The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第90章

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unnoticed；　to　burst　in　a　shock　of　foam　against　a　rock；
enveloping　all　in　a　great　white　beauty；　to　pour　away　again；
leaving　the　rock　emerged　black　and　teeming。　Oh；　and　if；　when　the
wave　burst　into　whiteness；　it　were　only　set　free！

Sometimes　she　loitered　along　the　harbour；　looking　at　the
seabrowned　sailors；　who；　in　their　close　blue　jerseys；　lounged
on　the　harbourwall；　and　laughed　at　her　with　impudent；
municative　eyes。

There　was　established　a　little　relation　between　her　and　them。
She　never　would　speak　to　them　or　know　any　more　of　them。　Yet　as
she　walked　by　and　they　leaned　on　the　seawall；　there　was
something　between　her　and　them；　something　keen　and　delightful
and　painful。　She　liked　best　the　young　one　whose　fair；　salty　hair
tumbled　over　his　blue　eyes。　He　was　so　new　and　fresh　and　salt　and
not　of　this　world。

From　Scarborough　she　went　to　her　Uncle　Tom's。　Winifred　had　a
small　baby；　born　at　the　end　of　the　summer。　She　had　bee
strange　and　alien　to　Ursula。　There　was　an　unmentionable　reserve
between　the　two　women。　Tom　Brangwen　was　an　attentive　father；　a
very　domestic　husband。　But　there　was　something　spurious　about
his　domesticity；　Ursula　did　not　like　him　any　more。　Something
ugly；　blatant　in　his　nature　had　e　out　now；　making　him　shift
everything　over　to　a　sentimental　basis。　A　materialistic
unbeliever；　he　carried　it　all　off　by　being　full　of　human
feeling；　a　warm；　attentive　host；　a　generous　husband；　a　model
citizen。　And　he　was　clever　enough　to　rouse　admiration
everywhere；　and　to　take　in　his　wife　sufficiently。　She　did　not
love　him。　She　was　glad　to　live　in　a　state　of　placent
selfdeception　with　him；　she　worked　according　to　him。

Ursula　was　relieved　to　go　home。　She　had　still　two　peaceful
years　before　her。　Her　future　was　settled　for　two　years。　She
returned　to　college　to　prepare　for　her　final　examination。

But　during　this　year　the　glamour　began　to　depart　from
college。　The　professors　were　not　priests　initiated　into　the　deep
mysteries　of　life　and　knowledge。　After　all；　they　were　only
middlemen　handling　wares　they　had　bee　so　accustomed　to　that
they　were　oblivious　of　them。　What　was　Latin？So　much　dry
goods　of　knowledge。　What　was　the　Latin　class　altogether　but　a
sort　of　secondhand　curio　shop；　where　one　bought　curios　and
learned　the　marketvalue　of　curios；　dull　curios　too；　on　the
whole。　She　was　as　bored　by　the　Latin　curiosities　as　she　was　by
Chinese　and　Japanese　curiosities　in　the　antique　shops。
〃Antiques〃the　very　word　made　her　soul　fall　flat　and
dead。

The　life　went　out　of　her　studies；　why；　she　did　not　know。　But
the　whole　thing　seemed　sham；　spurious；　spurious　Gothic　arches；
spurious　peace；　spurious　Latinity；　spurious　dignity　of　France；
spurious　naivete　of　Chaucer。　It　was　a　secondhand　dealer's　shop；
and　one　bought　an　equipment　for　an　examination。　This　was　only　a
little　sideshow　to　the　factories　of　the　town。　Gradually　the
perception　stole　into　her。　This　was　no　religious　retreat；　no
perception　of　pure　learning。　It　was　a　little　apprenticeshop
where　one　oney。　The　college
itself　was　a　little；　slovenly　laboratory　for　the　factory。

A　harsh　and　ugly　disillusion　came　over　her　again；　the　same
darkness　and　bitter　gloom　from　which　she　was　never　safe　now；　the
realization　of　the　permanent　substratum　of　ugliness　under
everything。　As　she　came　to　the　college　in　the　afternoon；　the
lawns　were　frothed　with　daisies；　the　lime　trees　hung　tender　and
sunlit　and　green；　and　oh；　the　deep；　white　froth　of　the　daisies
was　anguish　to　see。

For　inside；　inside　the　college；　she　knew　she　must　enter　the
sham　workshop。　All　the　while；　it　was　a　sham　store；　a　sham
warehouse；　with　a　single　motive　of　material　gain；　and　no
productivity。　It　pretended　to　exist　by　the　religious　virtue　of
knowledge。　But　the　religious　virtue　of　knowledge　was　bee　a
flunkey　to　the　god　of　material　success。

A　sort　of　inertia　came　over　her。　Mechanically；　from　habit；
she　went　on　with　her　studies。　But　it　was　almost　hopeless。　She
could　scarcely　attend　to　anything。　At　the　AngloSaxon　lecture　in
the　afternoon；　she　sat　looking　down；　out　of　the　window；　hearing
no　word；　of　Beowulf　or　of　anything　else。　Down　below；　in　the
street；　the　sunny　grey　pavement　went　beside　the　palisade。　A
woman　in　a　pink　frock；　with　a　scarlet　sunshade；　crossed　the
road；　a　little　white　dog　running　like　a　fleck　of　light　about
her。　The　woman　with　the　scarlet　sunshade　came　over　the　road；　a
lilt　in　her　walk；　a　little　shadow　attending　her。　Ursula　watched
spellbound。　The　woman　with　the　scarlet　sunshade　and　the
flickering　terrier　was　goneand　whither？　Whither？

In　what　world　of　reality　was　the　woman　in　the　pink　dress
walking？　To　what　warehouse　of　dead　unreality　was　she　herself
confined？

What　good　was　this　place；　this　college？　What　good　was
AngloSaxon；　when　one　only　learned　it　in　order　to　answer
examination　questions；　in　order　that　one　should　have　a　higher
mercial　value　later　on？　She　was　sick　with　this　long　service
at　the　inner　mercial　shrine。　Yet　what　else　was　there？　Was
life　all　this；　and　this　only？　Everywhere；　everything　was　debased
to　the　same　service。　Everything　went　to　produce　vulgar　things；
to　encumber　material　life。

Suddenly　she　threw　over　French。　She　would　take　honours　in
botany。　This　was　the　one　study　that　lived　for　her。　She　had
entered　into　the　lives　of　the　plants。　She　was　fascinated　by　the
strange　laws　of　the　vegetable　world。　She　had　here　a　glimpse　of
something　working　entirely　apart　from　the　purpose　of　the　human
world。

College　was　barren；　cheap；　a　temple　converted　to　the　most
vulgar；　petty　merce。　Had　she　not　gone　to　hear　the　echo　of
learning　pulsing　back　to　the　source　of　the　mystery？The
source　of　mystery！　And　barrenly；　the　professors　in　their　gowns
offered　mercial　modity　that　could　be　turned　to　good
account　in　the　examination　room；　readymade　stuff　too；　and　not
really　worth　the　money　it　was　intended　to　fetch；　which　they　all
knew。

All　the　time　in　the　college　now；　save　when　she　was　labouring
in　her　botany　laboratory；　for　there　the　mystery　still　glimmered；
she　felt　she　was　degrading　herself　in　a　kind　of　trade　of　sham
jewjaws。

Angry　and　stiff；　she　went　through　her　last　term。　She　would
rather　be　out　again　earning　her　own　living。　Even　Brinsley　Street
and　Mr。　Harby　seemed　real　in　parison。　Her　violent　hatred　of
the　Ilkeston　School　was　nothing　pared　with　the　sterile
degradation　of　college。　But　she　was　not　going　back　to　Brinsley
Street　either。　She　would　take　her　B。A。；　and　bee　a　mistress　in
some　Grammar　School　for　a　time。

The　last　year　of　her　college　career　was　wheeling　slowly
round。　She　could　see　ahead　her　examination　and　her　departure。
She　had　the　ash　of　disillusion　gritting　under　her　teeth。　Would
the　next　move　turn　out　the　same？　Always　the　shining　doorway
ahead；　and　then；　upon　approach；　always　the　shining　doorway　was　a
gate　into　another　ugly　yard；　dirty　and　active　and　dead。　Always
the　crest　of　the　hill　gleaming　ahead　under　heaven：　and　then；
from　the　top　of　the　hill　only　another　sordid　valley　full　of
amorphous；　squalid　activity。

No　matter！　Every　hilltop　was　a　little　different；　every
valley　was　somehow　new。　Cossethay　and　her　childhood　with　her
father；　the　Marsh　and　the　little　Church　school　near　the　Marsh；
and　her　grandmother　and　her　uncles；　the　High　School　at
Nottingham　and　Anton　Skrebensky；　Anton　Skrebensky　and　the　dance
in　the　moonlight　between　the　fires；　then　the　time　she　could　not
think　of　without　being　blasted；　Winifred　Inger；　and　the　months
before　being　a　schoolteacher；　then　the　horrors　of　Brinsley
Street；　lapsing　into　parative　peacefulness；　Maggie；　and
Maggie's　brother；　whose　influence　she　could　still　feel　in　her
veins；　when　she　conjured　him　up；　then　college；　and　Dorothy
Russell；　who　was　now　in　France；　then　the　next　move　into　the
world　again！

Already　it　was　a　history。　In　every　phase　she　was　so
different。　Yet　she　was　always　Ursula　Brangwen。　But　what　did　it
mean；　Ursula　Brangwen？　She　did　not　know　what　she　was。　Only　she
was　full　of　rejection；　of　refusal。　Always；　always　she　was
spitting　out　of　her　mouth　the　ash　and　grit　of　disillusion；　of
falsity。　She　could　only　stiffen　in　rejection；　in　rejection。　She
seemed　always　negative　in　her　action。

That　which　she　was；　positively；　was　dark　and　unrevealed；　it
could　not　e　forth。　It　was　like　a　seed　buried　in　dry　ash。　This
world　in　which　she　lived　was　like　a　circle　lighted　by　a　lamp。
This　lighted　area；　lit　up　by　man's　pletest　consciousness；　she
thought　was　all　the　world：　that　here　all　was　disclosed　for　ever。
Yet　all　the　time；　within　the　darkness　she　had　been　aware　of
points　of　light；　like　the　eyes　of　wild　beasts；　gleaming；
perating；　vanishing。　And　her　soul　had　acknowledged　in　a　great
heave　of　terror　only　the　outer　darkness。　This　inner　circle　of
light　in　which　she　lived　and　moved；　wherein　the　trains　rushed
and　the　factories　ground　out　their　machineproduce　and　the
plants　and　the　animals　worked　by　the　light　of　science　and
knowledge；　suddenly　it　seemed　like　the　area　under　an　arclamp；
wherein　the　moths　and　children　played　in　the　security　of
blinding　light；　not　even　knowing　there　was　any　darkness；　because
they　stayed　in　the　light。

But　she　could　see　the　glimmer　of　dark　movement　just　out　of
range；　she　saw　the　eyes　of　the　wild　beast　gleaming　from　the
darkness；　watching　the　vanity　of　the　camp　fire　and　the　sleepers；
she　felt　the　strange；　foolish　vanity　of　the　camp；　which　said
〃Beyond　our　light　and　our　order　there　is　nothing；〃　turning　their
faces　always　inward　towards　the　sinking　fire　of　illuminating
consciousness；　which　prised　sun　and　stars；　and　the　Creator；
and　the　System　of　Righteousness；　ignoring　always　the　vast
darkness　that　wheeled　round　about；　with　halfrevealed　shapes
lurking　on　the　edge。

Yea；　and　no　man　dared　even　throw　a　firebrand　into　the
darkness。　For　if　he　did　he　was　jeered　to　death　by　the　others；
who　cried　〃Fool；　antisocial　knave；　why　would　you　disturb　us
with　bogeys？　There　is　no　darkness。　We　move　and　live　and
have　our　being　within　the　light；　and　unto　us　is　given　the
eternal　light　of　knowledge；　we　prise　and　prehend　the
innermost　core　and　issue　of　knowledge。　Fool　and　knave；　how　dare
you　belittle　us　with　the　darkness？〃

Nevertheless　the　darkness　wheeled　round　about；　with　grey
shadowshapes　of　wild　beasts；　and　also　with　dark　shadowshapes
of