The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第77部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

of　secret　sideshow　to　her　life；　never　to　be　opened。　She　did　not
even　think　of　it。　It　was　the　closed　door　she　had　not　the
strength　to　open。

Once　she　was　broken　in　to　her　teaching；　Ursula　began
gradually　to　have　a　new　life　of　her　own　again。　She　was　going　to
college　in　eighteen　months'　time。　Then　she　would　take　her
degree；　and　she　wouldah；　she　would　perhaps　be　a　big
woman；　and　lead　a　movement。　Who　knows？At　any　rate　she
would　go　to　college　in　eighteen　months'　time。　All　that　mattered
now　was　work；　work。

And　till　college；　she　must　go　on　with　this　teaching　in　St。
Philip's　School；　which　was　always　destroying　her；　but　which　she
could　now　manage；　without　spoiling　all　her　life。　She　would
submit　to　it　for　a　time；　since　the　time　had　a　definite
limit。

The　classteaching　itself　at　last　became　almost　mechanical。
It　was　a　strain　on　her；　an　exhausting　wearying　strain；　always
unnatural。　But　there　was　a　certain　amount　of　pleasure　in　the
sheer　oblivion　of　teaching；　so　much　work　to　do；　so　many　children
to　see　after；　so　much　to　be　done；　that　one's　self　was　fotten。
When　the　work　had　bee　like　habit　to　her；　and　her　individual
soul　was　left　out；　had　its　growth　elsewhere；　then　she　could　be
almost　happy。

Her　real；　individual　self　drew　together　and　became　more
coherent　during　these　two　years　of　teaching；　during　the　struggle
against　the　odds　of　class　teaching。　It　was　always　a　prison　to
her；　the　school。　But　it　was　a　prison　where　her　wild；　chaotic
soul　became　hard　and　independent。　When　she　was　well　enough　and
not　tired；　then　she　did　not　hate　the　teaching。　She　enjoyed
getting　into　the　swing　of　work　of　a　morning；　putting　forth　all
her　strength；　making　the　thing　go。　It　was　for　her　a　strenuous
form　of　exercise。　And　her　soul　was　left　to　rest；　it　had　the　time
of　torpor　in　which　to　gather　itself　together　in　strength　again。
But　the　teaching　hours　were　too　long；　the　tasks　too　heavy；　and
the　disciplinary　condition　of　the　school　too　unnatural　for　her。
She　was　worn　very　thin　and　quivering。

She　came　to　school　in　the　morning　seeing　the　hawthorn　flowers
wet；　the　little；　rosy　grains　swimming　in　a　bowl　of　dew。　The
larks　quivered　their　song　up　into　the　new　sunshine；　and　the
country　was　so　glad。　It　was　a　violation　to　plunge　into　the　dust
and　greyness　of　the　town。

So　that　she　stood　before　her　class　unwilling　to　give　herself
up　to　the　activity　of　teaching；　to　turn　her　energy；　that　longed
for　the　country　and　for　joy　of　early　summer；　into　the　dominating
of　fifty　children　and　the　transferring　to　them　some　morsels　of
arithmetic。　There　was　a　little　absentness　about　her。　She　could
not　force　herself　into　fetfulness。　A　jar　of　buttercups　and
fool'sparsley　in　the　windowbottom　kept　her　away　in　the
meadows；　where　in　the　lush　grass　the　moondaisies　were
halfsubmerged；　and　a　spray　of　pink　ragged　robin。　Yet　before　her
were　faces　of　fifty　children。　They　were　almost　like　big　daisies
in　a　dimness　of　the　grass。

A　brightness　was　on　her　face；　a　little　unreality　in　her
teaching。　She　could　not　quite　see　her　children。　She　was
struggling　between　two　worlds；　her　own　world　of　young　summer　and
flowers；　and　this　other　world　of　work。　And　the　glimmer　of　her
own　sunlight　was　between　her　and　her　class。

Then　the　morning　passed　with　a　strange　farawayness　and
quietness。　Dinnertime　came；　when　she　and　Maggie　ate　joyously；
with　all　the　windows　open。　And　then　they　went　out　into　St。
Philip's　churchyard；　where　was　a　shadowy　corner　under　red
hawthorn　trees。　And　there　they　talked　and　read　Shelley　or
Browning　or　some　work　about　〃Woman　and　Labour〃。

And　when　she　went　back　to　school；　Ursula　lived　still　in　the
shadowy　corner　of　the　graveyard；　where　pinkred　petals　lay
scattered　from　the　hawthorn　tree；　like　myriad　tiny　shells　on　a
beach；　and　a　church　bell　sometimes　rang　sonorously；　and
sometimes　a　bird　called　out；　whilst　Maggie's　voice　went　on　low
and　sweet。

These　days　she　was　happy　in　her　soul：　oh；　she　was　so　happy；
that　she　wished　she　could　take　her　joy　and　scatter　it　in　armfuls
broadcast。　She　made　her　children　happy；　too；　with　a　little
tingling　of　delight。　But　to　her；　the　children　were　not　a　school
class　this　afternoon。　They　were　flowers；　birds；　little　bright
animals；　children；　anything。　They　only　were　not　Standard　Five。
She　felt　no　responsibility　for　them。　It　was　for　once　a　game；
this　teaching。　And　if　they　got　their　sums　wrong；　what　matter？
And　she　would　take　a　pleasant　bit　of　reading。　And　instead　of
history　with　dates；　she　would　tell　a　lovely　tale。　And　for
grammar；　they　could　have　a　bit　of　written　analysis　that　was　not
difficult；　because　they　had　done　it　before：

　　〃She　shall　be　sportive　as　a　fawn
　　　That　wild　with　glee　across　the　lawn
　　　Or　up　the　mountain　springs。〃

She　wrote　that　from　memory；　because　it　pleased　her。

So　the　golden　afternoon　passed　away　and　she　went　home　happy。
She　had　finished　her　day　of　school；　and　was　free　to　plunge　into
the　glowing　evening　of　Cossethay。　And　she　loved　walking　home。
But　it　had　not　been　school。　It　had　been　playing　at　school
beneath　red　hawthorn　blossom。

She　could　not　go　on　like　this。　The　quarterly　examination　was
ing；　and　her　class　was　not　ready。　It　irritated　her　that　she
must　drag　herself　away　from　her　happy　self；　and　exert　herself
with　all　her　strength　to　force；　to　pel　this　heavy　class　of
children　to　work　hard　at　arithmetic。　They　did　not　want　to　work；
she　did　not　want　to　pel　them。　And　yet；　some　second　conscience
gnawed　at　her；　telling　her　the　work　was　not　properly　done。　It
irritated　her　almost　to　madness；　and　she　let　loose　all　the
irritation　in　the　class。　Then　followed　a　day　of　battle　and　hate
and　violence；　when　she　went　home　raw；　feeling　the　golden　evening
taken　away　from　her；　herself　incarcerated　in　some　dark；　heavy
place；　and　chained　there　with　a　consciousness　of　having　done
badly　at　work。

What　good　was　it　that　it　was　summer；　that　right　till　evening；
when　the　corncrakes　called；　the　larks　would　mount　up　into　the
light；　to　sing　once　more　before　nightfall。　What　good　was　it　all；
when　she　was　out　of　tune；　when　she　must　only　remember　the　burden
and　shame　of　school　that　day。

And　still；　she　hated　school。　Still　she　cried；　she　did　not
believe　in　it。　Why　should　the　children　learn；　and　why　should　she
teach　them？　It　was　all　so　much　milling　the　wind。　What　folly　was
it　that　made　life　into　this；　the　fulfilling　of　some　stupid；
factitious　duty？　It　was　all　so　made　up；　so　unnatural。　The
school；　the　sums；　the　grammar；　the　quarterly　examinations；　the
registersit　was　all　a　barren　nothing！

Why　should　she　give　her　allegiance　to　this　world；　and　let　it
so　dominate　her；　that　her　own　world　of　warm　sun　and　growing；
sapfilled　life　was　turned　into　nothing？　She　was　not　going　to　do
it。　She　was　not　going　to　be　a　prisoner　in　the　dry；　tyrannical
manworld。　She　was　not　going　to　care　about　it。　What　did　it
matter　if　her　class　did　ever　so　badly　in　the　quarterly
examination。　Let　itwhat　did　it　matter？

Nevertheless；　when　the　time　came；　and　the　report　on　her　class
was　bad；　she　was　miserable；　and　the　joy　of　the　summer　was　taken
away　from　her；　she　was　shut　up　in　gloom。　She　could　not　really
escape　from　this　world　of　system　and　work；　out　into　her　fields
where　she　was　happy。　She　must　have　her　place　in　the　working
world；　be　a　recognized　member　with　full　rights　there。　It　was
more　important　to　her　than　fields　and　sun　and　poetry；　at　this
time。　But　she　was　only　the　more　its　enemy。

It　was　a　very　difficult　thing；　she　thought；　during　the　long
hours　of　intermission　in　the　summer　holidays；　to　be　herself；　her
happy　self　that　enjoyed　so　much　to　lie　in　the　sun；　to　play　and
swim　and　be　content；　and　also　to　be　a　schoolteacher　getting
results　out　of　a　class　of　children。　She　dreamed　fondly　of　the
time　when　she　need　not　be　a　teacher　any　more。　But　vaguely；　she
knew　that　responsibility　had　taken　place　in　her　for　ever；　and　as
yet　her　prime　business　was　to　work。

The　autumn　passed　away；　the　winter　was　at　hand。　Ursula　became
more　and　more　an　inhabitant　of　the　world　of　work；　and　of　what　is
called　life。　She　could　not　see　her　future；　but　a　little　way　off；
was　college；　and　to　the　thought　of　this　she　clung　fixedly。　She
would　go　to　college；　and　get　her　two　or　three　years'　training；
free　of　cost。　Already　she　had　applied　and　had　her　place
appointed　for　the　ing　year。

So　she　continued　to　study　for　her　degree。　She　would　take
French；　Latin；　English；　mathematics　and　botany。　She　went　to
classes　in　Ilkeston；　she　studied　at　evening。　For　there　was　this
world　to　conquer；　this　knowledge　to　acquire；　this　qualification
to　attain。　And　she　worked　with　intensity；　because　of　a　want
inside　her　that　drove　her　on。　Almost　everything　was　subordinated
now　to　this　one　desire　to　take　her　place　in　the　world。　What　kind
of　place　it　was　to　be　she　did　not　ask　herself。　The　blind　desire
drove　her　on。　She　must　take　her　place。

She　knew　she　would　never　be　much　of　a　success　as　an
elementary　school　teacher。　But　neither　had　she　failed。　She　hated
it；　but　she　had　managed　it。

Maggie　had　left　St。　Philip's　School；　and　had　found　a　more
congenial　post。　The　two　girls　remained　friends。　They　met　at
evening　classes；　they　studied　and　somehow　encouraged　a　firm　hope
each　in　the　other。　They　did　not　know　whither　they　were　making；
nor　what　they　ultimately　wanted。　But　they　knew　they　wanted　now
to　learn；　to　know　and　to　do。

They　talked　of　love　and　marriage；　and　the　position　of　woman
in　marriage。　Maggie　said　that　love　was　the　flower　of　life；　and
blossomed　unexpectedly　and　without　law；　and　must　be　plucked
where　it　was　found；　and　enjoyed　for　the　brief　hour　of　its
duration。

To　Ursula　this　was　unsatisfactory。　She　thought　she　still
loved　Anton　Skrebensky。　But　she　did　not　five　him　that　he　had
not　been　strong　enough　to　acknowledge　her。　He　had　denied　her。
How　then　could　she　love　him？　How　then　was　love　so　absolute？　She
did　not　believe　it。　She　believed　that　love　was　a　way；　a　means；
not　an　end　in　itself；　as　Maggie　seemed　to　think。　And　always　the
way　of　love　would　be　found。　But　whither　did　it　lead？

〃I　believe　there　are　many　men　in　the　world　one　might
lovethere　is　not　only　one　man；〃　said　Ursula。

She　was　thinking　of　Skrebensky。　Her　heart　was　hollow　with　the
knowledge　of　Winifred　Inger。

〃But　you　must　distinguish　between　love　and　passion；〃　said
Maggie；　adding；　with　a　touch　of　contempt：　〃Men　will　easily　have
a　passion　for　you；　but　they　won't　love　you。〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Ursula；　vehemently；　the　look　of　suffering；　almost
of　fanaticism；　on　her　face。　〃Passion　is　only　part　of　love。　And
it　seems　so　much　because　it　can't　last。　That　is　why　passion　is
never　happy。〃

She　was　staunch　for　joy；　for　happiness；　and　permanency；　in
contrast　with　Maggie；　who　was　for　sadness；　and　the　inevitable
passingaway　of　things。　Ursula　suffered　bitterly　at　the　hands　of
life；　Maggie　was　always　single；　always　withheld；　so　she　went　in
a　heavy　brooding　sadness　that　was　almost　meat　to　her。　In
Ursula's　last　winter　at　St。　Philip's　the　friendship　of　the　two
girls　came　to　a　climax。　It　was　during　this　winter　that　Ursula
suffered　and　enjoyed　most　keenly　Maggie's　fundamental　sadness　of
enclosedness。　Maggie　enjoyed　and　suffered　Ursula's　struggles
against　the　confines　of　her　life。　And　then　the　two　girls　began
to　drift　apart；　as　Ursula　broke　from　that　form　of　life