The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第50部分

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was　beginning　to　affect　her；　Anna　sent　her　with　Gudrun　to　the
Grammar　School　in　Nottingham。　This　was　a　great　release　for
Ursula。　She　had　a　passionate　craving　to　escape　from　the
belittling　circumstances　of　life；　the　little　jealousies；　the
little　differences；　the　little　meannesses。　It　was　a　torture　to
her　that　the　Phillipses　were　poorer　and　meaner　than　herself；
that　they　used　mean　little　reservations；　took　petty　little
advantages。　She　wanted　to　be　with　her　equals：　but　not　by
diminishing　herself。　She　did　want　Clem　Phillips　to　be　her
equal。　But　by　some　puzzling；　painful　fate　or　other；　when　he　was
really　there　with　her；　he　produced　in　her　a　tight　feeling　in　the
head。　She　wanted　to　beat　her　forehead；　to　escape。

Then　she　found　that　the　way　to　escape　was　easy。　One　departed
from　the　whole　circumstance。　One　went　away　to　the　Grammar
School；　and　left　the　little　school；　the　meagre　teachers；　the
Phillipses　whom　she　had　tried　to　love　but　who　had　made　her　fail；
and　whom　she　could　not　forgive。　She　had　an　instinctive　fear　of
petty　people；　as　a　deer　is　afraid　of　dogs。　Because　she　was
blind；　she　could　not　calculate　nor　estimate　people。　She　must
think　that　everybody　was　just　like　herself。

She　measured　by　the　standard　of　her　own　people：　her　father
and　mother；　her　grandmother；　her　uncles。　Her　beloved　father；　so
utterly　simple　in　his　demeanour；　yet　with　his　strong；　dark　soul
fixed　like　a　root　in　unexpressed　depths　that　fascinated　and
terrified　her：　her　mother；　so　strangely　free　of　all　money　and
convention　and　fear；　entirely　indifferent　to　the　world；　standing
by　herself；　without　connection：　her　grandmother；　who　had　e
from　so　far　and　was　centred　in　so　wide　an　horizon：　people　must
e　up　to　these　standards　before　they　could　be　Ursula's
people。

So　even　as　a　girl　of　twelve　she　was　glad　to　burst　the　narrow
boundary　of　Cossethay；　where　only　limited　people　lived。　Outside；
was　all　vastness；　and　a　throng　of　real；　proud　people　whom　she
would　love。

Going　to　school　by　train；　she　must　leave　home　at　a　quarter　to
eight　in　the　morning；　and　she　did　not　arrive　again　till
half…past　five　at　evening。　Of　this　she　was　glad；　for　the　house
was　small　and　overful。　It　was　a　storm　of　movement；　whence　there
had　been　no　escape。　She　hated　so　much　being　in　charge。

The　house　was　a　storm　of　movement。　The　children　were　healthy
and　turbulent；　the　mother　only　wanted　their　animal　well…being。
To　Ursula；　as　she　grew　a　little　older；　it　became　a　nightmare。
When　she　saw；　later；　a　Rubens　picture　with　storms　of　naked
babies；　and　found　this　was　called　〃Fecundity〃；　she　shuddered；
and　the　world　became　abhorrent　to　her。　She　knew　as　a　child　what
it　was　to　live　amidst　storms　of　babies；　in　the　heat　and　swelter
of　fecundity。　And　as　a　child；　she　was　against　her　mother；
passionately　against　her　mother；　she　craved　for　some
spirituality　and　stateliness。

In　bad　weather；　home　was　a　bedlam。　Children　dashed　in　and　out
of　the　rain；　to　the　puddles　under　the　dismal　yew　trees；　across
the　wet　flagstones　of　the　kitchen；　whilst　the　cleaning…woman
grumbled　and　scolded；　children　were　swarming　on　the　sofa；
children　were　kicking　the　piano　in　the　parlour；　to　make　it　sound
like　a　beehive；　children　were　rolling　on　the　hearthrug；　legs　in
air；　pulling　a　book　in　two　between　them；　children；　fiendish；
ubiquitous；　were　stealing　upstairs　to　find　out　where　our　Ursula
was；　whispering　at　bedroom　doors；　hanging　on　the　latch；　calling
mysteriously；　〃Ursula！　Ursula！〃　to　the　girl　who　had　locked
herself　in　to　read。　And　it　was　hopeless。　The　locked　door　excited
their　sense　of　mystery；　she　had　to　open　to　dispel　the　lure。
These　children　hung　on　to　her　with　round…eyed　excited
questions。

The　mother　flourished　amid　all　this。

〃Better　have　them　noisy　than　ill；〃　she　said。

But　the　growing　girls；　in　turn；　suffered　bitterly。　Ursula　was
just　ing　to　the　stage　when　Andersen　and　Grimm　were　being　left
behind　for　the　〃Idylls　of　the　King〃　and　romantic
love…stories。

　　〃Elaine　the　fair　Elaine　the　lovable；
　　　Elaine　the　lily　maid　of　Astolat；
　　　High　in　her　chamber　in　a　tower　to　the　east
　　　Guarded　the　sacred　shield　of　Launcelot。〃

How　she　loved　it！　How　she　leaned　in　her　bedroom　window　with
her　black；　rough　hair　on　her　shoulders；　and　her　warm　face　all
rapt；　and　gazed　across　at　the　churchyard　and　the　little　church；
which　was　a　turreted　castle；　whence　Launcelot　would　ride　just
now；　would　wave　to　her　as　he　rode　by；　his　scarlet　cloak　passing
behind　the　dark　yew　trees　and　between　the　open　space：　whilst
she；　ah；　she；　would　remain　the　lonely　maid　high　up　and　isolated
in　the　tower；　polishing　the　terrible　shield；　weaving　it　a
covering　with　a　true　device；　and　waiting；　waiting；　always　remote
and　high。

At　which　point　there　would　be　a　faint　scuffle　on　the　stairs；
a　light…pitched　whispering　outside　the　door；　and　a　creaking　of
the　latch：　then　Billy；　excited；　whispering：

〃It's　locked……it's　locked。〃

Then　the　knocking；　kicking　at　the　door　with　childish　knees；
and　the　urgent；　childish：

〃Ursula……our　Ursula？　Ursula？　Eh；　our　Ursula？〃

No　reply。

〃Ursula！　Eh……our　Ursula？〃　the　name　was　shouted　now　Still
no　answer。

〃Mother；　she　won't　answer；〃　came　the　yell。　〃She's　dead。〃

〃Go　away……I'm　not　dead。　What　do　you　want？〃　came　the
angry　voice　of　the　girl。

〃Open　the　door；　our　Ursula；〃　came　the　plaining　cry。　It　was
all　over。　She　must　open　the　door。　She　heard　the　screech　of　the
bucket　downstairs　dragged　across　the　flagstones　as　the　woman
washed　the　kitchen　floor。　And　the　children　were　prowling　in　the
bedroom；　asking：

〃What　were　you　doing？　What　had　you　locked　the　door　for？〃　Then
she　discovered　the　key　of　the　parish　room；　and　betook　herself
there；　and　sat　on　some　sacks　with　her　books。　There　began　another
dream。

She　was　the　only　daughter　of　the　old　lord；　she　was　gifted
with　magic。　Day　followed　day　of　rapt　silence；　whilst　she
wandered　ghost…like　in　the　hushed；　ancient　mansion；　or　flitted
along　the　sleeping　terraces。

Here　a　grave　grief　attacked　her：　that　her　hair　was　dark。　She
must　have　fair　hair　and　a　white　skin。　She　was　rather
bitter　about　her　black　mane。

Never　mind；　she　would　dye　it　when　she　grew　up；　or　bleach　it
in　the　sun；　till　it　was　bleached　fair。　Meanwhile　she　wore　a　fair
white　coif　of　pure　Venetian　lace。

She　flitted　silently　along　the　terraces；　where　jewelled
lizards　basked　upon　the　stone；　and　did　not　move　when　her　shadow
fell　upon　them。　In　the　utter　stillness　she　heard　the　tinkle　of
the　fountain；　and　smelled　the　roses　whose　blossoms　hung　rich　and
motionless。　So　she　drifted；　drifted　on　the　wistful　feet　of
beauty；　past　the　water　and　the　swans；　to　the　noble　park；　where；
underneath　a　great　oak；　a　doe　all　dappled　lay　with　her　four　fine
feet　together；　her　fawn　nestling　sun…coloured　beside　her。

Oh；　and　this　doe　was　her　familiar。　It　would　talk　to　her；
because　she　was　a　magician；　it　would　tell　her　stories　as　if　the
sunshine　spoke。

Then　one　day；　she　left　the　door　of　the　parish　room　unlocked；
careless　and　unheeding　as　she　always　was；　the　children　found
their　way　in；　Katie　cut　her　finger　and　howled；　Billy　hacked
notches　in　the　fine　chisels；　and　did　much　damage。　There　was　a
great　motion。

The　crossness　of　the　mother　was　soon　finished。　Ursula　locked
up　the　room　again；　and　considered　all　was　over。　Then　her　father
came　in　with　the　notched　tools；　his　forehead　knotted。

〃Who　the　deuce　opened　the　door？〃　he　cried　in　anger。

〃It　was　Ursula　who　opened　the　door；〃　said　her　mother。　He　had
a　duster　in　his　hand。　He　turned　and　flapped　the　cloth　hard
across　the　girl's　face。　The　cloth　stung；　for　a　moment　the　girl
was　as　if　stunned。　Then　she　remained　motionless；　her　face　closed
and　stubborn。　But　her　heart　was　blazing。　In　spite　of　herself　the
tears　surged　higher；　in　spite　of　her　they　surged　higher。

In　spite　of　her；　her　face　broke；　she　made　a　curious　gulping
grimace；　and　the　tears　were　falling。　So　she　went　away；　desolate。
But　her　blazing　heart　was　fierce　and　unyielding。　He　watched　her
go；　and　a　pleasurable　pain　filled　him；　a　sense　of　triumph　and
easy　power；　followed　immediately　by　acute　pity。

〃I'm　sure　that　was　unnecessary……to　hit　the　girl　across
the　face；〃　said　the　mother　coldly。

〃A　flip　with　the　duster　won't　hurt　her；〃　he　said。

〃Nor　will　it　do　her　any　good。〃

For　days；　for　weeks；　Ursula's　heart　burned　from　this　rebuff。
She　felt　so　cruelly　vulnerable。　Did　he　not　know　how　vulnerable
she　was；　how　exposed　and　wincing？　He；　of　all　people；　knew。　And
he　wanted　to　do　this　to　her。　He　wanted　to　hurt　her　right　through
her　closest　sensitiveness；　he　wanted　to　treat　her　with　shame；　to
maim　her　with　insult。

Her　heart　burnt　in　isolation；　like　a　watchfire　lighted。　She
did　not　forget；　she　did　not　forget；　she　never　forgot。　When　she
returned　to　her　love　for　her　father；　the　seed　of　mistrust　and
defiance　burned　unquenched；　though　covered　up　far　from　sight。
She　no　longer　belonged　to　him　unquestioned。　Slowly；　slowly；　the
fire　of　mistrust　and　defiance　burned　in　her；　burned　away　her
connection　with　him。

She　ran　a　good　deal　alone；　having　a　passion　for　all　moving；
active　things。　She　loved　the　little　brooks。　Wherever　she　found　a
little　running　water；　she　was　happy。　It　seemed　to　make　her　run
and　sing　in　spirit　along　with　it。　She　could　sit　for　hours　by　a
brook　or　stream；　on　the　roots　of　the　alders；　and　watch　the　water
hasten　dancing　over　the　stones；　or　among　the　twigs　of　a　fallen
branch。　Sometimes；　little　fish　vanished　before　they　had　bee
real；　like　hallucinations；　sometimes　wagtails　ran　by　the　water's
brink；　sometimes　other　little　birds　came　to　drink。　She　saw　a
kingfisher　darting　blue……and　then　she　was　very　happy。　The
kingfisher　was　the　key　to　the　magic　world：　he　was　witness　of　the
border　of　enchantment。

But　she　must　move　out　of　the　intricately　woven　illusion　of
her　life：　the　illusion　of　a　father　whose　life　was　an　Odyssey　in
an　outer　world；　the　illusion　of　her　grandmother；　of　realities　so
shadowy　and　far…off　that　they　became　as　mystic
symbols：……peasant…girls　with　wreaths　of　blue　flowers　in
their　hair；　the　sledges　and　the　depths　of　winter；　the
dark…bearded　young　grandfather；　marriage　and　war　and　death；　then
the　multitude　of　illusions　concerning　herself；　how　she　was　truly
a　princess　of　Poland；　how　in　England　she　was　under　a　spell；　she
was　not　really　this　Ursula　Brangwen；　then　the　mirage　of　her
reading：　out　of　the　multicoloured　illusion　of　this　her　life；　she
must　move　on；　to　the　Grammar　School　in　Nottingham。

She　was　shy；　and　she　suffered。　For　one　thing；　she　bit　her
nails；　and　had　a　cruel　consciousness　in　her　finger…tips；　a
shame；　an　exposure。　Out　of　all　proportion；　this　shame　haunted
her。　She　spent　hours　of　torture；　conjuring　how　she　might　keep
her　gloves　on：　if　she　might　say　her　hands　were　scalded；　if　she
might　seem　to　forget　to　take　off　her　gloves。

For　she　was　going　to　inherit　her　own　estate；　when　she　went　to
the　High　School。　There；　each　girl　was　a　lady。　There；　she　was
going　to　walk　among　free　souls；　her　co…mates　and　her　equals；　and
all　petty　things　would　be　put　away。　Ah；　if　only　she　did　not　bite
her　nails！　If　only　she　had　not　this　blemish！　She　wanted　so　much
to　be　perfect……without　spot　or　blemish；　living　the　high；
noble　life。

It　was　a　grief　to　her　that　her　father　made　such　a　poor
introduction。　He　was　brief　a