The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第72部分

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bank；　to　the　labourers　of　the　district；　so　that　they；　the
Brangwens；　should　be　as　poor　as　the　Wherrys。　And　she　did　not
want　it。　She　was　impatient。

〃Very　well；〃　she　thought；　〃we'll　forego　that　heaven；　that's
allat　any　rate　the　needle's　eye　sort。〃　And　she　dismissed
the　problem。　She　was　not　going　to　be　as　poor　as　the　Wherrys；　not
for　all　the　sayings　on　earththe　miserable　squalid
Wherrys。

So　she　reverted　to　the　nonliteral　application　of　the
scriptures。　Her　father　very　rarely　read；　but　he　had　collected
many　books　of　reproductions；　and　he　would　sit　and　look　at　these；
curiously　intent；　like　a　child；　yet　with　a　passion　that　was　not
childish。　He　loved　the　early　Italian　painters；　but　particularly
Giotto　and　Fra　Angelico　and　Filippo　Lippi。　The　great
positions　cast　a　spell　over　him。　How　many　times　had　he　turned
to　Raphael's　〃Dispute　of　the　Sacrament〃　or　Fra　Angelico's　〃Last
Judgment〃　or　the　beautiful；　plicated　renderings　of　the
Adoration　of　the　Magi；　and　always；　each　time；　he　received　the
same　gradual　fulfilment　of　delight。　It　had　to　do　with　the
establishment　of　a　whole　mystical；　architectural　conception
which　used　the　human　figure　as　a　unit。　Sometimes　he　had　to　hurry
home；　and　go　to　the　Fra　Angelico　〃Last　Judgment〃。　The　pathway　of
open　graves；　the　huddled　earth　on　either　side；　the　seemly　heaven
arranged　above；　the　singing　process　to　paradise　on　the　one　hand；
the　stuttering　descent　to　hell　on　the　other；　pleted　and
satisfied　him。　He　did　not　care　whether　or　not　he　believed　in
devils　or　angels。　The　whole　conception　gave　him　the　deepest
satisfaction；　and　he　wanted　nothing　more。

Ursula；　accustomed　to　these　pictures　from　her　childhood；
hunted　out　their　detail。　She　adored　Fra　Angelico's　flowers　and
light　and　angels；　she　liked　the　demons　and　enjoyed　the　hell。　But
the　representation　of　the　encircled　God；　surrounded　by　all　the
angels　on　high；　suddenly　bored　her。　The　figure　of　the　Most　High
bored　her；　and　roused　her　resentment。　Was　this　the　culmination
and　the　meaning　of　it　all；　this　draped；　null　figure？　The　angels
were　so　lovely；　and　the　light　so　beautiful。　And　only　for　this；
to　surround　such　a　banality　for　God！

She　was　dissatisfied；　but　not　fit　as　yet　to　criticize。　There
was　yet　so　much　to　wonder　over。　Winter　came；　pine　branches　were
torn　down　in　the　snow；　the　green　pine　needles　looked　rich　upon
the　ground。　There　was　the　wonderful；　starry；　straight　track　of　a
pheasant's　footsteps　across　the　snow　imprinted　so　clear；　there
was　the　lobbing　mark　of　the　rabbit；　two　holes　abreast；　two　holes
following　behind；　the　hare　shoved　deeper　shafts；　slanting；　and
his　two　hind　feet　came　down　together　and　made　one　large　pit；　the
cat　podded　little　holes；　and　birds　made　a　lacy　pattern。

Gradually　there　gathered　the　feeling　of　expectation。
Christmas　was　ing。　In　the　shed；　at　nights；　a　secret　candle
was　burning；　a　sound　of　veiled　voices　was　heard。　The　boys　were
learning　the　old　mystery　play　of　St。　Gee　and　Beelzebub。　Twice
a　week；　by　lamplight；　there　was　choir　practice　in　the　church；
for　the　learning　of　old　carols　Brangwen　wanted　to　hear。　The
girls　went　to　these　practices。　Everywhere　was　a　sense　of　mystery
and　rousedness。　Everybody　was　preparing　for　something。

The　time　came　near；　the　girls　were　decorating　the　church；
with　cold　fingers　binding　holly　and　fir　and　yew　about　the
pillars；　till　a　new　spirit　was　in　the　church；　the　stone　broke
out　into　dark；　rich　leaf；　the　arches　put　forth　their　buds；　and
cold　flowers　rose　to　blossom　in　the　dim；　mystic　atmosphere。
Ursula　must　weave　mistletoe　over　the　door；　and　over　the　screen；
and　hang　a　silver　dove　from　a　sprig　of　yew；　till　dusk　came　down；
and　the　church　was　like　a　grove。

In　the　cowshed　the　boys　were　blacking　their　faces　for　a
dressrehearsal；　the　turkey　hung　dead；　with　opened；　speckled
wings；　in　the　dairy。　The　time　was　e　to　make　pies；　in
readiness。

The　expectation　grew　more　tense。　The　star　was　risen　into　the
sky；　the　songs；　the　carols　were　ready　to　hail　it。　The　star　was
the　sign　in　the　sky。　Earth　too　should　give　a　sign。　As　evening
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；　tha