The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第2部分

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much　fonder　of　Tom　Brangwen；　and　more　at　their　ease　with　him；
yet　if　their　lives　had　been　robbed　of　the　vicar；　and　of　Lord
William；　the　leading　shoot　would　have　been　cut　away　from　them；
they　would　have　been　heavy　and　uninspired　and　inclined　to　hate。
So　long　as　the　wonder　of　the　beyond　was　before　them；　they　could
get　along；　whatever　their　lot。　And　Mrs。　Hardy；　and　the　vicar；
and　Lord　William；　these　moved　in　the　wonder　of　the　beyond；　and
were　visible　to　the　eyes　of　Cossethay　in　their　motion。

II

About　1840；　a　canal　was　constructed　across　the　meadows　of　the
Marsh　Farm；　connecting　the　newlyopened　collieries　of　the
Erewash　Valley。　A　high　embankment　travelled　along　the　fields　to
carry　the　canal；　which　passed　close　to　the　homestead；　and；
reaching　the　road；　went　over　in　a　heavy　bridge。

So　the　Marsh　was　shut　off　from　Ilkeston；　and　enclosed　in　the
small　valley　bed；　which　ended　in　a　bushy　hill　and　the　village
spire　of　Cossethay。

The　Brangwens　received　a　fair　sum　of　money　from　this　trespass
across　their　land。　Then；　a　short　time　afterwards；　a　colliery　was
sunk　on　the　other　side　of　the　canal；　and　in　a　while　the　Midland
Railway　came　down　the　valley　at　the　foot　of　the　Ilkeston　hill；
and　the　invasion　was　plete。　The　town　grew　rapidly；　the
Brangwens　were　kept　busy　producing　supplies；　they　became　richer；
they　were　almost　tradesmen。

Still　the　Marsh　remained　remote　and　original；　on　the　old；
quiet　side　of　the　canal　embankment；　in　the　sunny　valley　where
slow　water　wound　along　in　pany　of　stiff　alders；　and　the　road
went　under　ashtrees　past　the　Brangwens'　garden　gate。

But；　looking　from　the　garden　gate　down　the　road　to　the　right；
there；　through　the　dark　archway　of　the　canal's　square　aqueduct；
was　a　colliery　spinning　away　in　the　near　distance；　and　further；
red；　crude　houses　plastered　on　the　valley　in　masses；　and　beyond
all；　the　dim　smoking　hill　of　the　town。

The　homestead　was　just　on　the　safe　side　of　civilization；
outside　the　gate。　The　house　stood　bare　from　the　road；　approached
by　a　straight　garden　path；　along　which　at　spring　the　daffodils
were　thick　in　green　and　yellow。　At　the　sides　of　the　house　were
bushes　of　lilac　and　guelderrose　and　privet；　entirely　hiding　the
farm　buildings　behind。

At　the　back　a　confusion　of　sheds　spread　into　the　homeclose
from　out　of　two　or　three　indistinct　yards。　The　duckpond　lay
beyond　the　furthest　wall；　littering　its　white　feathers　on　the
padded　earthen　banks；　blowing　its　stray　soiled　feathers　into　the
grass　and　the　gorse　bushes　below　the　canal　embankment；　which
rose　like　a　high　rampart　near　at　hand；　so　that　occasionally　a
man's　figure　passed　in　silhouette；　or　a　man　and　a　towing　horse
traversed　the　sky。

At　first　the　Brangwens　were　astonished　by　all　this　motion
around　them。　The　building　of　a　canal　across　their　land　made　them
strangers　in　their　own　place；　this　raw　bank　of　earth　shutting
them　off　disconcerted　them。　As　they　worked　in　the　fields；　from
beyond　the　now　familiar　embankment　came　the　rhythmic　run　of　the
winding　engines；　startling　at　first；　but　afterwards　a　narcotic
to　the　brain。　Then　the　shrill　whistle　of　the　trains　reechoed
through　the　heart；　with　fearsome　pleasure；　announcing　the
faroff　e　near　and　imminent。

As　they　drove　home　from　town；　the　farmers　of　the　land　met　the
blackened　colliers　trooping　from　the　pitmouth。　As　they　gathered
the　harvest；　the　west　wind　brought　a　faint；　sulphurous　smell　of
pitrefuse　burning。　As　they　pulled　the　turnips　in　November；　the
sharp　clinkclinkclinkclinkclink　of　empty　trucks　shunting　on
the　line；　vibrated　in　their　hearts　with　the　fact　of　other
activity　going　on　beyond　them。

The　Alfred　Brangwen　of　this　period　had　married　a　woman　from
Heanor；　a　daughter　of　the　〃Black　Horse〃。　She　was　a　slim；　pretty；
dark　woman；　quaint　in　her　speech；　whimsical；　so　that　the　sharp
things　she　said　did　not　hurt。　She　was　oddly　a　thing　to　herself；
rather　querulous　in　her　manner；　but　intrinsically　separate　and
indifferent；　so　that　her　long　lamentable　plaints；　when　she
raised　her　voice　against　her　husband　in　particular　and　against
everybody　else　after　him；　only　made　those　who　heard　her　wonder
and　feel　affectionately　towards　her；　even　while　they　were
irritated　and　impatient　with　her。　She　railed　long　and　loud　about
her　husband；　but　always　with　a　balanced；　easyflying　voice　and　a
quaint　manner　of　speech　that　warmed　his　belly　with　pride　and
male　triumph　while　he　scowled　with　mortification　at　the　things
she　said。

Consequently　Brangwen　himself　had　a　humorous　puckering　at　the
eyes；　a　sort　of　fat　laugh；　very　quiet　and　full；　and　he　was
spoilt　like　a　lord　of　creation。　He　calmly　did　as　he　liked；
laughed　at　their　railing；　excused　himself　in　a　teasing　tone　that
she　loved；　followed　his　natural　inclinations；　and　sometimes；
pricked　too　near　the　quick；　frightened　and　broke　her　by　a　deep；
tense　fury　which　seemed　to　fix　on　him　and　hold　him　for　days；　and
which　she　would　give　anything　to　placate　in　him。　They　were　two
very　separate　beings；　vitally　connected；　knowing　nothing　of　each
other；　yet　living　in　their　separate　ways　from　one　root。

There　were　four　sons　and　two　daughters。　The　eldest　boy　ran
away　early　to　sea；　and　did　not　e　back。　After　this　the　mother
was　more　the　node　and　centre　of　attraction　in　the　home。　The
second　boy；　Alfred；　whom　the　mother　admired　most；　was　the　most
reserved。　He　was　sent　to　school　in　Ilkeston　and　made　some
progress。　But　in　spite　of　his　dogged；　yearning　effort；　he　could
not　get　beyond　the　rudiments　of　anything；　save　of　drawing。　At
this；　in　which　he　had　some　power；　he　worked；　as　if　it　were　his
hope。　After　much　grumbling　and　savage　rebellion　against
everything；　after　much　trying　and　shifting　about；　when　his
father　was　incensed　against　him　and　his　mother　almost
despairing；　he　became　a　draughtsman　in　a　lacefactory　in
Nottingham。

He　remained　heavy　and　somewhat　uncouth；　speaking　with　broad
Derbyshire　accent；　adhering　with　all　his　tenacity　to　his　work
and　to　his　town　position；　making　good　designs；　and　being
fairly　welloff。　But　at　drawing；　his　hand　swung　naturally　in
big；　bold　lines；　rather　lax；　so　that　it　was　cruel　for　him　to
pedgill　away　at　the　lace　designing；　working　from　the　tiny
squares　of　his　paper；　counting　and　plotting　and　niggling。　He　did
it　stubbornly；　with　anguish；　crushing　the　bowels　within　him；
adhering　to　his　chosen　lot　whatever　it　should　cost。　And　he　came
back　into　life　set　and　rigid；　a　rarespoken；　almost　surly
man。

He　married　the　daughter　of　a　chemist；　who　affected　some
social　superiority；　and　he　became　something　of　a　snob；　in　his
dogged　fashion；　with　a　passion　for　outward　refinement　in　the
household；　mad　when　anything　clumsy　or　gross　occurred。　Later；
when　his　three　children　were　growing　up；　and　he　seemed　a　staid；
almost　middleaged　man；　he　turned　after　strange　women；　and
became　a　silent；　inscrutable　follower　of　forbidden　pleasure；
neglecting　his　indignant　bourgeois　。

Frank；　the　third　son；　refused　from　the　first　to　have　anything
to　do　with　learning。　From　the　first　he　hung　round　the
slaughterhouse　which　stood　away　in　the　third　yard　at　the　back
of　the　farm。　The　Brangwens　had　always　killed　their　own　meat；　and
supplied　the　neighbourhood。　Out　of　this　grew　a　regular　butcher's
business　in　connection　with　the　farm。

As　a　child　Frank　had　been　drawn　by　the　trickle　of　dark　blood
that　ran　across　the　pavement　from　the　slaughterhouse　to　the
crewyard；　by　the　sight　of　the　man　carrying　across　to　the
meatshed　a　huge　side　of　beef；　with　the　kidneys　showing；
embedded　in　their　heavy　laps　of　fat。

He　was　a　handsome　lad　with　soft　brown　hair　and　regular
features　something　like　a　later　Roman　youth。　He　was　more　easily
excitable；　more　readily　carried　away　than　the　rest；　weaker　in
character。　At　eighteen　he　married　a　little　factory　girl；　a　pale；
plump；　quiet　thing　with　sly　eyes　and　a　wheedling　voice；　who
insinuated　herself　into　him　and　bore　him　a　child　every　year　and
made　a　fool　of　him。　When　he　had　taken　over　the　butchery
business；　already　a　growing　callousness　to　it；　and　a　sort　of
contempt　made　him　neglectful　of　it。　He　drank；　and　was　often　to
be　found　in　his　public　house　blathering　away　as　if　he　knew
everything；　when　in　reality　he　was　a　noisy　fool。

Of　the　daughters；　Alice；　the　elder；　married　a　collier　and
lived　for　a　time　stormily　in　Ilkeston；　before　moving　away　to
Yorkshire　with　her　numerous　young　family。　Effie；　the　younger；
remained　at　home。

The　last　child；　Tom；　was　considerably　younger　than　his
brothers；　so　had　belonged　rather　to　the　pany　of　his　sisters。
He　was　his　mother's　favourite。　She　roused　herself　to
determination；　and　sent　him　forcibly　away　to　a　grammarschool　in
Derby　when　he　was　twelve　years　old。　He　did　not　want　to　go；　and
his　father　would　have　given　way；　but　Mrs。　Brangwen　had　set　her
heart　on　it。　Her　slender；　pretty；　tightlycovered　body；　with
full　skirts；　was　now　the　centre　of　resolution　in　the　house；　and
when　she　had　once　set　upon　anything；　which　was　not　often；　the
family　failed　before　her。

So　Tom　went　to　school；　an　unwilling　failure　from　the　first。
He　believed　his　mother　was　right　in　decreeing　school　for　him；
but　he　knew　she　was　only　right　because　she　would　not　acknowledge
his　constitution。　He　knew；　with　a　child's　deep；　instinctive
foreknowledge　of　what　is　going　to　happen　to　him；　that　he　would
cut　a　sorry　figure　at　school。　But　he　took　the　infliction　as
inevitable；　as　if　he　were　guilty　of　his　own　nature；　as　if　his
being　were　wrong；　and　his　mother's　conception　right。　If　he　could
have　been　what　he　liked；　he　would　have　been　that　which　his
mother　fondly　but　deludedly　hoped　he　was。　He　would　have　been
clever；　and　capable　of　being　a　gentleman。　It　was　her
aspiration　for　him；　therefore　he　knew　it　as　the　true　aspiration
for　any　boy。　But　you　can't　make　a　silk　purse　out　of　a　sow's　ear；
as　he　told　his　mother　very　early；　with　regard　to　himself；　much
to　her　mortification　and　chagrin。

When　he　got　to　school；　he　made　a　violent　struggle　against　his
physical　inability　to　study。　He　sat　gripped；　making　himself　pale
and　ghastly　in　his　effort　to　concentrate　on　the　book；　to　take　in
what　he　had　to　learn。　But　it　was　no　good。　If　he　beat　down　his
first　repulsion；　and　got　like　a　suicide　to　the　stuff；　he　went
very　little　further。　He　could　not　learn　deliberately。　His　mind
simply　did　not　work。

In　feeling　he　was　developed；　sensitive　to　the　atmosphere
around　him；　brutal　perhaps；　but　at　the　same　time　delicate；　very
delicate。　So　he　had　a　low　opinion　of　himself。　He　knew　his　own
limitation。　He　knew　that　his　brain　was　a　slow　hopeless
goodfornothing。　So　he　was　humble。

But　at　the　same　time　his　feelings　were　more　discriminating
than　those　of　most　of　the　boys；　and　he　was　confused。　He　was　more
sensuously　developed；　more　refined　in　instinct　than　they。　For
their　mechanical　stupidity　he　hated　them；　and　suffered　cruel
contempt　for　them。　But　when　it　came　to　mental　things；　then　he
was　at　a　disadvantage。　He　was　at　their　mercy。　He　was　a　fool。　He
had　not　the　power　to　controvert　even　the　most　stupid　argument；
so　that　he　was　forced　to　admit　things　he　did　not　in　the　least
believe。　And　having　admitted　them；　he　did　not　know　whether　he
believed　them　or　not；　he　rather　thought　he　did。

But　he　loved　anyone　who　could　convey　enlightenment　to　him
through　feeling。　He　sat　betrayed　wi