The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第53部分

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drew　on；　hearts　beat　fast　with　anticipation；　hands　were　full　of
ready　gifts。　There　were　the　tremulously　expectant　words　of　the
church　service；　the　night　was　past　and　the　morning　was　e；　the
gifts　were　given　and　received；　joy　and　peace　made　a　flapping　of
wings　in　each　heart；　there　was　a　great　burst　of　carols；　the
Peace　of　the　World　had　dawned；　strife　had　passed　away；　every
hand　was　linked　in　hand；　every　heart　was　singing。

It　was　bitter；　though；　that　Christmas　Day；　as　it　drew　on　to
evening；　and　night；　became　a　sort　of　bank　holiday；　flat　and
stale。　The　morning　was　so　wonderful；　but　in　the　afternoon　and
evening　the　ecstasy　perished　like　a　nipped　thing；　like　a　bud　in
a　false　spring。　Alas；　that　Christmas　was　only　a　domestic　feast；
a　feast　of　sweetmeats　and　toys！　Why　did　not　the　grownups　also
change　their　everyday　hearts；　and　give　way　to　ecstasy？　Where　was
the　ecstasy？

How　passionately　the　Brangwens　craved　for　it；　the　ecstasy。
The　father　was　troubled；　darkfaced　and　disconsolate；　on
Christmas　night；　because　the　passion　was　not　there；　because　the
day　was　bee　as　every　day；　and　hearts　were　not　aflame。　Upon
the　mother　was　a　kind　of　absentness；　as　ever；　as　if　she　were
exiled　for　all　her　life。　Where　was　the　fiery　heart　of　joy；　now
the　ing　was　fulfilled；　where　was　the　star；　the　Magi's
transport；　the　thrill　of　new　being　that　shook　the　earth？

Still　it　was　there；　even　if　it　were　faint　and　inadequate。　The
cycle　of　creation　still　wheeled　in　the　Church　year。　After
Christmas；　the　ecstasy　slowly　sank　and　changed。　Sunday　followed
Sunday；　trailing　a　fine　movement；　a　finely　developed
transformation　over　the　heart　of　the　family。　The　heart　that　was
big　with　joy；　that　had　seen　the　star　and　had　followed　to　the
inner　walls　of　the　Nativity；　that　there　had　swooned　in　the　great
light；　must　now　feel　the　light　slowly　withdrawing；　a　shadow
falling；　darkening。　The　chill　crept　in；　silence　came　over　the
earth；　and　then　all　was　darkness。　The　veil　of　the　temple　was
rent；　each　heart　gave　up　the　ghost；　and　sank　dead。

They　moved　quietly；　a　little　wanness　on　the　lips　of　the
children；　at　Good　Friday；　feeling　the　shadow　upon　their　hearts。
Then；　pale　with　a　deathly　scent；　came　the　lilies　of
resurrection；　that　shone　coldly　till　the　forter　was
given。

But　why　the　memory　of　the　wounds　and　the　death？　Surely　Christ
rose　with　healed　hands　and　feet；　sound　and　strong　and　glad？
Surely　the　passage　of　the　cross　and　the　tomb　was　fotten？　But
noalways　the　memory　of　the　wounds；　always　the　smell　of
graveclothes？　A　small　thing　was　Resurrection；　pared　with　the
Cross　and　the　death；　in　this　cycle。

So　the　children　lived　the　year　of　christianity；　the　epic　of
the　soul　of　mankind。　Year　by　year　the　inner；　unknown　drama　went
on　in　them；　their　hearts　were　born　and　came　to　fulness；　suffered
on　the　cross；　gave　up　the　ghost；　and　rose　again　to　unnumbered
days；　untired；　having　at　least　this　rhythm　of　eternity　in　a
ragged；　inconsequential　life。

But　it　was　being　a　mechanical　action　now；　this　drama：
birth　at　Christmas　for　death　at　Good　Friday。　On　Easter　Sunday
the　lifedrama　was　as　good　as　finished。　For　the　Resurrection　was
shadowy　and　overe　by　the　shadow　of　death；　the　Ascension　was
scarce　noticed；　a　mere　confirmation　of　death。

What　was　the　hope　and　the　fulfilment？　Nay；　was　it　all　only　a
useless　afterdeath；　a　wan；　bodiless　afterdeath？　Alas；　and　alas
for　the　passion　of　the　human　heart；　that　must　die　so　long　before
the　body　was　dead。

For　from　the　grave；　after　the　passion　and　the　trial　of
anguish；　the　body　rose　torn　and　chill　and　colourless。　Did　not
Christ　say；　〃Mary！〃　and　when　she　turned　with　outstretched　hands
to　him；　did　he　not　hasten　to　add；　〃Touch　me　not；　for　I　am　not
yet　ascended　to　my　father。〃

Then　how　could　the　hands　rejoice；　or　the　heart　be　glad；
seeing　themselves　repulsed。　Alas；　for　the　resurrection　of　the
dead　body！　Alas；　for　the　wavering；　glimmering　appearance　of　the
risen　Christ。　Alas；　for　the　Ascension　into　heaven；　which　is　a
shadow　within　death；　a　plete　passing　away。

Alas；　that　so　soon　the　drama　is　over；　that　life　is　ended　at
thirtythree；　that　the　half　of　the　year　of　the　soul　is　cold　and
historiless！　Alas；　that　a　risen　Christ　has　no　place　with　us！
Alas；　that　the　memory　of　the　passion　of　Sorrow　and　Death　and　the
Grave　holds　triumph　over　the　pale　fact　of　Resurrection！

But　why？　Why　shall　I　not　rise　with　my　body　whole　and　perfect；
shining　with　strong　life？　Why；　when　Mary　says：　Rabboni；　shall　I
not　take　her　in　my　arms　and　kiss　her　and　hold　her　to　my　breast？
Why　is　the　risen　body　deadly；　and　abhorrent　with　wounds？

The　Resurrection　is　to　life；　not　to　death。　Shall　I　not　see
those　who　have　risen　again　walk　here　among　men　perfect　in　body
and　spirit；　whole　and　glad　in　the　flesh；　living　in　the　flesh；
loving　in　the　flesh；　begetting　children　in　the　flesh；　arrived　at
last　to　wholeness；　perfect　without　scar　or　blemish；　healthy
without　fear　of　ill　health？　Is　this　not　the　period　of　manhood
and　of　joy　and　fulfilment；　after　the　Resurrection？　Who　shall　be
shadowed　by　Death　and　the　Cross；　being　risen；　and　who　shall　fear
the　mystic；　perfect　flesh　that　belongs　to　heaven？

Can　I　not；　then；　walk　this　earth　in　gladness；　being　risen
from　sorrow？　Can　I　not　eat　with　my　brother　happily；　and　with　joy
kiss　my　beloved；　after　my　resurrection；　celebrate　my　marriage　in
the　flesh　with　feastings；　go　about　my　business　eagerly；　in　the
joy　of　my　fellows？　Is　heaven　impatient　for　me；　and　bitter
against　this　earth；　that　I　should　hurry　off；　or　that　I　should
linger　pale　and　untouched？　Is　the　flesh　which　was　crucified
bee　as　poison　to　the　crowds　in　the　street；　or　is　it　as　a
strong　gladness　and　hope　to　them；　as　the　first　flower　blossoming
out　of　the　earth's　humus？



CHAPTER　XII

FIRST　LOVE

As　Ursula　passed　from　girlhood　towards　womanhood；　gradually
the　cloud　of　selfresponsibility　gathered　upon　her。　She　became
aware　of　herself；　that　she　was　a　separate　entity　in　the　midst　of
an　unseparated　obscurity；　that　she　must　go　somewhere；　she　must
bee　something。　And　she　was　afraid；　troubled。　Why；　oh　why　must
one　grow　up；　why　must　one　inherit　this　heavy；　numbing
responsibility　of　living　an　undiscovered　life？　Out　of　the
nothingness　and　the　undifferentiated　mass；　to　make　something　of
herself！　But　what？　In　the　obscurity　and　pathlessness　to　take　a
direction！　But　whither？　How　take　even　one　step？　And　yet；　how
stand　still？　This　was　torment　indeed；　to　inherit　the
responsibility　of　one's　own　life。

The　religion　which　had　been　another　world　for　her；　a　glorious
sort　of　playworld；　where　she　lived；　climbing　the　tree　with　the
shortstatured　man；　walking　shakily　on　the　sea　like　the
disciple；　breaking　the　bread　into　five　thousand　portions；　like
the　Lord；　giving　a　great　picnic　to　five　thousand　people；　now
fell　away　from　reality；　and　became　a　tale；　a　myth；　an　illusion；
which；　however　much　one　might　assert　it　to　be　true　an　historical
fact；　one　knew　was　not　trueat　least；　for　this
presentday　life　of　ours。　There　could；　within　the　limits
of　this　life　we　know；　be　no　Feeding　of　the　Five　Thousand。　And
the　girl　had　e　to　the　point　where　she　held　that　that　which
one　cannot　experience　in　daily　life　is　not　true　for　oneself。

So；　the　old　duality　of　life；　wherein　there　had　been　a　weekday
world　of　people　and　trains　and　duties　and　reports；　and　besides
that　a　Sunday　world　of　absolute　truth　and　living　mystery；　of
walking　upon　the　waters　and　being　blinded　by　the　face　of　the
Lord；　of　following　the　pillar　of　cloud　across　the　desert　and
watching　the　bush　that　crackled　yet　did　not　burn　away；　this　old；
unquestioned　duality　suddenly　was　found　to　be　broken　apart。　The
weekday　world　had　triumphed　over　the　Sunday　world。　The　Sunday
world　was　not　real；　or　at　least；　not　actual。　And　one　lived　by
action。

Only　the　weekday　world　mattered。　She　herself；　Ursula
Brangwen；　must　know　how　to　take　the　weekday　life。　Her　body　must
be　a　weekday　body；　held　in　the　world's　estimate。　Her　soul　must
have　a　weekday　value；　known　according　to　the　world's
knowledge。

Well；　then；　there　was　a　weekday　life　to　live；　of　action　and
deeds。　And　so　there　was　a　necessity　to　choose　one's　action　and
one's　deeds。　One　was　responsible　to　the　world　for　what　one
did。

Nay；　one　was　more　than　responsible　to　the　world。　One　was
responsible　to　oneself。　There　was　some　puzzling；　tormenting
residue　of　the　Sunday　world　within　her；　some　persistent　Sunday
self；　which　insisted　upon　a　relationship　with　the　now　shedaway
vision　world。　How　could　one　keep　up　a　relationship　with　that
which　one　denied？　Her　task　was　now　to　learn　the　weekday
life。

How　to　act；　that　was　the　question？　Whither　to　go；　how　to
bee　oneself？　One　was　not　oneself；　one　was　merely　a
halfstated　question。　How　to　bee　oneself；　how　to　know　the
question　and　the　answer　of　oneself；　when　one　was　merely　an
unfixed　somethingnothing；　blowing　about　like　the　winds　of
heaven；　undefined；　unstated。

She　turned　to　the　visions；　which　had　spoken　faroff　words
that　ran　along　the　blood　like　ripples　of　an　unseen　wind；　she
heard　the　words　again；　she　denied　the　vision；　for　she　must　be　a
weekday　person；　to　whom　visions　were　not　true；　and　she　demanded
only　the　weekday　meaning　of　the　words。

There　were　words　spoken　by　the　vision：　and　words　must
have　a　weekday　meaning；　since　words　were　weekday　stuff。　Let　them
speak　now：　let　them　bespeak　themselves　in　weekday　terms。　The
vision　should　translate　itself　into　weekday　terms。

〃Sell　all　thou　hast；　and　give　to　the　poor；〃　she　heard　on
Sunday　morning。　That　was　plain　enough；　plain　enough　for　Monday
morning　too。　As　she　went　down　the　hill　to　the　station；　going　to
school；　she　took　the　saying　with　her。

〃Sell　all　thou　hast；　and　give　to　the　poor。〃

Did　she　want　to　do　that？　Did　she　want　to　sell　her
pearlbacked　brush　and　mirror；　her　silver　candlestick；　her
pendant；　her　lovely　little　necklace；　and　go　dressed　in　drab　like
the　Wherrys：　the　unlovely　unbed　Wherrys；　who　were　the　〃poor〃
to　her？　She　did　not。

She　walked　this　Monday　morning　on　the　verge　of　misery。　For
she　did　want　to　do　what　was　right。　And　she　didn't　want　to　do
what　the　gospels　said。　She　didn't　want　to　be　poorreally
poor。　The　thought　was　a　horror　to　her：　to　live　like　the　Wherrys；
so　ugly；　to　be　at　the　mercy　of　everybody。

〃Sell　that　thou　hast；　and　give　to　the　poor。〃

One　could　not　do　it　in　real　life。　How　dreary　and　hopeless　it
made　her！

Nor　could　one　turn　the　other　cheek。　Theresa　slapped　Ursula　on
the　face。　Ursula；　in　a　mood　of　Christian　humility；　silently
presented　the　other　side　of　her　face。　Which　Theresa；　in
exasperation　at　the　challenge；　also　hit。　Whereupon　Ursula；　with
boiling　heart；　went　meekly　away。

But　anger；　and　deep；　writhing　shame　tortured　her；　so　she　was
not　easy　till　she　had　again　quarrelled　with　Theresa　and　had
almost　shaken　her　sister's　head　off。

〃That'll　teach　you；〃　she　said；　grimly。

And　she　went　away；　unchristian　but　clean。

There　was　something　unclean　and　degrading　about　this　humble
side　of　Christianity。　Ursula　suddenly　revolted　to　the　other
extreme。

〃I　hate　the　Wherrys；　and　I　wish　they　were　dead。　Why　does　my
father　leave　us　in　the　lurch　like　this；　making　us　be　poor　and
insignificant？　Why　is　he　not　more？　If　we　had　a　father　as　he
ought　to　be；　he　would　be　Earl　William　Brangwen；　and　I　should　b