The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第62部分

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war。　She　was　very　confused。

Skrebensky　was　busy；　he　could　not　e　to　see　her。　She　asked
for　no　assurance；　no　security。　What　was　between　them；　was；　and
could　not　be　altered　by　avowals。　She　knew　that　by　instinct；　she
trusted　to　the　intrinsic　reality。

But　she　felt　an　agony　of　helplessness。　She　could　do　nothing。
Vaguely　she　knew　the　huge　powers　of　the　world　rolling　and
crashing　together；　darkly；　clumsily；　stupidly；　yet　colossal；　so
that　one　was　brushed　along　almost　as　dust。　Helpless；　helpless；
swirling　like　dust！　Yet　she　wanted　so　hard　to　rebel；　to　rage；　to
fight。　But　with　what？

Could　she　with　her　hands　fight　the　face　of　the　earth；　beat
the　hills　in　their　places？　Yet　her　breast　wanted　to　fight；　to
fight　the　whole　world。　And　these　two　small　hands　were　all　she
had　to　do　it　with。

The　months　went　by；　and　it　was　Christmas……the　snowdrops
came。　There　was　a　little　hollow　in　the　wood　near　Cossethay；
where　snowdrops　grew　wild。　She　sent　him　some　in　a　box；　and　he
wrote　her　a　quick　little　note　of　thanks……very　grateful　and
wistful　he　seemed。　Her　eyes　grew　childlike　and　puzzled。　Puzzled
from　day　to　day　she　went　on；　helpless；　carried　along　by　all　that
must　happen。

He　went　about　at　his　duties；　giving　himself　up　to　them。　At
the　bottom　of　his　heart　his　self；　the　soul　that　aspired　and　had
true　hope　of　self…effectuation　lay　as　dead；　still…born；　a　dead
weight　in　his　womb。　Who　was　he；　to　hold　important　his　personal
connection？　What　did　a　man　matter　personally？　He　was　just　a
brick　in　the　whole　great　social　fabric；　the　nation；　the　modern
humanity。　His　personal　movements　were　small；　and　entirely
subsidiary。　The　whole　form　must　be　ensured；　not　ruptured；　for
any　personal　reason　whatsoever；　since　no　personal　reason　could
justify　such　a　breaking。　What　did　personal　intimacy　matter？　One
had　to　fill　one's　place　in　the　whole；　the　great　scheme　of　man's
elaborate　civilization；　that　was　all。　The　Whole
mattered……but　the　unit；　the　person；　had　no　importance；
except　as　he　represented　the　Whole。

So　Skrebensky　left　the　girl　out　and　went　his　way；　serving
what　he　had　to　serve；　and　enduring　what　he　had　to　endure；
without　remark。　To　his　own　intrinsic　life；　he　was　dead。　And　he
could　not　rise　again　from　the　dead。　His　soul　lay　in　the　tomb。
His　life　lay　in　the　established　order　of　things。　He　had　his　five
senses　too。　They　were　to　be　gratified。　Apart　from　this；　he
represented　the　great；　established；　extant　Idea　of　life；　and　as
this　he　was　important　and　beyond　question。

The　good　of　the　greatest　number　was　all　that　mattered。　That
which　was　the　greatest　good　for　them　all；　collectively；　was　the
greatest　good　for　the　individual。　And　so；　every　man　must　give
himself　to　support　the　state；　and　so　labour　for　the　greatest
good　of　all。　One　might　make　improvements　in　the　state；　perhaps；
but　always　with　a　view　to　preserving　it　intact。

No　highest　good　of　the　munity；　however；　would　give　him　the
vital　fulfilment　of　his　soul。　He　knew　this。　But　he　did　not
consider　the　soul　of　the　individual　sufficiently　important。　He
believed　a　man　was　important　in　so　far　as　he　represented　all
humanity。

He　could　not　see；　it　was　not　born　in　him　to　see；　that　the
highest　good　of　the　munity　as　it　stands　is　no　longer　the
highest　good　of　even　the　average　individual。　He　thought　that；
because　the　munity　represents　millions　of　people；　therefore
it　must　be　millions　of　times　more　important　than　any　individual；
forgetting　that　the　munity　is　an　abstraction　from　the　many；
and　is　not　the　many　themselves。　Now　when　the　statement　of　the
abstract　good　for　the　munity　has　bee　a　formula　lacking　in
all　inspiration　or　value　to　the　average　intelligence；　then　the
〃mon　good〃　bees　a　general　nuisance；　representing　the
vulgar；　conservative　materialism　at　a　low　level。

And　by　the　highest　good　of　the　greatest　number　is　chiefly
meant　the　material　prosperity　of　all　classes。　Skrebensky　did　not
really　care　about　his　own　material　prosperity。　If　he　had　been
penniless……well；　he　would　have　taken　his　chances。　Therefore
how　could　he　find　his　highest　good　in　giving　up　his　life　for　the
material　prosperity　of　everybody　else！　What　he　considered　an
unimportant　thing　for　himself　he　could　not　think　worthy　of　every
sacrifice　on　behalf　of　other　people。　And　that　which　he　would
consider　of　the　deepest　importance　to　himself　as　an
individual……oh；　he　said；　you　mustn't　consider　the　munity
from　that　standpoint。　No……no……we　know　what　the
munity　wants；　it　wants　something　solid；　it　wants　good　wages；
equal　opportunities；　good　conditions　of　living；　that's　what　the
munity　wants。　It　doesn't　want　anything　subtle　or　difficult。
Duty　is　very　plain…keep　in　mind　the　material；　the　immediate
welfare　of　every　man；　that's　all。

So　there　came　over　Skrebensky　a　sort　of　nullity；　which　more
and　more　terrified　Ursula。　She　felt　there　was　something　hopeless
which　she　had　to　submit　to。　She　felt　a　great　sense　of　disaster
impending。　Day　after　day　was　made　inert　with　a　sense　of
disaster。　She　became　morbidly　sensitive；　depressed；
apprehensive。　It　was　anguish　to　her　when　she　saw　one　rook　slowly
flapping　in　the　sky。　That　was　a　sign　of　ill…omen。　And　the
foreboding　became　so　black　and　so　powerful　in　her；　that　she　was
almost　extinguished。

Yet　what　was　the　matter？　At　the　worst　he　was　only　going　away。
Why　did　she　mind；　what　was　it　she　feared？　She　did　not　know。　Only
she　had　a　black　dread　possessing　her。　When　she　went　at　night　and
saw　the　big；　flashing　stars　they　seemed　terrible；　by　day　she　was
always　expecting　some　charge　to　be　made　against　her。

He　wrote　in　March　to　say　that　he　was　going　to　South　Africa　in
a　short　time；　but　before　he　went；　he　would　snatch　a　day　at　the
Marsh。

As　if　in　a　painful　dream；　she　waited　suspended；　unresolved。
She　did　not　know；　she　could　not　understand。　Only　she　felt　that
all　the　threads　of　her　fate　were　being　held　taut；　in　suspense。
She　only　wept　sometimes　as　she　went　about；　saying　blindly：

〃I　am　so　fond　of　him；　I　am　so　fond　of　him。〃

He　came。　But　why　did　he　e？　She　looked　at　him　for　a　sign。
He　gave　no　sign。　He　did　not　even　kiss　her。　He　behaved　as　if　he
were　an　affable；　usual　acquaintance。　This　was　superficial；　but
what　did　it　hide？　She　waited　for　him；　she　wanted　him　to　make
some　sign。

So　the　whole　of　the　day　they　wavered　and　avoided　contact；
until　evening。　Then；　laughing；　saying　he　would　be　back　in　six
months'　time　and　would　tell　them　all　about　it；　he　shook　hands
with　her　mother　and　took　his　leave。

Ursula　acpanied　him　into　the　lane。　The　night　was　windy；
the　yew　trees　seethed　and　hissed　and　vibrated。　The　wind　seemed
to　rush　about　among　the　chimneys　and　the　church…tower。　It　was
dark。

The　wind　blew　Ursula's　face；　and　her　clothes　cleaved　to　her
limbs。　But　it　was　a　surging；　turgid　wind；　instinct　with
pressed　vigour　of　life。　And　she　seemed　to　have　lost
Skrebensky。　Out　there　in　the　strong；　urgent　night　she　could　not
find　him。

〃Where　are　you？〃　she　asked。

〃Here；〃　came　his　bodiless　voice。

And　groping；　she　touched　him。　A　fire　like　lightning　drenched
them。

〃Anton？〃　she　said。

〃What？〃　he　answered。

She　held　him　with　her　hands　in　the　darkness；　she　felt　his
body　again　with　hers。

〃Don't　leave　me……e　back　to　me；〃　she　said。

〃Yes；〃　he　said；　holding　her　in　his　arms。

But　the　male　in　him　was　scotched　by　the　knowledge　that　she
was　not　under　his　spell　nor　his　influence。　He　wanted　to　go　away
from　her。　He　rested　in　the　knowledge　that　to…morrow　he　was　going
away；　his　life　was　really　elsewhere。　His　life　was
elsewhere……his　life　was　elsewhere……the　centre　of　his
life　was　not　what　she　would　have。　She　was　different……there
was　a　breach　between　them。　They　were　hostile　worlds。

〃You　will　e　back　to　me？〃　she　reiterated。

〃Yes；〃　he　said。　And　he　meant　it。　But　as　one　keeps　an
appointment；　not　as　a　man　returning　to　his　fulfilment。

So　she　kissed　him；　and　went　indoors；　lost。　He　walked　down　to
the　Marsh　abstracted。　The　contact　with　her　hurt　him；　and
threatened　him。　He　shrank；　he　had　to　be　free　of　her　spirit。　For
she　would　stand　before　him；　like　the　angel　before　Balaam；　and
drive　him　back　with　a　sword　from　the　way　he　was　going；　into　a
wilderness。

The　next　day　she　went　to　the　station　to　see　him　go。　She
looked　at　him；　she　turned　to　him；　but　he　was　always　so　strange
and　null……so　null。　He　was　so　collected。　She　thought　it　was
that　which　made　him　null。　Strangely　nothing　he　was。

Ursula　stood　near　him　with　a　mute；　pale　face　which　he　would
rather　not　see。　There　seemed　some　shame　at　the　very　root　of
life；　cold；　dead　shame　for　her。

The　three　made　a　noticeable　group　on　the　station；　the　girl　in
her　fur　cap　and　tippet　and　her　olive　green　costume；　pale；　tense
with　youth；　isolated；　unyielding；　the　soldierly　young　man　in　a
crush　hat　and　a　heavy　overcoat；　his　face　rather　pale　and
reserved　above　his　purple　scarf；　his　whole　figure　neutral；　then
the　elder　man；　a　fashionable　bowler　hat　pressed　low　over　his
dark　brows；　his　face　warm…coloured　and　calm；　his　whole　figure
curiously　suggestive　of　full…blooded　indifference；　he　was　the
eternal　audience；　the　chorus；　the　spectator　at　the　drama；　in　his
own　life　he　would　have　no　drama。

The　train　was　rushing　up。　Ursula's　heart　heaved；　but　the　ice
was　frozen　too　strong　upon　it。

〃Good…bye；〃　she　said；　lifting　her　hand；　her　face　laughing
with　her　peculiar；　blind；　almost　dazzling　laugh。　She　wondered
what　he　was　doing；　when　he　stooped　and　kissed　her。　He　should　be
shaking　hands　and　going。

〃Good…bye；〃　she　said　again。

He　picked　up　his　little　bag　and　turned　his　back　on　her。　There
was　a　hurry　along　the　train。　Ah；　here　was　his　carriage。　He　took
his　seat。　Tom　Brangwen　shut　the　door；　and　the　two　men　shook
hands　as　the　whistle　went。

〃Good…bye……and　good　luck；〃　said　Brangwen。

〃Thank　you……good…bye。〃

The　train　moved　off。　Skrebensky　stood　at　the　carriage　window；
waving；　but　not　really　looking　to　the　two　figures；　the　girl　and
the　warm…coloured；　almost　effeminately…dressed　man　Ursula　waved
her　handkerchief。　The　train　gathered　speed；　it　grew　smaller　and
smaller。　Still　it　ran　in　a　straight　line。　The　speck　of　white
vanished。　The　rear　of　the　train　was　small　in　the　distance。　Still
she　stood　on　the　platform；　feeling　a　great　emptiness　about　her。
In　spite　of　herself　her　mouth　was　quivering：　she　did　not　want　to
cry：　her　heart　was　dead　cold。

Her　Uncle　Tom　had　gone　to　an　automatic　machine；　and　was
getting　matches。

〃Would　you　like　some　sweets？〃　he　said；　turning　round。

Her　face　was　covered　with　tears；　she　made　curious；　downward
grimaces　with　her　mouth；　to　get　control。　Yet　her　heart　was　not
crying……it　was　cold　and　earthy。

〃What　kind　would　you　like……any？〃　persisted　her
uncle。

〃I　should　love　some　peppermint　drops；〃　she　said；　in　a
strange；　normal　voice；　from　her　distorted　face。　But　in　a　few
moments　she　had　gained　control　of　herself；　and　was　still；
detached。

〃Let　us　go　into　the　town；〃　he　said；　and　he　rushed　her　into　a
train；　moving　to　the　town　station。　They　went　to　a　cafe　to　drink
coffee；　she　sat　looking　at　people　in　the　street；　and　a　great
wound　was　in　her　breast；　a　cold　imperturbability　in　her
soul。

This　cold　imperturbability　of　spirit　continued　in　her　now。　It
was　as　if　some　disillusion　had　frozen　upon　her；　a　hard
disbelief。　Part　of　her　had　gone　cold；　apathetic。　She　was　too
young；　too　b