The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第65部分

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Winifred　knew　what　this　meant。　She　knew　that　Ursula　was
beginning　to　reject　her。　The　fine；　unquenchable　flame　of　the
younger　girl　would　consent　no　more　to　mingle　with　the　perverted
life　of　the　elder　woman。　Winifred　knew　it　would　e。　But　she
too　was　proud。　At　the　bottom　of　her　was　a　black　pit　of　despair。
She　knew　perfectly　well　that　Ursula　would　cast　her　off。

And　that　seemed　like　the　end　of　her　life。　But　she　was　too
hopeless　to　rage。　Wisely；　economizing　what　was　left　of　Ursula's
love；　she　went　away　to　London；　leaving　the　beloved　girl
alone。

And　after　a　fortnight；　Ursula's　letters　became　tender　again；
loving。　Her　Uncle　Tom　had　invited　her　to　go　and　stay　with　him。
He　was　managing　a　big；　new　colliery　in　Yorkshire。　Would　Winifred
e　too？

For　now　Ursula　was　imagining　marriage　for　Winifred。　She
wanted　her　to　marry　her　Uncle　Tom。　Winifred　knew　this。　She　said
she　would　e　to　Wiggiston。　She　would　now　let　fate　do　as　it
liked　with　her；　since　there　was　nothing　remaining　to　be　done。
Tom　Brangwen　also　saw　Ursula's　intention。　He　too　was　at　the　end
of　his　desires。　He　had　done　the　things　he　had　wanted　to。　They
had　all　ended　in　a　disintegrated　lifelessness　of　soul；　which　he
hid　under　an　utterly　tolerant　goodhumour。　He　no　longer　cared
about　anything　on　earth；　neither　man　nor　woman；　nor　God　nor
humanity。　He　had　e　to　a　stability　of　nullification。　He　did
not　care　any　more；　neither　about　his　body　nor　about　his　soul。
Only　he　would　preserve　intact　his　own　life。　Only　the　simple；
superficial　fact　of　living　persisted。　He　was　still　healthy。　He
lived。　Therefore　he　would　fill　each　moment。　That　had　always　been
his　creed。　It　was　not　instinctive　easiness：　it　was　the
inevitable　oute　of　his　nature。　When　he　was　in　the　absolute
privacy　of　his　own　life；　he　did　as　he　pleased；　unscrupulous；
without　any　ulterior　thought。　He　believed　neither　in　good　nor
evil。　Each　moment　was　like　a　separate　little　island；　isolated
from　time；　and　blank；　unconditioned　by　time。

He　lived　in　a　large　new　house　of　red　brick；　standing　outside
a　mass　of　homogeneous　redbrick　dwellings；　called　Wiggiston。
Wiggiston　was　only　seven　years　old。　It　had　been　a　hamlet　of
eleven　houses　on　the　edge　of　healthy；　halfagricultural　country。
Then　the　great　seam　of　coal　had　been　opened。　In　a　year　Wiggiston
appeared；　a　great　mass　of　pinkish　rows　of　thin；　unreal　dwellings
of　five　rooms　each。　The　streets　were　like　visions　of　pure
ugliness；　a　greyblack　macadamized　road；　asphalt　causeways；　held
in　between　a　flat　succession　of　wall；　window；　and　door；　a
newbrick　channel　that　began　nowhere；　and　ended　nowhere。
Everything　was　amorphous；　yet　everything　repeated　itself
endlessly。　Only　now　and　then；　in　one　of　the　housewindows
vegetables　or　small　groceries　were　displayed　for　sale。

In　the　middle　of　the　town　was　a　large；　open；　shapeless　space；
or　marketplace；　of　black　trodden　earth；　surrounded　by　the　same
flat　material　of　dwellings；　new　redbrick　being　grimy；　small
oblong　windows；　and　oblong　doors；　repeated　endlessly；　with　just；
at　one　corner；　a　great　and　gaudy　public　house；　and　somewhere
lost　on　one　of　the　sides　of　the　square；　a　large　window　opaque
and　darkish　green；　which　was　the　post　office。

The　place　had　the　strange　desolation　of　a　ruin。　Colliers
hanging　about　in　gangs　and　groups；　or　passing　along　the　asphalt
pavements　heavily　to　work；　seemed　not　like　living　people；　but
like　spectres。　The　rigidity　of　the　blank　streets；　the
homogeneous　amorphous　sterility　of　the　whole　suggested　death
rather　than　life。　There　was　no　meeting　place；　no　centre；　no
artery；　no　anic　formation。　There　it　lay；　like　the　new
foundations　of　a　redbrick　confusion　rapidly　spreading；　like　a
skindisease。

Just　outside　of　this；　on　a　little　hill；　was　Tom　Brangwen's
big；　redbrick　house。　It　looked　from　the　front　upon　the　edge　of
the　place；　a　meaningless　squalor　of　ashpits　and　closets　and
irregular　rows　of　the　backs　of　houses；　each　with　its　small
activity　made　sordid　by　barren　cohesion　with　the　rest　of　the
small　activities。　Farther　off　was　the　great　colliery　that　went
night　and　day。　And　all　around　was　the　country；　green　with　two
winding　streams；　ragged　with　gorse；　and　heath；　the　darker　woods
in　the　distance。

The　whole　place　was　just　unreal；　just　unreal。　Even　now；　when
he　had　been　there　for　two　years；　Tom　Brangwen　did　not　believe　in
the　actuality　of　the　place。　It　was　like　some　gruesome　dream；
some　ugly；　dead；　amorphous　mood　bee　concrete。

Ursula　and　Winifred　were　met　by　the　motorcar　at　the　raw
little　station；　and　drove　through　what　seemed　to　them　like　the
horrible　raw　beginnings　of　something。　The　place　was　a　moment　of
chaos　perpetuated；　persisting；　chaos　fixed　and　rigid。　Ursula　was
fascinated　by　the　many　men　who　were　theregroups　of　men
standing　in　the　streets；　four　or　five　men　walking　in　a　gang
together；　their　dogs　running　behind　or　before。　They　were　all
decently　dressed；　and　most　of　them　rather　gaunt。　The　terrible
gaunt　repose　of　their　bearing　fascinated　her。　Like　creatures
with　no　more　hope；　but　which　still　live　and　have　passionate
being；　within　some　utterly　unliving　shell；　they　passed
meaninglessly　along；　with　strange；　isolated　dignity。　It　was　as
if　a　hard；　horny　shell　enclosed　them　all。

Shocked　and　startled；　Ursula　was　carried　to　her　Uncle　Tom's
house。　He　was　not　yet　at　home。　His　house　was　simply；　but　well
furnished。　He　had　taken　out　a　dividing　wall；　and　made　the　whole
front　of　the　house　into　a　large　library；　with　one　end　devoted　to
his　science。　It　was　a　handsome　room；　appointed　as　a　laboratory
and　reading　room；　but　giving　the　same　sense　of　hard；　mechanical
activity；　activity　mechanical　yet　inchoate；　and　looking　out　on
the　hideous　abstraction　of　the　town；　and　at　the　green　meadows
and　rough　country　beyond；　and　at　the　great；　mathematical
colliery　on　the　other　side。

They　saw　Tom　Brangwen　walking　up　the　curved　drive。　He　was
getting　stouter；　but　with　his　bowler　hat　worn　well　set　down　on
his　brows；　he　looked　manly；　handsome；　curiously　like　any　other
man　of　action。　His　colour　was　as　fresh；　his　health　as　perfect　as
ever；　he　walked　like　a　man　rather　absorbed。

Winifred　Inger　was　startled　when　he　entered　the　library；　his
coat　fastened　and　correct；　his　head　bald　to　the　crown；　but　not
shiny；　rather　like　something　naked　that　one　is　accustomed　to　see
covered；　and　his　dark　eyes　liquid　and　formless。　He　seemed　to
stand　in　the　shadow；　like　a　thing　ashamed。　And　the　clasp　of　his
hand　was　so　soft　and　yet　so　forceful；　that　it　chilled　the　heart。
She　was　afraid　of　him；　repelled　by　him；　and　yet　attracted。

He　looked　at　the　athletic；　seemingly　fearless　girl；　and　he
detected　in　her　a　kinship　with　his　own　dark　corruption。
Immediately；　he　knew　they　were　akin。

His　manner　was　polite；　almost　foreign；　and　rather　cold。　He
still　laughed　in　his　curious；　animal　fashion；　suddenly　wrinkling
up　his　wide　nose；　and　showing　his　sharp　teeth。　The　fine　beauty
of　his　skin　and　his　plexion；　some　almost　waxen　quality；　hid
the　strange；　repellent　grossness　of　him；　the　slight　sense　of
putrescence；　the　monness　which　revealed　itself　in　his　rather
fat　thighs　and　loins。

Winifred　saw　at　once　the　deferential；　slightly　servile；
slightly　cunning　regard　he　had　for　Ursula；　which　made　the　girl
at　once　so　proud　and　so　perplexed。

〃But　is　this　place　as　awful　as　it　looks？〃　the　young　girl
asked；　a　strain　in　her　eyes。

〃It　is　just　what　it　looks；〃　he　said。　〃It　hides　nothing。〃

〃Why　are　the　men　so　sad？〃

〃Are　they　sad？〃　he　replied。

〃They　seem　unutterably；　unutterably　sad；〃　said　Ursula；　out　of
a　passionate　throat。

〃I　don't　think　they　are　that。　They　just　take　it　for
granted。〃

〃What　do　they　take　for　granted？〃

〃Thisthe　pits　and　the　place　altogether。〃

〃Why　don't　they　alter　it？〃　she　passionately　protested。

〃They　believe　they　must　alter　themselves　to　fit　the　pits　and
the　place；　rather　than　alter　the　pits　and　the　place　to　fit
themselves。　It　is　easier；〃　he　said。

〃And　you　agree　with　them；〃　burst　out　his　niece；　unable　to
bear　it。　〃You　think　like　they　dothat　living　human　beings
must　be　taken　and　adapted　to　all　kinds　of　horrors。　We　could
easily　do　without　the　pits。〃

He　smiled；　unfortably；　cynically。　Ursula　felt　again　the
revolt　of　hatred　from　him。

〃I　suppose　their　lives　are　not　really　so　bad；〃　said　Winifred
Inger；　superior　to　the　Zolaesque　tragedy。

He　turned　with　his　polite；　distant　attention。

〃Yes；　they　are　pretty　bad。　The　pits　are　very　deep；　and　hot；
and　in　some　places　wet。　The　men　die　of　consumption　fairly　often。
But　they　earn　good　wages。〃

〃How　gruesome！〃　said　Winifred　Inger。

〃Yes；〃　he　replied　gravely。　It　was　his　grave；　solid；
selfcontained　manner　which　made　him　so　much　respected　as　a
colliery　manager。

The　servant　came　in　to　ask　where　they　would　have　tea。

〃Put　it　in　the　summerhouse；　Mrs。　Smith；〃　he　said。

The　fairhaired；　goodlooking　young　woman　went　out。

〃Is　she　married　and　in　service？〃　asked　Ursula。

〃She　is　a　widow。　Her　husband　died　of　consumption　a　little
while　ago。〃　Brangwen　gave　a　sinister　little　laugh。　〃He　lay　there
in　the　houseplace　at　her　mother's；　and　five　or　six　other　people
in　the　house；　and　died　very　gradually。　I　asked　her　if　his　death
wasn't　a　great　trouble　to　her。　'Well；'　she　said；　'he　was　very
fretful　towards　the　last；　never　satisfied；　never　easy；　always
fretfretting；　an'　never　knowing　what　would　satisfy　him。　So　in
one　way　it　was　a　relief　when　it　was　overfor　him　and　for
everybody。'　They　had　only　been　married　two　years；　and　she　has
one　boy。　I　asked　her　if　she　hadn't　been　very　happy。　'Oh；　yes；
sir；　we　was　very　fortable　at　first；　till　he　took
badoh；　we　was　very　fortableoh；　yesbut；
you　see；　you　get　used　to　it。　I've　had　my　father　and　two　brothers
go　off　just　the　same。　You　get　used　to　it'。〃

〃It's　a　horrible　thing　to　get　used　to；〃　said　Winifred　Inger；
with　a　shudder。

〃Yes；〃　he　said；　still　smiling。　〃But　that's　how　they　are。
She'll　be　getting　married　again　directly。　One　man　or
anotherit　does　not　matter　very　much。　They're　all
colliers。〃

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　Ursula。　〃They're　all　colliers？〃

〃It　is　with　the　women　as　with　us；〃　he　replied。　〃Her　husband
was　John　Smith；　loader。　We　reckoned　him　as　a　loader；　he　reckoned
himself　as　a　loader；　and　so　she　knew　he　represented　his　job。
Marriage　and　home　is　a　little　sideshow。

〃The　women　know　it　right　enough；　and　take　it　for　what　it's
worth。　One　man　or　another；　it　doesn't　matter　all　the　world。　The
pit　matters。　Round　the　pit　there　will　always　be　the　sideshows；
plenty　of　'em。〃

He　looked　round　at　the　red　chaos；　the　rigid；　amorphous
confusion　of　Wiggiston。

〃Every　man　his　own　little　sideshow；　his　home；　but　the　pit
owns　every　man。　The　women　have　what　is　left。　What's　left　of　this
man；　or　what　is　left　of　thatit　doesn't　matter　altogether。
The　pit　takes　all　that　really　matters。〃

〃It　is　the　same　everywhere；〃　burst　out　Winifred。　〃It　is　the
office；　or　the　shop；　or　the　business　that　gets　the　man；　the
woman　gets　the　bit　the　shop　can't　digest。　What　is　he　at　home；　a
man？　He　is　a　meaningless　lumpa　standing　machine；　a
machine　out　of　work。〃

〃They　know　they　are　sold；〃　said　Tom　Brangwen。　〃That's　where
it　is。　They　know　they　are　sold　to　their　job。　If　a　woman　talks
her　throat　out；　what　difference　can　it　make？　The　man's　sold　to
his　job。　So　the　women　don't　bother。　They