The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第3章

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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　and　would　have　been
torn　to　pieces　rather　than　attempt　to　write　another　word。

He　soon　got　used　to　the　Grammar　School；　and　the　Grammar
School　got　used　to　him；　setting　him　down　as　a　hopeless　duffer　at
learning；　but　respecting　him　for　a　generous；　honest　nature。　Only
one　narrow；　domineering　fellow；　the　Latin　master；　bullied　him
and　made　the　blue　eyes　mad　with　shame　and　rage。　There　was　a
horrid　scene；　when　the　boy　laid　open　the　master's　head　with　a
slate；　and　then　things　went　on　as　before。　The　teacher　got　little
sympathy。　But　Brangwen　winced　and　could　not　bear　to　think　of　the
deed；　not　even　long　after；　when　he　was　a　grown　man。

He　was　glad　to　leave　school。　It　had　not　been　unpleasant；　he
had　enjoyed　the　panionship　of　the　other　youths；　or　had
thought　he　enjoyed　it；　the　time　had　passed　very　quickly；　in
endless　activity。　But　he　knew　all　the　time　that　he　was　in　an
ignominious　position；　in　this　place　of　learning。　He　was　aware　of
failure　all　the　while；　of　incapacity。　But　he　was　too　healthy　and
sanguine　to　be　wretched；　he　was　too　much　alive。　Yet　his　soul　was
wretched　almost　to　hopelessness。

He　had　loved　one　warm；　clever　boy　who　was　frail　in　body；　a
consumptive　type。　The　two　had　had　an　almost　classic　friendship；
David　and　Jonathan；　wherein　Brangwen　was　the　Jonathan；　the
server。　But　he　had　never　felt　equal　with　his　friend；　because　the
other's　mind　outpaced　his；　and　left　him　ashamed；　far　in　the
rear。　So　the　two　boys　went　at　once　apart　on　leaving　school。　But
Brangwen　always　remembered　his　friend　that　had　been；　kept　him　as
a　sort　of　light；　a　fine　experience　to　remember。

Tom　Brangwen　was　glad　to　get　back　to　the　farm；　where　he　was
in　his　own　again。　〃I　have　got　a　turnip　on　my　shoulders；　let　me
stick　to　th'　fallow；〃　he　said　to　his　exasperated　mother。　He　had
too　low　an　opinion　of　himself。　But　he　went　about　at　his　work　on
the　farm　gladly　enough；　glad　of　the　active　labour　and　the　smell
of　the　land　again；　having　youth　and　vigour　and　humour；　and　a
ic　wit；　having　the　will　and　the　power　to　fet　his　own
shortings；　finding　himself　violent　with　occasional　rages；　but
usually　on　good　terms　with　everybody　and　everything。

When　he　was　seventeen；　his　father　fell　from　a　stack　and　broke
his　neck。　Then　the　mother　and　son　and　daughter　lived　on　at　the
farm；　interrupted　by　occasional　loudmouthed　lamenting；
jealousspirited　visitations　from　the　butcher　Frank；　who　had　a
grievance　against　the　world；　which　he　felt　was　always　giving　him
less　than　his　dues。　Frank　was　particularly　against　the　young
Tom；　whom　he　called　a　mardy　baby；　and　Tom　returned　the　hatred
violently；　his　face　growing　red　and　his　blue　eyes　staring。　Effie
sided　with　Tom　against　Frank。　But　when　Alfred　came；　from
Nottingham；　heavy　jowled　and　lowering；　speaking　very　little；　but
treating　those　at　home　with　some　contempt；　Effie　and　the　mother
sided　with　him　and　put　Tom　into　the　shade。　It　irritated　the
youth　that　his　elder　brother　should　be　made　something　of　a　hero
by　the　women；　just　because　he　didn't　live　at　home　and　was　a
lacedesigner　and　almost　a　gentleman。　But　Alfred　was　something
of　a　Prometheus　Bound；　so　the　women　loved　him。　Tom　came　later　to
understand　his　brother　better。

As　youngest　son；　Tom　felt　some　importance　when　the　care　of
the　farm　devolved　on　to　him。　He　was　only　eighteen；　but　he　was
quite　capable　of　doing　everything　his　father　had　done。　And　of
course；　his　mother　remained　as　centre　to　the　house。

The　young　man　grew　up　very　fresh　and　alert；　with　zest　for
every　moment　of　life。　He　worked　and　rode　and　drove　to　market；　he
went　out　with　panions　and　got　tipsy　occasionally　and　played
skittles　and　went　to　the　little　travelling　theatres。　Once；　when
he　was　drunk　at　a　public　house；　he　went　upstairs　with　a
prostitute　who　seduced　him。　He　was　then　nieen。

The　thing　was　something　of　a　shock　to　him。　In　the　close
intimacy　of　the　farm　kitchen；　the　woman　occupied　the　supreme
position。　The　men　deferred　to　her　in　the　house；　on　all　household
points；　on　all　points　of　morality　and　behaviour。　The　woman　was
the　symbol　for　that　further　life　which　prised　religion　and
love　and　morality。　The　men　placed　in　her　hands　their　own
conscience；　they　said　to　her　〃Be　my　consciencekeeper；　be　the
angel　at　the　doorway　guarding　my　outgoing　and　my　ining。〃　And
the　woman　fulfilled　her　trust；　the　men　rested　implicitly　in　her；
receiving　her　praise　or　her　blame　with　pleasure　or　with　anger；
rebelling　and　storming；　but　never　for　a　moment　really　escaping
in　their　own　souls　from　her　prerogative。　They　depended　on　her
for　their　stability。　Without　her；　they　would　have　felt　like
straws　in　the　wind；　to　be　blown　hither　and　thither　at　random。
She　was　the　anchor　and　the　security；　she　was　the　restraining
hand　of　God；　at　times　highly　to　be　execrated。

Now　when　Tom　Brangwen；　at　nieen；　a　youth　fresh　like　a
plant；　rooted　in　his　mother　and　his　sister；　found　that　he　had
lain　with　a　prostitute　woman　in　a　mon　public　house；　he　was
very　much　startled。　For　him　there　was　until　that　time　only　one
kind　of　womanhis　mother　and　sister。

But　now？　He　did　not　know　what　to　feel。　There　was　a　slight
wonder；　a　pang　of　anger；　of　disappointment；　a　first　taste　of　ash
and　of　cold　fear　lest　this　was　all　that　would　happen；　lest　his
relations　with　woman　were　going　to　be　no　more　than　this
nothingness；　there　was　a　slight　sense　of　shame　before　the
prostitute；　fear　that　she　would　despise　him　for　his
inefficiency；　there　was　a　cold　distaste　for　her；　and　a　fear　of
her；　there　was　a　moment　of　paralyzed　horror　when　he　felt　he
might　have　taken　a　disease　from　her；　and　upon　all　this　startled
tumult　of　emotion；　was　laid　the　steadying　hand　of　mon　sense；
which　said　it　did　not　matter　very　much；　so　long　as　he　had　no
disease。　He　soon　recovered　balance；　and　really　it　did　not　matter
so　very　much。

But　it　had　shocked　him；　and　put　a　mistrust　into　his　heart；
and　emphasized　his　fear　of　what　was　within　himself。　He　was；
however；　in　a　few　days　going　about　again　in　his　own　careless；
happygolucky　fashion；　his　blue　eyes　just　as　clear　and　honest
as　ever；　his　face　just　as　fresh；　his　appetite　just　as　keen。

Or　apparently　so。　He　had；　in　fa