she
would　go　to　college　in　eighteen　months'　time。　All　that　mattered
now　was　work；　work。

And　till　college；　she　must　go　on　with　this　teaching　in　St。
Philip's　School；　which　was　always　destroying　her；　but　which　she
could　now　manage；　without　spoiling　all　her　life。　She　would
submit　to　it　for　a　time；　since　the　time　had　a　definite
limit。

The　classteaching　itself　at　last　became　almost　mechanical。
It　was　a　strain　on　her；　an　exhausting　wearying　strain；　always
unnatural。　But　there　was　a　certain　amount　of　pleasure　in　the
sheer　oblivion　of　teaching；　so　much　work　to　do；　so　many　children
to　see　after；　so　much　to　be　done；　that　one's　self　was　fotten。
When　the　work　had　bee　like　habit　to　her；　and　her　individual
soul　was　left　out；　had　its　growth　elsewhere；　then　she　could　be
almost　happy。

Her　real；　individual　self　drew　together　and　became　more
coherent　during　these　two　years　of　teaching；　during　the　struggle
against　the　odds　of　class　teaching。　It　was　always　a　prison　to
her；　the　school。　But　it　was　a　prison　where　her　wild；　chaotic
soul　became　hard　and　independent。　When　she　was　well　enough　and
not　tired；　then　she　did　not　hate　the　teaching。　She　enjoyed
getting　into　the　swing　of　work　of　a　morning；　putting　forth　all
her　strength；　making　the　thing　go。　It　was　for　her　a　strenuous
form　of　exercise。　And　her　soul　was　left　to　rest；　it　had　the　time
of　torpor　in　which　to　gather　itself　together　in　strength　again。
But　the　teaching　hours　were　too　long；　the　tasks　too　heavy；　and
the　disciplinary　condition　of　the　school　too　unnatural　for　her。
She　was　worn　very　thin　and　quivering。

She　came　to　school　in　the　morning　seeing　the　hawthorn　flowers
wet；　the　little；　rosy　grains　swimming　in　a　bowl　of　dew。　The
larks　quivered　their　song　up　into　the　new　sunshine；　and　the
country　was　so　glad。　It　was　a　violation　to　plunge　into　the　dust
and　greyness　of　the　town。

So　that　she　stood　before　her　class　unwilling　to　give　herself
up　to　the　activity　of　teaching；　to　turn　her　energy；　that　longed
for　the　country　and　for　joy　of　early　summer；　into　the　dominating
of　fifty　children　and　the　transferring　to　them　some　morsels　of
arithmetic。　There　was　a　little　absentness　about　her。　She　could
not　force　herself　into　fetfulness。　A　jar　of　buttercups　and
fool'sparsley　in　the　windowbottom　kept　her　away　in　the
meadows；　where　in　the　lush　grass　the　moondaisies　were
halfsubmerged；　and　a　spray　of　pink　ragged　robin。　Yet　before　her
were　faces　of　fifty　children。　They　were　almost　like　big　daisies
in　a　dimness　of　the　grass。

A　brightness　was　on　her　face；　a　little　unreality　in　her
teaching。　She　could　not　quite　see　her　children。　She　was
struggling　between　two　worlds；　her　own　world　of　young　summer　and
flowers；　and　this　other　world　of　work。　And　the　glimmer　of　her
own　sunlight　was　between　her　and　her　class。

Then　the　morning　passed　with　a　strange　farawayness　and
quietness。　Dinnertime　came；　when　she　and　Maggie　ate　joyously；
with　all　the　windows　open。　And　then　they　went　out　into　St。
Philip's　churchyard；　where　was　a　shadowy　corner　under　red
hawthorn　trees。　And　there　they　talked　and　read　Shelley　or
Browning　or　some　work　about　〃Woman　and　Labour〃。

And　when　she　went　back　to　school；　Ursula　lived　still　in　the
shadowy　corner　of　the　graveyard；　where　pinkred　petals　lay
scattered　from　the　hawthorn　tree；　like　myriad　tiny　shells　on　a
beach；　and　a　church　bell　sometimes　rang　sonorously；　and
sometimes　a　bird　called　out；　whilst　Maggie's　voice　went　on　low
and　sweet。

These　days　she　was　happy　in　her　soul：　oh；　she　was　so　happy；
that　she　wished　she　could　take　her　joy　and　scatter　it　in　armfuls
broadcast。　She　made　her　children　happy；　too；　with　a　little
tingling　of　delight。　But　to　her；　the　children　were　not　a