The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第74部分

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Sunday　world。　As　she　went　down　in　the　morning　from　Cossethay　and
saw　Ilkeston　smoking　blue　and　tender　upon　its　hill；　then　her
heart　surged　with　faroff　words：

〃Oh；　Jerusalem；　Jerusalemhow　often　would　I　have
gathered　thy　children　together　as　a　hen　gathereth　her　chickens
under　her　wings；　and　ye　would　not〃

The　passion　rose　in　her　for　Christ；　for　the　gathering　under
the　wings　of　security　and　warmth。　But　how　did　it　apply　to　the
weekday　world？　What　could　it　mean；　but　that　Christ　should　clasp
her　to　his　breast；　as　a　mother　clasps　her　child？　And　oh；　for
Christ；　for　him　who　could　hold　her　to　his　breast　and　lose　her
there。　Oh；　for　the　breast　of　man；　where　she　should　have　refuge
and　bliss　for　ever！　All　her　senses　quivered　with　passionate
yearning。

Vaguely　she　knew　that　Christ　meant　something　else：　that　in
the　visionworld　He　spoke　of　Jerusalem；　something　that　did　not
exist　in　the　everyday　world。　It　was　not　houses　and　factories　He
would　hold　in　His　bosom：　nor　householders　nor　factoryworkers
nor　poor　people：　but　something　that　had　no　part　in　the　weekday
world；　nor　seen　nor　touched　with　weekday　hands　and　eyes。

Yet　she　must　have　it　in　weekday　termsshe　must。
For　all　her　life　was　a　weekday　life；　now；　this　was　the　whole。　So
he　must　gather　her　body　to　his　breast；　that　was　strong　with　a
broad　bone；　and　which　sounded　with　the　beating　of　the　heart；　and
which　was　warm　with　the　life　of　which　she　partook；　the　life　of
the　running　blood。

So　she　craved　for　the　breast　of　the　Son　of　Man；　to　lie　there。
And　she　was　ashamed　in　her　soul；　ashamed。　For　whereas　Christ
spoke　for　the　Vision　to　answer；　she　answered　from　the　weekday
fact。　It　was　a　betrayal；　a　transference　of　meaning；　from　the
vision　world；　to　the　matteroffact　world。　So　she　was　ashamed　of
her　religious　ecstasy；　and　dreaded　lest　any　one　should　see
it。

Early　in　the　year；　when　the　lambs　came；　and　shelters　were
built　of　straw；　and　on　her　uncle's　farm　the　men　sat　at　night
with　a　lantern　and　a　dog；　then　again　there　swept　over　her　this
passionate　confusion　between　the　vision　world　and　the　weekday
world。　Again　she　felt　Jesus　in　the　countryside。　Ah；　he　would
lift　up　the　lambs　in　his　arms！　Ah；　and　she　was　the　lamb。　Again；
in　the　morning；　going　down　the　lane；　she　heard　the　ewe　call；　and
the　lambs　came　running；　shaking　and　twinkling　with　newborn
bliss。　And　she　saw　them　stooping；　nuzzling；　groping　to　the
udder；　to　find　the　teats；　whilst　the　mother　turned　her　head
gravely　and　sniffed　her　own。　And　they　were　sucking；　vibrating
with　bliss　on　their　little；　long　legs；　their　throats　stretched
up；　their　new　bodies　quivering　to　the　stream　of　bloodwarm；
loving　milk。

Oh；　and　the　bliss；　the　bliss！　She　could　scarcely　tear　herself
away　to　go　to　school。　The　little　noses　nuzzling　at　the　udder；
the　little　bodies　so　glad　and　sure；　the　little　black　legs；
crooked；　the　mother　standing　still；　yielding　herself　to　their
quivering　attractionthen　the　mother　walked　calmly
away。

Jesusthe　vision　worldthe　everyday
worldall　mixed　inextricably　in　a　confusion　of　pain　and
bliss。　It　was　almost　agony；　the　confusion；　the　inextricability。
Jesus；　the　vision；　speaking　to　her；　who　was　nonvisionary！　And
she　would　take　his　words　of　the　spirit　and　make　them　to　pander
to　her　own　carnality。

This　was　a　shame　to　her。　The　confusing　of　the　spirit　world
with　the　material　world；　in　her　own　soul；　degraded　her。　She
answered　the　call　of　the　spirit　in　terms　of　immediate；　everyday
desire。

〃e　unto　me；　all　ye　that　labour　and　are　heavyladen；　and　I
will　give　you　rest。〃

It　was　the　temporal　answer　she　gave。　She　leapt　with　sensuous
yearning　to　respond　to　Christ。　If　she　could　go　to　him　really；
and　lay　her　head　on　his　breast；　to　have　fort；　to　be　made　much
of；　caressed　like　a　child！

All　the　time　she　walked　in　a　confused　heat　of　religious
yearning。　She　wanted　Jesus　to　love　her　deliciously；　to　take　her
sensuous　offering；　to　give　her　sensuous　response。　For　weeks　she
went　in　a　muse　of　enjoyment。

And　all　the　time　she　knew　underneath　that　she　was　playing
false；　accepting　the　passion　of　Jesus　for　her　own　physical
satisfaction。　But　she　was　in　such　a　daze；　such　a　tangle。　How
could　she　get　free？

She　hated　herself；　she　wanted　to　trample　on　herself；　destroy
herself。　How　could　one　bee　free？　She　hated　religion；　because
it　lent　itself　to　her　confusion。　She　abused　everything。　She
wanted　to　bee　hard；　indifferent；　brutally　callous　to
everything　but　just　the　immediate　need；　the　immediate
satisfaction。　To　have　a　yearning　towards　Jesus；　only　that　she
might　use　him　to　pander　to　her　own　soft　sensation；　use　him　as　a
means　of　reacting　upon　herself；　maddened　her　in　the　end。　There
was　then　no　Jesus；　no　sentimentality。　With　all　the　bitter　hatred
of　helplessness　she　hated　sentimentality。

At　this　period　came　the　young　Skrebensky。　She　was　nearly
sixteen　years　old；　a　slim；　smouldering　girl；　deeply　reticent；
yet　lapsing　into　unreserved　expansiveness　now　and　then；　when　she
seemed　to　give　away　her　whole　soul；　but　when　in　fact　she　only
made　another　counterfeit　of　her　soul　for　outward　presentation。
She　was　sensitive　in　the　extreme；　always　tortured；　always
affecting　a　callous　indifference　to　screen　herself。

She　was　at　this　time　a　nuisance　on　the　face　of　the　earth；
with　her　spasmodic　passion　and　her　slumberous　torment。　She
seemed　to　go　with　all　her　soul　in　her　hands；　yearning；　to　the
other　person。　Yet　all　the　while；　deep　at　the　bottom　of　her　was　a
childish　antagonism　of　distrust。　She　thought　she　loved　everybody
and　believed　in　everybody。　But　because　she　could　not　love
herself　nor　believe　in　herself；　she　mistrusted　everybody　with
the　mistrust　of　a　serpent　or　a　captured　bird。　Her　starts　of
revulsion　and　hatred　were　more　inevitable　than　her　impulses　of
love。

So　she　wrestled　through　her　dark　days　of　confusion；　soulless；
uncreated；　unformed。

One　evening；　as　she　was　studying　in　the　parlour；　her　head
buried　in　her　hands；　she　heard　new　voices　in　the　kitchen
speaking。　At　once；　from　its　apathy；　her　excitable　spirit　started
and　strained　to　listen。　It　seemed　to　crouch；　to　lurk　under
cover；　tense；　glaring　forth　unwilling　to　be　seen。

There　were　two　strange　men's　voices；　one　soft　and　candid；
veiled　with　soft　candour；　the　other　veiled　with　easy　mobility；
running　quickly。　Ursula　sat　quite　tense；　shocked　out　of　her
studies；　lost。　She　listened　all　the　time　to　the　sound　of　the
voices；　scarcely　heeding　the　words。

The　first　speaker　was　her　Uncle　Tom。　She　knew　the　naive
candour　covering　the　girding　and　savage　misery　of　his　soul。　Who
was　the　other　speaker？　Whose　voice　ran　on　so　easy；　yet　with　an
inflamed　pulse？　It　seemed　to　hasten　and　urge　her　forward；　that
other　voice。

〃I　remember　you；〃　the　young　man's　voice　was　saying。　〃I
remember　you　from　the　first　time　I　saw　you；　because　of　your　dark
eyes　and　fair　face。〃

Mrs。　Brangwen　laughed；　shy　and　pleased。

〃You　were　a　curlyheaded　little　lad；〃　she　said。

〃Was　I？　Yes；　I　know。　They　were　very　proud　of　my　curls。〃

And　a　laugh　ran　to　silence。

〃You　were　a　very　wellmannered　lad；　I　remember；〃　said　her
father。

〃Oh！　did　I　ask　you　to　stay　the　night？　I　always　used　to　ask
people　to　stay　the　night。　I　believe　it　was　rather　trying　for　my
mother。〃

There　was　a　general　laugh。　Ursula　rose。　She　had　to　go。

At　the　click　of　the　latch　everybody　looked　round。　The　girl
hung　in　the　doorway；　seized　with　a　moment's　fierce　confusion。
She　was　going　to　be　goodlooking。　Now　she　had　an　attractive
gawkiness；　as　she　hung　a　moment；　not　knowing　how　to　carry　her
shoulders。　Her　dark　hair　was　tied　behind；　her　yellowbrown　eyes
shone　without　direction。　Behind　her；　in　the　parlour；　was　the
soft　light　of　a　lamp　upon　open　books。

A　superficial　readiness　took　her　to　her　Uncle　Tom；　who　kissed
her；　greeting　her　with　warmth；　making　a　show　of　intimate
possession　of　her；　and　at　the　same　time　leaving　evident　his　own
plete　detachment。

But　she　wanted　to　turn　to　the　stranger。　He　was　standing　back
a　little；　waiting。　He　was　a　young　man　with　very　clear　greyish
eyes　that　waited　until　they　were　called　upon；　before　they　took
expression。

Something　in　his　selfpossessed　waiting　moved　her；　and　she
broke　into　a　confused；　rather　beautiful　laugh　as　she　gave　him
her　hand；　ca