The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第3部分

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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　with　emotion　when　the　teacher
of　literature　read；　in　a　moving　fashion；　Tennyson's　〃Ulysses〃；
or　Shelley's　〃Ode　to　the　West　Wind〃。　His　lips　parted；　his　eyes
filled　with　a　strained；　almost　suffering　light。　And　the　teacher
read　on；　fired　by　his　power　over　the　boy。　Tom　Brangwen　was　moved
by　this　experience　beyond　all　calculation；　he　almost　dreaded　it；
it　was　so　deep。　But　when；　almost　secretly　and　shamefully；　he
came　to　take　the　book　himself；　and　began　the　words　〃Oh　wild　west
wind；　thou　breath　of　autumn's　being；〃　the　very　fact　of　the　print
caused　a　prickly　sensation　of　repulsion　to　go　over　his　skin；　the
blood　came　to　his　face；　his　heart　filled　with　a　bursting　passion
of　rage　and　inpetence。　He　threw　the　book　down　and　walked　over
it　and　went　out　to　the　cricket　field。　And　he　hated　books　as　if
they　were　his　enemies。　He　hated　them　worse　than　ever　he　hated
any　person。

He　could　not　voluntarily　control　his　attention。　His　mind　had
no　fixed　habits　to　go　by；　he　had　nothing　to　get　hold　of；　nowhere
to　start　from。　For　him　there　was　nothing　palpable；　nothing　known
in　himself；　that　he　could　apply　to　learning。　He　did　not　know　how
to　begin。　Therefore　he　was　helpless　when　it　came　to　deliberate
understanding　or　deliberate　learning。

He　had　an　instinct　for　mathematics；　but　if　this　failed　him；
he　was　helpless　as　an　idiot。　So　that　he　felt　that　the　ground　was
never　sure　under　his　feet；　he　was　nowhere。　His　final　downfall
was　his　plete　inability　to　attend　to　a　question　put　without
suggestion。　If　he　had　to　write　a　formal　position　on　the　Army；
he　did　at　last　learn　to　repeat　the　few　facts　he　knew：　〃You　can
join　the　army　at　eighteen。　You　have　to　be　over　five　foot　eight。〃
But　he　had　all　the　time　a　living　conviction　that　this　was　a
dodge　and　that　his　monplaces　were　beneath　contempt。　Then　he
reddened　furiously；　felt　his　bowels　sink　with　shame；　scratched
out　what　he　had　written；　made　an　agonized　effort　to　think　of
something　in　the　real　position　style；　failed；　became　sullen
with　rage　and　humiliation；　put　the　pen　down　a