The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第48部分

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the　town；　with　a　childish；　candid；　uncanny　face；　as　if　it　all
were　strange　to　her。

The　children；　Ursula　and　Gudrun　and　Theresa　went　by　the
garden　gate　on　their　way　to　school。　The　grandmother　would　have
them　call　in　each　time　they　passed；　she　would　have　them　e　to
the　Marsh　for　dinner。　She　wanted　children　about　her。

Of　her　sons；　she　was　almost　afraid。　She　could　see　the　sombre
passion　and　desire　and　dissatisfaction　in　them；　and　she　wanted
not　to　see　it　any　more。　Even　Fred；　with　his　blue　eyes　and　his
heavy　jaw；　troubled　her。　There　was　no　peace。　He　wanted
something；　he　wanted　love；　passion；　and　he　could　not　find　them。
But　why　must　he　trouble　her？　Why　must　he　e　to　her　with　his
seething　and　suffering　and　dissatisfactions？　She　was　too
old。

Tom　was　more　restrained；　reserved。　He　kept　his　body　very
still。　But　he　troubled　her　even　more。　She　could　not　but　see　the
black　depths　of　disintegration　in　his　eyes；　the　sudden　glance
upon　her；　as　if　she　could　save　him；　as　if　he　would　reveal
himself。

And　how　could　age　save　youth？　Youth　must　go　to　youth。　Always
the　storm！　Could　she　not　lie　in　peace；　these　years；　in　the
quiet；　apart　from　life？　No；　always　the　swell　must　heave　upon　her
and　break　against　the　barriers。　Always　she　must　be　embroiled　in
the　seethe　and　rage　and　passion；　endless；　endless；　going　on　for
ever。　And　she　wanted　to　draw　away。　She　wanted　at　last　her　own
innocence　and　peace。　She　did　not　want　her　sons　to　force　upon　her
any　more　the　old　brutal　story　of　desire　and　offerings　and　deep；
deep…hidden　rage　of　unsatisfied　men　against　women。　She　wanted　to
be　beyond　it　all；　to　know　the　peace　and　innocence　of　age。

She　had　never　been　a　woman　to　work　much。　So　that　now　she
would　stand　often　at　the　garden…gate；　watching　the　scant　world
go　by。　And　the　sight　of　children　pleased　her；　made　her　happy。
She　had　usually　an　apple　or　a　few　sweets　in　her　pocket。　She
liked　children　to　smile　at　her。

She　never　went　to　her　husband's　grave。　She　spoke　of　him
simply；　as　if　he　were　alive。　Sometimes　the　tears　would　run　down
her　face；　in　helpless　sadness。　Then　she　recovered；　and　was
herself　again；　happy。

On　wet　days；　she　stayed　in　bed。　Her　bedroom　was　her　city　of
refuge；　where　she　could　lie　down　and　muse　and　muse。　Sometimes
Fred　would　read　to　her。　But　that　did　not　mean　much。　She　had　so
many　dreams　to　dream　over；　such　an　unsifted　store。　She　wanted
time。

Her　chief　friend　at　this　period　was　Ursula。　The　little　girl
and　the　musing；　fragile　woman　of　sixty　seemed　to　understand　the
same　language。　At　Cossethay　all　was　activity　and　passion；
everything　moved　upon　poles　of　passion。　Then　there　were　four
children　younger　than　Ursula；　a　throng　of　babies；　all　the　time
many　lives　beating　against　each　other。

So　that　for　the　eldest　child；　the　peace　of　the　grandmother's
bedroom　was　exquisite。　Here　Ursula　came　as　to　a　hushed；
paradisal　land；　here　her　own　existence　became　simple　and
exquisite　to　her　as　if　she　were　a　flower。

Always　on　Saturdays　she　came　down　to　the　Marsh；　and　always
clutching　a　little　offering；　either　a　little　mat　made　of　strips
of　coloured；　woven　paper；　or　a　tiny　basket　made　in　the
kindergarten　lesson；　or　a　little　crayon　drawing　of　a　bird。

When　she　appeared　in　the　doorway；　Tilly；　ancient　but　still　in
authority；　would　crane　her　skinny　neck　to　see　who　it　was。

〃Oh；　it's　you；　is　it？〃　she　said。　〃I　thought　we　should　be
seein'　you。　My　word；　that's　a　bobby…dazzlin'　posy　you've
brought！〃

It　was　curious　how　Tilly　preserved　the　spirit　of　Tom
Brangwen；　who　was　dead；　in　the　Marsh。　Ursula　always　connected
her　with　her　grandfather。

This　day　the　child　had　brought　a　tight　little　nosegay　of
pinks；　white　ones；　with　a　rim　of　pink　ones。　She　was　very　proud
of　it；　and　very　shy　because　of　her　pride。

〃Your　gran'mother's　in　her　bed。　Wipe　your　shoes　well　if
you're　goin'　up；　and　don't　go　burstin'　in　on　her　like　a
skyrocket。　My　word；　but　that's　a　fine　posy！　Did　you　do　it　all　by
yourself；　an'　all？〃

Tilly　stealthily　ushered　her　into　the　bedroom。　The　child
entered　with　a　strange；　dragging　hesitation　characteristic　of
her　when　she　was　moved。　Her　grandmother　was　sitting　up　in　bed；
wearing　a　little　grey　woollen　jacket。

The　child　hesitated　in　silence　near　the　bed；　clutching　the
nosegay　in　front　of　her。　Her　childish　eyes　were　shining。　The
grandmother's　grey　eyes　shone　with　a　similar　light。

〃How　pretty！〃　she　said。　〃How　pretty　you　have　made　them！　What
a　darling　little　bunch。〃

Ursula；　glowing；　thrust　them　into　her　grandmother's　hand；
saying；　〃I　made　them　you。〃

〃That　is　how　the　peasants　tied　them　at　home；〃　said　the
grandmother；　pushing　the　pinks　with　her　fingers；　and　smelling
them。　〃Just　such　tight　little　bunches！　And　they　make　wreaths　for
their　hair……they　weave　the　stalks。　Then　they　go　round　with
wreaths　in　their　hair；　and　wearing　their　best　aprons。〃

Ursula　immediately　imagined　herself　in　this　story…land。

〃Did　you　used　to　have　a　wreath　in　your　hair；
grandmother？〃

〃When　I　was　a　little　girl；　I　had　golden　hair；　something　like
Katie's。　Then　I　used　to　have　a　wreath　of　little　blue　flowers；
oh；　so　blue；　that　e　when　the　snow　is　gone。　Andrey；　the
coachman；　used　to　bring　me　the　very　first。〃

They　talked；　and　then　Tilly　brought　the　tea…tray；　set　for
two。　Ursula　had　a　special　green　and　gold　cup　kept　for　herself　at
the　Marsh。　There　was　thin　bread　and　butter；　and　cress　for　tea。
It　was　all　special　and　wonderful。　She　ate　very　daintily；　with
little　fastidious　bites。

〃Why　do　you　have　two　wedding…rings；　grandmother？……Must
you？〃　asked　the　child；　noticing　her　grandmother's　ivory　coloured
hand　with　blue　veins；　above　the　tray。

〃If　I　had　two　husbands；　child。〃

Ursula　pondered　a　moment。

〃Then　you　must　wear　both　rings　together？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Which　was　my　grandfather's　ring？〃

The　woman　hesitated。

〃This　grandfather　whom　you　knew？　This　was　his　ring；　the　red
one。　The　yellow　one　was　your　other　grandfather's　whom　you　never
knew。〃

Ursula　looked　interestedly　at　the　two　rings　on　the　proffered
finger。

〃Where　did　he　buy　it　you？〃　she　asked。

〃This　one？　In　Warsaw；　I　think。〃

〃You　didn't　know　my　own　grandfather　then？〃

〃Not　this　grandfather。〃

Ursula　pondered　this　fascinating　intelligence。

〃Did　he　have　white　whiskers　as　well？〃

〃No；　his　beard　was　dark。　You　have　his　brows；　I　think。〃

Ursula　ceased　and　became　self…conscious。　She　at　once
identified　herself　with　her　Polish　grandfather。

〃And　did　he　have　brown　eyes？〃

〃Yes；　dark　eyes。　He　was　a　clever　man；　as　quick　as　a　lion。　He
was　never　still。〃

Lydia　still　resented　Lensky。　When　she　thought　of　him；　she　was
always　younger　than　he；　she　was　always　twenty；　or　twenty…five；
and　under　his　domination。　He　incorporated　her　in　his　ideas　as　if
she　were　not　a　person　herself；　as　if　she　were　just　his
aide…de…camp；　or　part　of　his　baggage；　or　one　among　his　surgical
appliances。　She　still　resented　it。　And　he　was　always　only
thirty：　he　had　died　when　he　was　thirty…four。　She　did　not　feel
sorry　for　him。　He　was　older　than　she。　Yet　she　still　ached　in　the
thought　of　those　days。

〃Did　you　like　my　first　grandfather　best？〃　asked　Ursula。

〃I　liked　them　both；〃　said　the　grandmother。

And；　thinking；　she　became　again　Lensky's　girl…bride。　He　was
of　good　family；　of　better　family　even　than　her　own；　for　she　was
half　German。　She　was　a　young　girl　in　a　house　of　insecure
fortune。　And　he；　an　intellectual；　a　clever　surgeon　and
physician；　had　loved　her。　How　she　had　looked　up　to　him！　She
remembered　her　first　transports　when　he　talked　to　her；　the
important　young　man　with　the　severe　black　beard。　He　had　seemed
so　wonderful；　such　an　authority。　After　her　own　lax　household；
his　gravity　and　confident；　hard　authority　seemed　almost　God…like
to　her。　For　she　had　never　known　it　in　her　life；　all　her
surroundings　had　been　loose；　lax；　disordered；　a　welter。

〃Miss　Lydia；　will　you　marry　me？〃　he　had　said　to　her　in
German；　in　his　grave；　yet　tremulous　voice。　She　had　been　afraid
of　his　dark　eyes　upon　her。　They　did　not　see　her；　they　were　fixed
upon　her。　And　he　was　hard；　confident。　She　thrilled　with　the
excitement　of　it；　and　accepted。　During　the　courtship；　his　kisses
were　a　wonder　to　her。　She　always　thought　about　them；　and
wondered　over　them。　She　never　wanted　to　kiss　him　back。　In　her
idea；　the　man　kissed；　and　the　woman　examined　in　her　soul　the
kisses　she　had　received。

She　had　never　quite　recovered　from　her　prostration　of　the
first　days；　or　nights；　of　marriage。　He　had　taken　her　to　Vienna；
and　she　was　utterly　alone　with　him；　utterly　alone　in　another
world；　everything；　everything　foreign；　even　he　foreign　to　her。
Then　came　the　real　marriage；　passion　came　to　her；　and　she　became
his　slave；　he　was　her　lord；　her　lord。　She　was　the　girl…bride；
the　slave；　she　kissed　his　feet；　she　had　thought　it　an　honour　to
touch　his　body；　to　unfasten　his　boots。　For　two　years；　she　had
gone　on　as　his　slave；　crouching　at　his　feet；　embracing　his
knees。

Children　had　e；　he　had　followed　his　ideas。　She　was　there
for　him；　just　to　keep　him　in　condition。　She　was　to　him　one　of
the　baser　or　material　conditions　necessary　for　his　welfare　in
prosecuting　his　ideas；　of　nationalism；　of　liberty；　of
science。

But　gradually；　at　twenty…three；　twenty…four；　she　began　to
realize　that　she　too　might　consider　these　ideas。　By　his
acceptance　of　her　self…subordination；　he　exhausted　the　feeling
in　her。　There　were　those　of　his　associates　who　would　discuss　the
ideas　with　her；　though　he　did　not　wish　to　do　so　himself。　She
adventured　into　the　minds　of　other　men。　His；　then；　was　not　the
only　male　mind！　She　did　not　exist；　then；　just　as　his　attribute！
She　began　to　perceive　the　attention　of　other　men。　An　excitement
came　over　her。　She　remembered　now　the　men　who　had　paid　her
court；　when　she　was　married；　in　Warsaw。

Then　the　rebellion　broke　out；　and　she　was　inspired　too。　She
would　go　as　a　nurse　at　her　husband's　side。　He　worked　like　a
lion；　he　wore　his　life　out。　And　she　followed　him　helplessly。　But
she　disbelieved　in　him。　He　was　so　separate；　he　ignored　so　much。
He　counted　too　much　on　himself。　His　work；　his　ideas；……did
nothing　else　matter？

Then　the　children　were　dead；　and　for　her；　everything　became
remote。　He　became　remote。　She　saw　him；　she　saw　him　go　white　when
he　heard　the　news；　then　frown；　as　if　he　thought；　〃Why
have　they　died　now；　when　I　have　no　time　to　grieve？〃

〃He　has　no　time　to　grieve；〃　she　had　said；　in　her　remote；
awful　soul。　〃He　has　no　time。　It　is　so　important；　what　he　does！
He　is　then　so　self…important；　this　half…frenzied　man！　Nothing
matters；　but　this　work　of　rebellion！　He　has　not　time　to　grieve；
nor　to　think　of　his　children！　He　had　not　time　even　to　beget
them；　really。〃

She　had　let　him　go　on　alone。　But；　in　the　chaos；　she　had
worked　by　his　side　again。　And　out　of　the　chaos；　she　had　fled
with　him　to　London。

He　was　a　broken；　cold　man。　He　had　no　affection　for　her；　nor
for　anyone。　He　had　failed　in　his　work；　so　everything　had　failed。
He　stiffened；　and　died。

She　could　not　subscribe。　He　had　failed；　everything　had
failed；　yet　behind　the　failure　was　the　unyielding　passion　of
life。　The　individual　effort　might　fail；　but　not　the　human　joy。
She　belonged　to　the　human　joy。

He　died　and　went　his　way；　but　not　before　there　was　another
child。　And　this　little　Ursula　was　his　grandchild。