在貝多弗父親的房子裏，布朗溫傢兩姐妹厄秀拉和戈珍坐在凸肚窗窗臺上，一邊綉花、 繪畫，一邊聊着。厄秀拉正綉一件色彩鮮豔的東西，戈珍膝蓋上放着一塊畫板在畫畫兒。
她們默默地綉着、畫着，想到什麽就說點什麽。
“厄秀拉，”戈珍說，“你真想結婚嗎？”厄秀拉把刺綉攤在膝上擡起頭來，神情平 靜、若有所思地說：
“我不知道，這要看怎麽講了。”
戈珍有點吃驚地看着姐姐，看了好一會兒。
“這個嘛，”戈珍調侃地說，“一般來說指的就是那回事！但是，你不覺得你應該， 嗯，”她有點神色黯然地說，“不應該比現在的處境更好一點嗎？”
厄秀拉臉上閃過一片陰影。
“應該，”她說，“不過我沒把握。”
戈珍又不說話了，有點不高興了，她原本要得到一個確切的答復。
“你不認為一個人需要結婚的經驗嗎？”她問。
“你認為結婚是一種經驗嗎？”厄秀拉反問。
“肯定是，不管怎樣都是。”戈珍冷靜地說，“可能這經驗讓人不愉快，但肯定是一種 經驗。”
“那不見得，”厄秀拉說，“也許倒是經驗的結束呢。”
戈珍筆直地坐着，認真聽厄秀拉說這話。
“當然了，”她說，“是要想到這個。”說完後，她們不再說話了。戈珍幾乎是氣呼呼 地抓起橡皮，開始擦掉畫上去的東西。厄秀拉專心地綉她的花兒。
“有象樣的人求婚你不考慮接受嗎？”戈珍問。
“我都回絶了好幾個了。”厄秀拉說。
“真的！？”戈珍緋紅了臉問：“什麽值得你這麽幹？你真有什麽想法嗎？”
“一年中有好多人求婚，我喜歡上了一個非常好的人，太喜歡他了。”厄秀拉說。
“真的！是不是你讓人傢引誘了？”
“可以說是，也可以說不是。”厄秀拉說，“一到那時候，壓根兒就沒了引誘這一說。 要是我讓人傢引誘了，我早立即結婚了。我受的是不結婚的引誘。”說到這裏，兩姐妹的臉 色明朗起來，感到樂不可支。
“太棒了，”戈珍叫道，“這引誘力也太大了，不結婚！”她們兩人相對大笑起來，但 她們心裏感到可怕。
這以後她們沉默了好久，厄秀拉仍舊綉花兒，戈珍照舊畫她的素描。姐妹倆都是大姑娘 了，厄秀拉二十六，戈珍二十五。但她們都象現代女性那樣，看上去冷漠、純潔，不象青春 女神，反倒更象月神。戈珍很漂亮、皮膚柔嫩，體態婀娜，人也溫順。她身着一件墨緑色綢 上衣，領口和袖口上都鑲着藍色和緑色的亞麻布褶邊兒；腳上穿的襪子則是翠緑色的。她看 上去與厄秀拉正相反。她時而自信，時而羞赦，而厄秀拉則敏感，充滿信心。本地人被戈珍 那泰然自若的神態和毫無掩飾的舉止所驚詫，說她是個“伶俐的姑娘。”她剛從倫敦回來， 在那兒住了幾年，在一所藝術學校邊工作邊學習，儼然是個藝術傢。
“我現在在等一個男人的到來，”戈珍說着，突然咬住下嘴唇，一半是狡猾的笑，一半 是痛苦相，做了個奇怪的鬼臉。
厄秀拉被嚇了一跳。
“你回傢來，就是為了在這兒等他？”她笑道。
“得了吧，”戈珍刺耳地叫道，“我纔不會犯神經去找他呢。不過嘛，要是真有那麽一 個人，相貌出衆、丰采照人，又有足夠的錢，那——”戈珍有點不好意思，話沒說完。然後 她盯着厄秀拉，好象要看透她似的。“你不覺得你都感到厭煩了嗎？”她問姐姐，“你是否 發現什麽都無法實現？什麽都實現不了！一切都還未等開花兒就凋謝了。”
“什麽沒開花就凋謝了？”厄秀拉問。
“嗨，什麽都是這樣，自己一般的事情都這樣。”姐妹倆不說話了，都在朦朦朧朧地考 慮着自己的命運。
“這是夠可怕的。”厄秀拉說，停了一會兒又說：“不過你想通過結婚達到什麽目的 嗎？”
“那是下一步的事兒，不可避免。”戈珍說。厄秀拉思考着這個問題，心中有點發苦。 她在威利·格林中學教書，工作好幾年了。
“我知道，”她說，“人一空想起來似乎都那樣，可要是設身處地地想想就好了，想想 吧，想想你瞭解的一個男人，每天晚上回傢來，對你說聲‘哈羅’，然後吻你——”
誰都不說話了。
“沒錯，”戈珍小聲說，“這不可能。男人不可能這樣。”
“當然還有孩子——”厄秀拉遲疑地說。
戈珍的表情嚴峻起來。
“你真想要孩子嗎，厄秀拉？”她冷冷地問。聽她這一問，厄秀拉臉上露出了迷惑不解 的表情。
“我覺得這個問題離我還太遠，”她說。
“你是這種感受嗎？”戈珍問，“我從來沒想過生孩子，沒那感受。”
戈珍毫無表情地看着厄秀拉。厄秀拉皺起了眉頭。
“或許這並不是真的，”她支吾道，“或許人們心裏並不想要孩子，衹是表面上這樣而 已。”戈珍的神態嚴肅起來。她並不需要太肯定的說法。
“可有時一個人會想到別人的孩子。”厄秀拉說。
戈珍又一次看看姐姐，目光中幾乎有些敵意。
“是這樣。”她說完不再說話了。
姐妹兩人默默地綉花、繪畫兒。厄秀拉總是那麽精神抖擻，心中燃着一團撲撲作響、熊 熊騰騰的火。她自己獨立生活很久了，潔身自好，工作着，日復一日，總想把握住生活，照 自己的想法去把握生活。表面上她停止了活躍的生活，可實際上，在冥冥中卻有什麽在生長 出來。要是她能夠衝破那最後的一層殼皮該多好啊！她似乎象一個胎兒那樣伸出了雙手，可 是，她不能，還不能。她仍有一種奇特的預感，感到有什麽將至。
她放下手中的刺綉，看看妹妹。她覺得戈珍太漂亮、實在太迷人了，她柔美、豐腴、綫 條纖細。她還有點頑皮、淘氣、出言辛辣，真是個毫無修飾的處女。厄秀拉打心眼兒裏羨慕 她。
“你為什麽回傢來？”
戈珍知道厄秀拉羨慕她了。她直起腰來，綫條優美的眼睫毛下目光凝視着厄秀拉。
“問我為什麽回來嗎，厄秀拉？”她重複道：“我自己已經問過自己一千次了。”
“你知道了嗎？”
“知道了，我想我明白了。我覺得我退一步是為了更好地前進。”
說完她久久地盯着厄秀拉，目光尋問着她。
“我知道！”厄秀拉叫道，那神情有些迷茫，象是在說謊，好象她不明白一樣。“可你 要跳到哪兒去呢？”
“哦，無所謂，”戈珍說，口氣有點超然。“一個人如果跳過了籬笆，他總能落到一個 什麽地方的。”
“可這不是在冒險嗎？”厄秀拉說。
戈珍臉上漸漸掠過一絲嘲諷的笑意。
“嗨！”她笑道：“我們盡吵些什麽呀！”她又不說話了，可厄秀拉仍然鬱悶地沉思着。
“你回來了，覺得傢裏怎麽樣？”她問。
戈珍沉默了片刻，有點冷漠。然後冷冷地說：
“我發現我完全不是這兒的人了。”
“那爸爸呢？”
戈珍幾乎有點反感地看看厄秀拉，有些的樣子，說：
“我還沒想到他呢，我不讓自己去想。”她的話很冷漠。
“好啊，”厄秀拉吞吞吐吐地說。她倆的對話的確進行不下去了。姐妹兩人發現自己遇 到了一條黑洞洞的深淵，很可怕，好象她們就在邊上窺視一樣。
她們又默默地做着自己的活兒。一會兒，戈珍的臉因為控製着情緒而通紅起來。她不願 讓臉紅起來。
“我們出去看看人傢的婚禮吧。”她終於說話了，口氣很隨便。
“好啊！”厄秀拉叫道，急切地把針綫扔到一邊，跳了起來，似乎要逃離什麽東西一 樣。這麽一來，反倒弄得很緊張，令戈珍感到不高興。
往樓上走着，厄秀拉註意地看着這座房子，這是她的傢。可是她討厭這兒，這塊骯髒、 太讓人熟習的地方！也許她內心深處對這個傢是反感的，這周圍的環境，整個氣氛和這種陳 腐的生活都讓她反感。這種感覺令她恐怖。
兩個姑娘很快就來到了貝多弗的主幹道上，匆匆走着。這條街很寬，路旁有商店和住 房，佈局散亂，街面上也很髒，不過倒不顯得貧寒。戈珍剛從徹西區①和蘇塞剋斯②來，對 中部這座小小的礦區城十分厭惡，這兒真是又亂又髒。她朝前走着，穿過長長的礫石街道， 把個混亂不堪、骯髒透頂、小氣十足的場面盡收眼底。人們的目光都盯着她，她感到很難 受。真不知道她為什麽要回來，為什麽要嘗嘗這亂七八糟、醜陋不堪的小城滋味。她為什麽 要嚮這些令人難以忍受的折磨，這些毫無意義的人和這座毫無光彩的農村小鎮屈服呢？為什 麽她仍然要嚮這些東西屈服？她感到自己就象一隻在塵土中蠕動的甲殼蟲，這真令人反感。
①徹西區是倫敦聚集了文學藝術傢的一個區。
②英國的一個郡。——譯者註。以後所有的註釋均為譯者註。
她們走下主幹道，從一座黑乎乎的公傢菜園旁走過，園子裏沾滿煤炭的白菜根不識羞恥 地散落着。沒人感到難看，沒人為這個感到不好意思。
“這地獄中的農村。”戈珍說，“礦工們把煤炭帶到地面上來，帶來這麽多呀。厄 秀拉，這可真太好玩了，太好了，真是太妙了，這兒又是一個世界。這兒的人全是些吃屍 鬼，這兒什麽東西都沾着鬼氣。全是真實世界的鬼影，是鬼影、食屍鬼，全是些骯髒、齷齪 的東西。厄秀拉，這簡直讓人發瘋。”
姐妹倆穿過一片黑黝黝、骯髒不堪的田野。左邊是散落着一座座煤礦的𠔌地，𠔌地上面 的山坡上是小麥田和森林，遠遠一片黝黑，就象罩着一層黑紗一樣。敦敦實實的煙窗裏冒着 白煙黑煙，象黑沉沉天空上在變魔術一樣。近處是一排排的住房，順山坡而上，一直通嚮山 頂。這些房子用暗紅磚砌成，房頂鋪着石板，看上去很不結實。姐妹二人走的這條路也是黑 乎乎的。路是讓礦工們的腳一步步踩出來的，路旁圍着鐵柵欄，柵門也讓進出的礦工們的厚 毛布褲磨亮了。現在姐妹二人走在幾排房屋中間的路上，這裏可就寒酸了。女人們戴着圍 裙，雙臂交叉着抱在胸前，站在遠處竊竊私語，她們用一種不開化人的目光目不轉睛地盯着 布朗溫姐妹；孩子們在叫駡着。
戈珍走着，被眼前的東西驚呆了。如果說這是人的生活，如果說這些是生活在一個完整 世界中的人，那麽她自己那個世界算什麽呢？她意識到自己穿着緑草般鮮緑的襪子，戴着緑 色的天鵝絨帽，柔軟的長大衣也是緑的，顔色更深一點。她感到自己騰雲駕霧般地走着，一 點都不穩，她的心縮緊了，似乎她隨時都會猝然摔倒在地。她怕了。
她緊緊偎依着厄秀拉，她對這個黑暗、粗鄙、充滿敵意的世界早習以為常了。儘管有厄 秀拉，戈珍還感到象是在受着苦刑，心兒一直在呼喊：“我要回去，要走，我不想知道這 兒，不想知道這些東西。”可她不得不繼續朝前走。
厄秀拉可以感覺到戈珍是在受罪。
“你討厭這些，是嗎？”她問。
“這兒讓我吃驚。”戈珍結結巴巴地說。
“你別在這兒呆太久。”厄秀拉說。
戈珍鬆了一口氣，繼續朝前走。
她們離開了礦區，翻過山，進入了山後寧靜的鄉村，朝威利·格林中學走去。田野上仍 有些煤炭，但好多了，山上的林子裏也這樣，似乎在閃着黑色的光芒。這是春天，春寒料 峭，但尚有幾許陽光。籬笆下冒出些黃色的花來，威利·格林的農傢菜園裏，覆盆子已經長 出了葉子，伏種在石墻上的油菜，灰葉中已綻出些小白花兒。
她們轉身走下了高高的田梗，中間是通嚮教堂的主幹道。在轉彎的低處，樹下站着一群 等着看婚禮的人們。這個地區的礦業主托瑪斯·剋裏奇的女兒與一位海軍軍官的婚禮將要舉 行。
“咱們回去吧，”戈珍轉過身說着，“全是些這種人。”
她在路上猶豫着。
“別管他們，”厄秀拉說，“他們都不錯，都認識我，沒事兒。”
“我們非得從他們當中穿過去嗎？”戈珍問。
“他們都不錯，真的。”厄秀拉說着繼續朝前走。這姐妹兩人一起接近了這群躁動不 安、眼巴巴盯着看的人。這當中大多數是女人，礦工們的妻子，更是些混日子的人，她們臉 上透着警覺的神色，一看就是下層人。
姐妹兩人提心吊膽地直朝大門走去。女人們為她們讓路，可讓出來的就那麽窄窄的一條 縫，好象是在勉強放棄自己的地盤兒一樣。姐妹倆默默地穿過石門踏上臺階，站在紅色地毯 上的一個盯着她們往前行進的步伐。
“這雙襪子可夠值錢的！”戈珍後面有人說。一聽這話，戈珍渾身就燃起一股怒火，一 股兇猛、可怕的火。她真恨不得把這些人全幹掉，從這個世界上清除幹淨。她真討厭在這些 人註視下穿過教堂的院子沿着地毯往前走。
“我不進教堂了。”戈珍突然做出了最後的决定。她的話讓厄秀拉立即停住腳步，轉過 身走上了旁邊一條通嚮中學旁門的小路，中學就在教堂隔壁。
穿過學校與教堂中間的灌木叢進到學校裏，厄秀拉坐在月桂樹下的矮石墻上歇息。她身 後學校高大的紅樓靜靜地伫立着，假日裏窗戶全敞開着，面前灌木叢那邊就是教堂淡淡的屋 頂和塔樓。姐妹兩人被掩映在樹木中。
戈珍默默地坐了下來，緊閉着嘴，頭扭嚮一邊。她真後悔回到傢來。厄秀拉看看她，覺 得她漂亮極了，自己認輸了，臉都紅了。可她讓厄秀拉感到緊張得有點纍了。厄秀拉希望單 獨自處，脫離戈珍給她造成的透不過氣來的緊張感。
“我們還要在這兒呆下去嗎？”戈珍問。
“我就歇一小會兒，”厄秀拉說着站起身，象是受到戈珍的斥責一樣。“咱們就站在隔 壁球場的角落裏，從那兒什麽都看得見。”
太陽正輝煌地照耀着教堂墓地，空氣中淡淡地彌漫着樹脂的清香，那是春天的氣息，或 許是墓地黑紫羅蘭散發着幽香的緣故。一些雛菊已綻開了潔白的花朵，象小天使一樣漂亮。 空中銅色山毛櫸上舒展出血紅色的樹葉。
十一點時，馬車準時到達。一輛車駛過來，門口人群擁擠起來，産生了一陣騷動。出席 婚禮的賓客們徐徐走上臺階，沿着紅地毯走嚮教堂。這天陽光明媚，人們個個興高采烈。
戈珍用外來人那種好奇的目光仔細觀察着這些人。她把每個人都整體地觀察一通，或把 他們看作書中的一個個人物，一幅畫中的人物或劇院中的活動木偶，總之，完整地觀察他 們。她喜歡辨別他們不同的性格，將他們還其本來面目，給他們設置自我環境，在他們從她 眼前走過的當兒就給他們下了個永久的定論。她瞭解他們了，對她來說他們是些完整的人， 已經打上了烙印的完整的人。等到剋裏奇傢的人開始露面時，再也沒有什麽未知、不能解决 的問題了。她的興趣被激發起來了，她發現這裏有點什麽東西是不那麽容易提前下結論的。
那邊走過來剋裏奇太太和她的兒子傑拉德。儘管她為了今天這個日子明顯地修飾裝扮了 一番，但仍看得出她這人是不修邊幅的。她臉色蒼白，有點發黃，皮膚潔淨透明，有點前傾 的身體，綫條分明，很健壯，看上去象是要鼓足力氣不顧一切地去捕捉什麽。她一頭的白發 一點都不整齊，幾縷頭髮從緑綢帽裏掉出來，飄到罩着墨緑綢衣的褶皺紗上。一看就知道她 是個患偏執狂的女人，狡猾而傲慢。
她兒子本是個膚色白淨的人，但讓太陽曬黑了。他個頭中等偏高，身材很好，穿着似乎 有些過分的講究。但他的神態卻是那麽奇異、警覺，臉上情不自禁地閃爍着光芒，似乎他同 周圍的這些人有着根本的不同。戈珍的目光在打量他，他身上某種北方人的東西迷住了戈 珍。他那北方人純淨的肌膚和金色的頭髮象透過水晶折射的陽光一樣在閃爍。他看上去是那 麽新奇的一個人，沒有任何做作的痕跡，象北極的東西一樣純潔。他或許有三十歲了，或許 更大些。他丰采照人，男子氣十足，恰象一隻脾氣溫和、微笑着的幼狼一樣。但這副外表無 法令她變得盲目，她還是冷靜地看出他靜態中存在着危險，他那撲食的習性是無法改變的。 “他的圖騰是狼，”她自己重複着這句話。“他母親是一隻毫不屈服的老狼。”想到此，她 一陣狂喜，好象她有了一個全世界都不知道的令人難以置信的發現。一陣狂喜攫住了她，全 身的血管一時間猛烈激動起來。“天啊！”她自己大叫着，“這是怎麽一回事啊？”一會 兒，她又自信地說，“我會更多地瞭解那個人的。”她要再次見到他，她被這種欲望折磨 着，一定要再次見到他，這心情如同一種鄉戀一樣。她清楚，她沒有錯，她沒有自欺欺人， 她的確因為見到了他纔産生了這種奇特而振奮人心的感覺。她從本質上瞭解了他，深刻地理 解他，“難道我真地選中了他嗎？難道真有一道蒼白、金色的北極光把我們兩人拴在一起了 嗎？”她對自己發問。她無法相信自己，她仍然沉思着，幾乎意識不到周圍都發生了什麽事。
女儐相來了，但新娘還遲遲未到。厄秀拉猜想可能出了點差錯，這場婚禮弄不好就辦不 成了。她為此感到憂慮，似乎婚禮成功與否是取决於她。主要的女儐相們都到了，厄秀拉看 着她們走上臺階。她認識她們當中的一個，這人高高的個子，行動緩慢，長着一頭金發，長 長的臉，臉色蒼白，一看就知道是個難以駕馭的人。她是剋裏奇傢的朋友，叫赫麥妮·羅迪 斯。她走過來了，昂着頭，戴着一頂淺黃色天鵝絨寬沿帽，帽子上插着幾根天然灰色鴕鳥羽 毛。她飄然而過，似乎對周圍視而不見，蒼白的長臉嚮上揚起，並不留意周圍。她很富有， 今天穿了一件淺黃色軟天鵝絨上衣，亮閃閃的，手上捧一束玫瑰色仙客來花兒；鞋和襪子的 顔色很象帽子上羽毛的顔色，也是灰色的。她這人汗毛很重呢。走起路來臀部收得很緊，這 是她的一大特點，那種悠悠然的樣子跟衆人就是不同，她的衣着由淺黃和暗灰搭配而成，衣 服漂亮，人也很美，但有點可怕，有點讓人生厭。她走過時，人們都靜了下來，看來讓她迷 住了，繼而人們又激動起來，想調侃幾句，但終究不敢，又沉默了。她高揚着蒼白的長臉， 樣子頗象羅塞蒂①，似乎有點麻木，似乎她黑暗的內心深處聚集了許許多多奇特的思想令她 永遠無法從中解脫。
①羅塞蒂（１８３０—１８９４），英國拉斐爾前派著名女詩人。她的詩多以田園 牧歌詩為主，富有神秘宗教色彩。
厄秀拉出神地看着赫麥妮。她瞭解一點她的情況。赫麥妮是中原地區最出色的女人，父 親是德比郡的男爵，是個舊派人物，而她則全然新派，聰明過人且極有思想。她對改革充滿 熱情，心思全用在社會事業上。可她還是終歸嫁了人，仍然得受男性世界的左右。
她同各路有地位的男人都有神交。厄秀拉衹知道其中有一位是學校監察員，名叫盧伯 特·伯金。倒是戈珍在倫敦認識人更多些。她同搞藝術的朋友們出入各種社交圈子，已經認 識了不少知名人士。她與赫麥妮打過兩次交道，但她們兩人話不投機。她們在倫敦城裏各類 朋友傢以平等的身份相識，現在如果以如此懸殊的社會地位在中原相會將會令人很不舒服。 戈珍在社會上一直是個佼佼者，與貴族中搞點藝術的有閑者交往密切。
赫麥妮知道自己穿得很漂亮，她知道自己在威利·格林可以平等地同任何她想認識的人 打交道，或許想擺擺架子就擺擺架子。她知道她的地位在文化知識界的圈子裏是得到認可 的，她是文化意識的傳播媒介。無論在社會上還是在思想意識方面甚至在藝術上，她都處在 最高層次上，木秀於林，在這些方面她顯得左右逢源。沒誰能把她比下去，沒誰能夠讓她出 醜，因為她總是高居一流，而那些與她作對的人都在她之下，無論在等級上、財力上或是在 高層次的思想交流，思想發展及領悟能力上都不如她。因此她是冒犯不得的人物。她一生中 都努力不受人傷害或侵犯，要讓人們無法判斷她。
但是她的心在受折磨，這一點她無法掩飾。別看她在通往教堂的路上如此信步前行，確 信庸俗的對她毫無損傷，深信自己的形象完美無缺、屬於第一流。但是她忍受着折磨， 自信和傲慢衹是表面現象而已，其實她感到自己傷痕纍纍，受着人們的嘲諷與蔑視。她總感 到自己容易受到傷害，在她的盔甲下總有一道隱秘的傷口。她不知道這是怎麽回事。其實這 是因為她缺乏強健的自我，不具備天然的自負感。她有的衹是一個可怕空洞的靈魂，缺乏生 命的底藴。
她需要有個人來充溢她生命的底藴，永遠這樣。於是她極力追求盧伯特·伯金。當伯金 在她身邊時，她就感到自己是完整的，底氣很足。而在其它時間裏，她就感到搖搖欲跌，就 象建立在斷裂帶之上的房屋一樣。儘管她愛面子，掩飾自己，但任何一位自信、脾氣倔犟的 普通女傭都可以用輕微的嘲諷和蔑視舉止將她拋入無底的深淵，令她感到自己無能。但是， 這位憂鬱、忍受着折磨的女人一直在進取，用美學、文化、上流社會的態度和大公無私的行 為來保護自己。可她怎麽也無法越過這道可怕的溝壑，總感到自己沒有底氣。
'Ursula,' said Gudrun, 'don't you REALLY WANT to get married?' Ursula laid her embroidery in her lap and looked up. Her face was calm and considerate.
'I don't know,' she replied. 'It depends how you mean.'
Gudrun was slightly taken aback. She watched her sister for some moments.
'Well,' she said, ironically, 'it usually means one thing! But don't you think anyhow, you'd be--' she darkened slightly--'in a better position than you are in now.'
A shadow came over Ursula's face.
'I might,' she said. 'But I'm not sure.'
Again Gudrun paused, slightly irritated. She wanted to be quite definite.
'You don't think one needs the EXPERIENCE of having been married?' she asked.
'Do you think it need BE an experience?' replied Ursula.
'Bound to be, in some way or other,' said Gudrun, coolly. 'Possibly undesirable, but bound to be an experience of some sort.'
'Not really,' said Ursula. 'More likely to be the end of experience.'
Gudrun sat very still, to attend to this.
'Of course,' she said, 'there's THAT to consider.' This brought the conversation to a close. Gudrun, almost angrily, took up her rubber and began to rub out part of her drawing. Ursula stitched absorbedly.
'You wouldn't consider a good offer?' asked Gudrun.
'I think I've rejected several,' said Ursula.
'REALLY!' Gudrun flushed dark--'But anything really worth while? Have you REALLY?'
'A thousand a year, and an awfully nice man. I liked him awfully,' said Ursula.
'Really! But weren't you fearfully tempted?'
'In the abstract but not in the concrete,' said Ursula. 'When it comes to the point, one isn't even tempted--oh, if I were tempted, I'd marry like a shot. I'm only tempted NOT to.' The faces of both sisters suddenly lit up with amusement.
'Isn't it an amazing thing,' cried Gudrun, 'how strong the temptation is, not to!' They both laughed, looking at each other. In their hearts they were frightened.
There was a long pause, whilst Ursula stitched and Gudrun went on with her sketch. The sisters were women, Ursula twenty-six, and Gudrun twenty-five. But both had the remote, virgin look of modern girls, sisters of Artemis rather than of Hebe. Gudrun was very beautiful, passive, soft-skinned, soft-limbed. She wore a dress of dark-blue silky stuff, with ruches of blue and green linen lace in the neck and sleeves; and she had emerald-green stockings. Her look of confidence and diffidence contrasted with Ursula's sensitive expectancy. The provincial people, intimidated by Gudrun's perfect sang-froid and exclusive bareness of manner, said of her: 'She is a smart woman.' She had just come back from London, where she had spent several years, working at an art-school, as a student, and living a studio life.
'I was hoping now for a man to come along,' Gudrun said, suddenly catching her underlip between her teeth, and making a strange grimace, half sly smiling, half anguish. Ursula was afraid.
'So you have come home, expecting him here?' she laughed.
'Oh my dear,' cried Gudrun, strident, 'I wouldn't go out of my way to look for him. But if there did happen to come along a highly attractive individual of sufficient means--well--' she tailed off ironically. Then she looked searchingly at Ursula, as if to probe her. 'Don't you find yourself getting bored?' she asked of her sister. 'Don't you find, that things fail to materialise? NOTHING MATERIALISES! Everything withers in the bud.'
'What withers in the bud?' asked Ursula.
'Oh, everything--oneself--things in general.' There was a pause, whilst each sister vaguely considered her fate.
'It does frighten one,' said Ursula, and again there was a pause. 'But do you hope to get anywhere by just marrying?'
'It seems to be the inevitable next step,' said Gudrun. Ursula pondered this, with a little bitterness. She was a class mistress herself, in Willey Green Grammar School, as she had been for some years.
'I know,' she said, 'it seems like that when one thinks in the abstract. But really imagine it: imagine any man one knows, imagine him coming home to one every evening, and saying "Hello," and giving one a kiss--'
There was a blank pause.
'Yes,' said Gudrun, in a narrowed voice. 'It's just impossible. The man makes it impossible.'
'Of course there's children--' said Ursula doubtfully.
Gudrun's face hardened.
'Do you REALLY want children, Ursula?' she asked coldly. A dazzled, baffled look came on Ursula's face.
'One feels it is still beyond one,' she said.
'DO you feel like that?' asked Gudrun. 'I get no feeling whatever from the thought of bearing children.'
Gudrun looked at Ursula with a masklike, expressionless face. Ursula knitted her brows.
'Perhaps it isn't genuine,' she faltered. 'Perhaps one doesn't really want them, in one's soul--only superficially.' A hardness came over Gudrun's face. She did not want to be too definite.
'When one thinks of other people's children--' said Ursula.
Again Gudrun looked at her sister, almost hostile.
'Exactly,' she said, to close the conversation.
The two sisters worked on in silence, Ursula having always that strange brightness of an essential flame that is caught, meshed, contravened. She lived a good deal by herself, to herself, working, passing on from day to day, and always thinking, trying to lay hold on life, to grasp it in her own understanding. Her active living was suspended, but underneath, in the darkness, something was coming to pass. If only she could break through the last integuments! She seemed to try and put her hands out, like an infant in the womb, and she could not, not yet. Still she had a strange prescience, an intimation of something yet to come.
She laid down her work and looked at her sister. She thought Gudrun so CHARMING, so infinitely charming, in her softness and her fine, exquisite richness of texture and delicacy of line. There was a certain playfulness about her too, such a piquancy or ironic suggestion, such an untouched reserve. Ursula admired her with all her soul.
'Why did you come home, Prune?' she asked.
Gudrun knew she was being admired. She sat back from her drawing and looked at Ursula, from under her finely-curved lashes.
'Why did I come back, Ursula?' she repeated. 'I have asked myself a thousand times.'
'And don't you know?'
'Yes, I think I do. I think my coming back home was just RECULER POUR MIEUX SAUTER.'
And she looked with a long, slow look of knowledge at Ursula.
'I know!' cried Ursula, looking slightly dazzled and falsified, and as if she did NOT know. 'But where can one jump to?'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,' said Gudrun, somewhat superbly. 'If one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere.'
'But isn't it very risky?' asked Ursula.
A slow mocking smile dawned on Gudrun's face.
'Ah!' she said laughing. 'What is it all but words!' And so again she closed the conversation. But Ursula was still brooding.
'And how do you find home, now you have come back to it?' she asked.
Gudrun paused for some moments, coldly, before answering. Then, in a cold truthful voice, she said:
'I find myself completely out of it.'
'And father?'
Gudrun looked at Ursula, almost with resentment, as if brought to bay.
'I haven't thought about him: I've refrained,' she said coldly.
'Yes,' wavered Ursula; and the conversation was really at an end. The sisters found themselves confronted by a void, a terrifying chasm, as if they had looked over the edge.
They worked on in silence for some time, Gudrun's cheek was flushed with repressed emotion. She resented its having been called into being.
'Shall we go out and look at that wedding?' she asked at length, in a voice that was too casual.
'Yes!' cried Ursula, too eagerly, throwing aside her sewing and leaping up, as if to escape something, thus betraying the tension of the situation and causing a friction of dislike to go over Gudrun's nerves.
As she went upstairs, Ursula was aware of the house, of her home round about her. And she loathed it, the sordid, too-familiar place! She was afraid at the depth of her feeling against the home, the milieu, the whole atmosphere and condition of this obsolete life. Her feeling frightened her.
The two girls were soon walking swiftly down the main road of Beldover, a wide street, part shops, part dwelling-houses, utterly formless and sordid, without poverty. Gudrun, new from her life in Chelsea and Sussex, shrank cruelly from this amorphous ugliness of a small colliery town in the Midlands. Yet forward she went, through the whole sordid gamut of pettiness, the long amorphous, gritty street. She was exposed to every stare, she passed on through a stretch of torment. It was strange that she should have chosen to come back and test the full effect of this shapeless, barren ugliness upon herself. Why had she wanted to submit herself to it, did she still want to submit herself to it, the insufferable torture of these ugly, meaningless people, this defaced countryside? She felt like a beetle toiling in the dust. She was filled with repulsion.
They turned off the main road, past a black patch of common-garden, where sooty cabbage stumps stood shameless. No one thought to be ashamed. No one was ashamed of it all.
'It is like a country in an underworld,' said Gudrun. 'The colliers bring it above-ground with them, shovel it up. Ursula, it's marvellous, it's really marvellous--it's really wonderful, another world. The people are all ghouls, and everything is ghostly. Everything is a ghoulish replica of the real world, a replica, a ghoul, all soiled, everything sordid. It's like being mad, Ursula.'
The sisters were crossing a black path through a dark, soiled field. On the left was a large landscape, a valley with collieries, and opposite hills with cornfields and woods, all blackened with distance, as if seen through a veil of crape. White and black smoke rose up in steady columns, magic within the dark air. Near at hand came the long rows of dwellings, approaching curved up the hill-slope, in straight lines along the brow of the hill. They were of darkened red brick, brittle, with dark slate roofs. The path on which the sisters walked was black, trodden-in by the feet of the recurrent colliers, and bounded from the field by iron fences; the stile that led again into the road was rubbed shiny by the moleskins of the passing miners. Now the two girls were going between some rows of dwellings, of the poorer sort. Women, their arms folded over their coarse aprons, standing gossiping at the end of their block, stared after the Brangwen sisters with that long, unwearying stare of aborigines; children called out names.
Gudrun went on her way half dazed. If this were human life, if these were human beings, living in a complete world, then what was her own world, outside? She was aware of her grass-green stockings, her large grass-green velour hat, her full soft coat, of a strong blue colour. And she felt as if she were treading in the air, quite unstable, her heart was contracted, as if at any minute she might be precipitated to the ground. She was afraid.
She clung to Ursula, who, through long usage was inured to this violation of a dark, uncreated, hostile world. But all the time her heart was crying, as if in the midst of some ordeal: 'I want to go back, I want to go away, I want not to know it, not to know that this exists.' Yet she must go forward.
Ursula could feel her suffering.
'You hate this, don't you?' she asked.
'It bewilders me,' stammered Gudrun.
'You won't stay long,' replied Ursula.
And Gudrun went along, grasping at release.
They drew away from the colliery region, over the curve of the hill, into the purer country of the other side, towards Willey Green. Still the faint glamour of blackness persisted over the fields and the wooded hills, and seemed darkly to gleam in the air. It was a spring day, chill, with snatches of sunshine. Yellow celandines showed out from the hedge-bottoms, and in the cottage gardens of Willey Green, currant-bushes were breaking into leaf, and little flowers were coming white on the grey alyssum that hung over the stone walls.
Turning, they passed down the high-road, that went between high banks towards the church. There, in the lowest bend of the road, low under the trees, stood a little group of expectant people, waiting to see the wedding. The daughter of the chief mine-owner of the district, Thomas Crich, was getting married to a naval officer.
'Let us go back,' said Gudrun, swerving away. 'There are all those people.'
And she hung wavering in the road.
'Never mind them,' said Ursula, 'they're all right. They all know me, they don't matter.'
'But must we go through them?' asked Gudrun.
'They're quite all right, really,' said Ursula, going forward. And together the two sisters approached the group of uneasy, watchful common people. They were chiefly women, colliers' wives of the more shiftless sort. They had watchful, underworld faces.
The two sisters held themselves tense, and went straight towards the gate. The women made way for them, but barely sufficient, as if grudging to yield ground. The sisters passed in silence through the stone gateway and up the steps, on the red carpet, a policeman estimating their progress.
'What price the stockings!' said a voice at the back of Gudrun. A sudden fierce anger swept over the girl, violent and murderous. She would have liked them all annihilated, cleared away, so that the world was left clear for her. How she hated walking up the churchyard path, along the red carpet, continuing in motion, in their sight.
'I won't go into the church,' she said suddenly, with such final decision that Ursula immediately halted, turned round, and branched off up a small side path which led to the little private gate of the Grammar School, whose grounds adjoined those of the church.
Just inside the gate of the school shrubbery, outside the churchyard, Ursula sat down for a moment on the low stone wall under the laurel bushes, to rest. Behind her, the large red building of the school rose up peacefully, the windows all open for the holiday. Over the shrubs, before her, were the pale roofs and tower of the old church. The sisters were hidden by the foliage.
Gudrun sat down in silence. Her mouth was shut close, her face averted. She was regretting bitterly that she had ever come back. Ursula looked at her, and thought how amazingly beautiful she was, flushed with discomfiture. But she caused a constraint over Ursula's nature, a certain weariness. Ursula wished to be alone, freed from the tightness, the enclosure of Gudrun's presence.
'Are we going to stay here?' asked Gudrun.
'I was only resting a minute,' said Ursula, getting up as if rebuked. 'We will stand in the corner by the fives-court, we shall see everything from there.'
For the moment, the sunshine fell brightly into the churchyard, there was a vague scent of sap and of spring, perhaps of violets from off the graves. Some white daisies were out, bright as angels. In the air, the unfolding leaves of a copper-beech were blood-red.
Punctually at eleven o'clock, the carriages began to arrive. There was a stir in the crowd at the gate, a concentration as a carriage drove up, wedding guests were mounting up the steps and passing along the red carpet to the church. They were all gay and excited because the sun was shining.
Gudrun watched them closely, with objective curiosity. She saw each one as a complete figure, like a character in a book, or a subject in a picture, or a marionette in a theatre, a finished creation. She loved to recognise their various characteristics, to place them in their true light, give them their own surroundings, settle them for ever as they passed before her along the path to the church. She knew them, they were finished, sealed and stamped and finished with, for her. There was none that had anything unknown, unresolved, until the Criches themselves began to appear. Then her interest was piqued. Here was something not quite so preconcluded.
There came the mother, Mrs Crich, with her eldest son Gerald. She was a queer unkempt figure, in spite of the attempts that had obviously been made to bring her into line for the day. Her face was pale, yellowish, with a clear, transparent skin, she leaned forward rather, her features were strongly marked, handsome, with a tense, unseeing, predative look. Her colourless hair was untidy, wisps floating down on to her sac coat of dark blue silk, from under her blue silk hat. She looked like a woman with a monomania, furtive almost, but heavily proud.
Her son was of a fair, sun-tanned type, rather above middle height, well-made, and almost exaggeratedly well-dressed. But about him also was the strange, guarded look, the unconscious glisten, as if he did not belong to the same creation as the people about him. Gudrun lighted on him at once. There was something northern about him that magnetised her. In his clear northern flesh and his fair hair was a glisten like sunshine refracted through crystals of ice. And he looked so new, unbroached, pure as an arctic thing. Perhaps he was thirty years old, perhaps more. His gleaming beauty, maleness, like a young, good-humoured, smiling wolf, did not blind her to the significant, sinister stillness in his bearing, the lurking danger of his unsubdued temper. 'His totem is the wolf,' she repeated to herself. 'His mother is an old, unbroken wolf.' And then she experienced a keen paroxyism, a transport, as if she had made some incredible discovery, known to nobody else on earth. A strange transport took possession of her, all her veins were in a paroxysm of violent sensation. 'Good God!' she exclaimed to herself, 'what is this?' And then, a moment after, she was saying assuredly, 'I shall know more of that man.' She was tortured with desire to see him again, a nostalgia, a necessity to see him again, to make sure it was not all a mistake, that she was not deluding herself, that she really felt this strange and overwhelming sensation on his account, this knowledge of him in her essence, this powerful apprehension of him. 'Am I REALLY singled out for him in some way, is there really some pale gold, arctic light that envelopes only us two?' she asked herself. And she could not believe it, she remained in a muse, scarcely conscious of what was going on around.
The bridesmaids were here, and yet the bridegroom had not come. Ursula wondered if something was amiss, and if the wedding would yet all go wrong. She felt troubled, as if it rested upon her. The chief bridesmaids had arrived. Ursula watched them come up the steps. One of them she knew, a tall, slow, reluctant woman with a weight of fair hair and a pale, long face. This was Hermione Roddice, a friend of the Criches. Now she came along, with her head held up, balancing an enormous flat hat of pale yellow velvet, on which were streaks of ostrich feathers, natural and grey. She drifted forward as if scarcely conscious, her long blanched face lifted up, not to see the world. She was rich. She wore a dress of silky, frail velvet, of pale yellow colour, and she carried a lot of small rose-coloured cyclamens. Her shoes and stockings were of brownish grey, like the feathers on her hat, her hair was heavy, she drifted along with a peculiar fixity of the hips, a strange unwilling motion. She was impressive, in her lovely pale-yellow and brownish-rose, yet macabre, something repulsive. People were silent when she passed, impressed, roused, wanting to jeer, yet for some reason silenced. Her long, pale face, that she carried lifted up, somewhat in the Rossetti fashion, seemed almost drugged, as if a strange mass of thoughts coiled in the darkness within her, and she was never allowed to escape.
她們默默地綉着、畫着，想到什麽就說點什麽。
“厄秀拉，”戈珍說，“你真想結婚嗎？”厄秀拉把刺綉攤在膝上擡起頭來，神情平 靜、若有所思地說：
“我不知道，這要看怎麽講了。”
戈珍有點吃驚地看着姐姐，看了好一會兒。
“這個嘛，”戈珍調侃地說，“一般來說指的就是那回事！但是，你不覺得你應該， 嗯，”她有點神色黯然地說，“不應該比現在的處境更好一點嗎？”
厄秀拉臉上閃過一片陰影。
“應該，”她說，“不過我沒把握。”
戈珍又不說話了，有點不高興了，她原本要得到一個確切的答復。
“你不認為一個人需要結婚的經驗嗎？”她問。
“你認為結婚是一種經驗嗎？”厄秀拉反問。
“肯定是，不管怎樣都是。”戈珍冷靜地說，“可能這經驗讓人不愉快，但肯定是一種 經驗。”
“那不見得，”厄秀拉說，“也許倒是經驗的結束呢。”
戈珍筆直地坐着，認真聽厄秀拉說這話。
“當然了，”她說，“是要想到這個。”說完後，她們不再說話了。戈珍幾乎是氣呼呼 地抓起橡皮，開始擦掉畫上去的東西。厄秀拉專心地綉她的花兒。
“有象樣的人求婚你不考慮接受嗎？”戈珍問。
“我都回絶了好幾個了。”厄秀拉說。
“真的！？”戈珍緋紅了臉問：“什麽值得你這麽幹？你真有什麽想法嗎？”
“一年中有好多人求婚，我喜歡上了一個非常好的人，太喜歡他了。”厄秀拉說。
“真的！是不是你讓人傢引誘了？”
“可以說是，也可以說不是。”厄秀拉說，“一到那時候，壓根兒就沒了引誘這一說。 要是我讓人傢引誘了，我早立即結婚了。我受的是不結婚的引誘。”說到這裏，兩姐妹的臉 色明朗起來，感到樂不可支。
“太棒了，”戈珍叫道，“這引誘力也太大了，不結婚！”她們兩人相對大笑起來，但 她們心裏感到可怕。
這以後她們沉默了好久，厄秀拉仍舊綉花兒，戈珍照舊畫她的素描。姐妹倆都是大姑娘 了，厄秀拉二十六，戈珍二十五。但她們都象現代女性那樣，看上去冷漠、純潔，不象青春 女神，反倒更象月神。戈珍很漂亮、皮膚柔嫩，體態婀娜，人也溫順。她身着一件墨緑色綢 上衣，領口和袖口上都鑲着藍色和緑色的亞麻布褶邊兒；腳上穿的襪子則是翠緑色的。她看 上去與厄秀拉正相反。她時而自信，時而羞赦，而厄秀拉則敏感，充滿信心。本地人被戈珍 那泰然自若的神態和毫無掩飾的舉止所驚詫，說她是個“伶俐的姑娘。”她剛從倫敦回來， 在那兒住了幾年，在一所藝術學校邊工作邊學習，儼然是個藝術傢。
“我現在在等一個男人的到來，”戈珍說着，突然咬住下嘴唇，一半是狡猾的笑，一半 是痛苦相，做了個奇怪的鬼臉。
厄秀拉被嚇了一跳。
“你回傢來，就是為了在這兒等他？”她笑道。
“得了吧，”戈珍刺耳地叫道，“我纔不會犯神經去找他呢。不過嘛，要是真有那麽一 個人，相貌出衆、丰采照人，又有足夠的錢，那——”戈珍有點不好意思，話沒說完。然後 她盯着厄秀拉，好象要看透她似的。“你不覺得你都感到厭煩了嗎？”她問姐姐，“你是否 發現什麽都無法實現？什麽都實現不了！一切都還未等開花兒就凋謝了。”
“什麽沒開花就凋謝了？”厄秀拉問。
“嗨，什麽都是這樣，自己一般的事情都這樣。”姐妹倆不說話了，都在朦朦朧朧地考 慮着自己的命運。
“這是夠可怕的。”厄秀拉說，停了一會兒又說：“不過你想通過結婚達到什麽目的 嗎？”
“那是下一步的事兒，不可避免。”戈珍說。厄秀拉思考着這個問題，心中有點發苦。 她在威利·格林中學教書，工作好幾年了。
“我知道，”她說，“人一空想起來似乎都那樣，可要是設身處地地想想就好了，想想 吧，想想你瞭解的一個男人，每天晚上回傢來，對你說聲‘哈羅’，然後吻你——”
誰都不說話了。
“沒錯，”戈珍小聲說，“這不可能。男人不可能這樣。”
“當然還有孩子——”厄秀拉遲疑地說。
戈珍的表情嚴峻起來。
“你真想要孩子嗎，厄秀拉？”她冷冷地問。聽她這一問，厄秀拉臉上露出了迷惑不解 的表情。
“我覺得這個問題離我還太遠，”她說。
“你是這種感受嗎？”戈珍問，“我從來沒想過生孩子，沒那感受。”
戈珍毫無表情地看着厄秀拉。厄秀拉皺起了眉頭。
“或許這並不是真的，”她支吾道，“或許人們心裏並不想要孩子，衹是表面上這樣而 已。”戈珍的神態嚴肅起來。她並不需要太肯定的說法。
“可有時一個人會想到別人的孩子。”厄秀拉說。
戈珍又一次看看姐姐，目光中幾乎有些敵意。
“是這樣。”她說完不再說話了。
姐妹兩人默默地綉花、繪畫兒。厄秀拉總是那麽精神抖擻，心中燃着一團撲撲作響、熊 熊騰騰的火。她自己獨立生活很久了，潔身自好，工作着，日復一日，總想把握住生活，照 自己的想法去把握生活。表面上她停止了活躍的生活，可實際上，在冥冥中卻有什麽在生長 出來。要是她能夠衝破那最後的一層殼皮該多好啊！她似乎象一個胎兒那樣伸出了雙手，可 是，她不能，還不能。她仍有一種奇特的預感，感到有什麽將至。
她放下手中的刺綉，看看妹妹。她覺得戈珍太漂亮、實在太迷人了，她柔美、豐腴、綫 條纖細。她還有點頑皮、淘氣、出言辛辣，真是個毫無修飾的處女。厄秀拉打心眼兒裏羨慕 她。
“你為什麽回傢來？”
戈珍知道厄秀拉羨慕她了。她直起腰來，綫條優美的眼睫毛下目光凝視着厄秀拉。
“問我為什麽回來嗎，厄秀拉？”她重複道：“我自己已經問過自己一千次了。”
“你知道了嗎？”
“知道了，我想我明白了。我覺得我退一步是為了更好地前進。”
說完她久久地盯着厄秀拉，目光尋問着她。
“我知道！”厄秀拉叫道，那神情有些迷茫，象是在說謊，好象她不明白一樣。“可你 要跳到哪兒去呢？”
“哦，無所謂，”戈珍說，口氣有點超然。“一個人如果跳過了籬笆，他總能落到一個 什麽地方的。”
“可這不是在冒險嗎？”厄秀拉說。
戈珍臉上漸漸掠過一絲嘲諷的笑意。
“嗨！”她笑道：“我們盡吵些什麽呀！”她又不說話了，可厄秀拉仍然鬱悶地沉思着。
“你回來了，覺得傢裏怎麽樣？”她問。
戈珍沉默了片刻，有點冷漠。然後冷冷地說：
“我發現我完全不是這兒的人了。”
“那爸爸呢？”
戈珍幾乎有點反感地看看厄秀拉，有些的樣子，說：
“我還沒想到他呢，我不讓自己去想。”她的話很冷漠。
“好啊，”厄秀拉吞吞吐吐地說。她倆的對話的確進行不下去了。姐妹兩人發現自己遇 到了一條黑洞洞的深淵，很可怕，好象她們就在邊上窺視一樣。
她們又默默地做着自己的活兒。一會兒，戈珍的臉因為控製着情緒而通紅起來。她不願 讓臉紅起來。
“我們出去看看人傢的婚禮吧。”她終於說話了，口氣很隨便。
“好啊！”厄秀拉叫道，急切地把針綫扔到一邊，跳了起來，似乎要逃離什麽東西一 樣。這麽一來，反倒弄得很緊張，令戈珍感到不高興。
往樓上走着，厄秀拉註意地看着這座房子，這是她的傢。可是她討厭這兒，這塊骯髒、 太讓人熟習的地方！也許她內心深處對這個傢是反感的，這周圍的環境，整個氣氛和這種陳 腐的生活都讓她反感。這種感覺令她恐怖。
兩個姑娘很快就來到了貝多弗的主幹道上，匆匆走着。這條街很寬，路旁有商店和住 房，佈局散亂，街面上也很髒，不過倒不顯得貧寒。戈珍剛從徹西區①和蘇塞剋斯②來，對 中部這座小小的礦區城十分厭惡，這兒真是又亂又髒。她朝前走着，穿過長長的礫石街道， 把個混亂不堪、骯髒透頂、小氣十足的場面盡收眼底。人們的目光都盯着她，她感到很難 受。真不知道她為什麽要回來，為什麽要嘗嘗這亂七八糟、醜陋不堪的小城滋味。她為什麽 要嚮這些令人難以忍受的折磨，這些毫無意義的人和這座毫無光彩的農村小鎮屈服呢？為什 麽她仍然要嚮這些東西屈服？她感到自己就象一隻在塵土中蠕動的甲殼蟲，這真令人反感。
①徹西區是倫敦聚集了文學藝術傢的一個區。
②英國的一個郡。——譯者註。以後所有的註釋均為譯者註。
她們走下主幹道，從一座黑乎乎的公傢菜園旁走過，園子裏沾滿煤炭的白菜根不識羞恥 地散落着。沒人感到難看，沒人為這個感到不好意思。
“這地獄中的農村。”戈珍說，“礦工們把煤炭帶到地面上來，帶來這麽多呀。厄 秀拉，這可真太好玩了，太好了，真是太妙了，這兒又是一個世界。這兒的人全是些吃屍 鬼，這兒什麽東西都沾着鬼氣。全是真實世界的鬼影，是鬼影、食屍鬼，全是些骯髒、齷齪 的東西。厄秀拉，這簡直讓人發瘋。”
姐妹倆穿過一片黑黝黝、骯髒不堪的田野。左邊是散落着一座座煤礦的𠔌地，𠔌地上面 的山坡上是小麥田和森林，遠遠一片黝黑，就象罩着一層黑紗一樣。敦敦實實的煙窗裏冒着 白煙黑煙，象黑沉沉天空上在變魔術一樣。近處是一排排的住房，順山坡而上，一直通嚮山 頂。這些房子用暗紅磚砌成，房頂鋪着石板，看上去很不結實。姐妹二人走的這條路也是黑 乎乎的。路是讓礦工們的腳一步步踩出來的，路旁圍着鐵柵欄，柵門也讓進出的礦工們的厚 毛布褲磨亮了。現在姐妹二人走在幾排房屋中間的路上，這裏可就寒酸了。女人們戴着圍 裙，雙臂交叉着抱在胸前，站在遠處竊竊私語，她們用一種不開化人的目光目不轉睛地盯着 布朗溫姐妹；孩子們在叫駡着。
戈珍走着，被眼前的東西驚呆了。如果說這是人的生活，如果說這些是生活在一個完整 世界中的人，那麽她自己那個世界算什麽呢？她意識到自己穿着緑草般鮮緑的襪子，戴着緑 色的天鵝絨帽，柔軟的長大衣也是緑的，顔色更深一點。她感到自己騰雲駕霧般地走着，一 點都不穩，她的心縮緊了，似乎她隨時都會猝然摔倒在地。她怕了。
她緊緊偎依着厄秀拉，她對這個黑暗、粗鄙、充滿敵意的世界早習以為常了。儘管有厄 秀拉，戈珍還感到象是在受着苦刑，心兒一直在呼喊：“我要回去，要走，我不想知道這 兒，不想知道這些東西。”可她不得不繼續朝前走。
厄秀拉可以感覺到戈珍是在受罪。
“你討厭這些，是嗎？”她問。
“這兒讓我吃驚。”戈珍結結巴巴地說。
“你別在這兒呆太久。”厄秀拉說。
戈珍鬆了一口氣，繼續朝前走。
她們離開了礦區，翻過山，進入了山後寧靜的鄉村，朝威利·格林中學走去。田野上仍 有些煤炭，但好多了，山上的林子裏也這樣，似乎在閃着黑色的光芒。這是春天，春寒料 峭，但尚有幾許陽光。籬笆下冒出些黃色的花來，威利·格林的農傢菜園裏，覆盆子已經長 出了葉子，伏種在石墻上的油菜，灰葉中已綻出些小白花兒。
她們轉身走下了高高的田梗，中間是通嚮教堂的主幹道。在轉彎的低處，樹下站着一群 等着看婚禮的人們。這個地區的礦業主托瑪斯·剋裏奇的女兒與一位海軍軍官的婚禮將要舉 行。
“咱們回去吧，”戈珍轉過身說着，“全是些這種人。”
她在路上猶豫着。
“別管他們，”厄秀拉說，“他們都不錯，都認識我，沒事兒。”
“我們非得從他們當中穿過去嗎？”戈珍問。
“他們都不錯，真的。”厄秀拉說着繼續朝前走。這姐妹兩人一起接近了這群躁動不 安、眼巴巴盯着看的人。這當中大多數是女人，礦工們的妻子，更是些混日子的人，她們臉 上透着警覺的神色，一看就是下層人。
姐妹兩人提心吊膽地直朝大門走去。女人們為她們讓路，可讓出來的就那麽窄窄的一條 縫，好象是在勉強放棄自己的地盤兒一樣。姐妹倆默默地穿過石門踏上臺階，站在紅色地毯 上的一個盯着她們往前行進的步伐。
“這雙襪子可夠值錢的！”戈珍後面有人說。一聽這話，戈珍渾身就燃起一股怒火，一 股兇猛、可怕的火。她真恨不得把這些人全幹掉，從這個世界上清除幹淨。她真討厭在這些 人註視下穿過教堂的院子沿着地毯往前走。
“我不進教堂了。”戈珍突然做出了最後的决定。她的話讓厄秀拉立即停住腳步，轉過 身走上了旁邊一條通嚮中學旁門的小路，中學就在教堂隔壁。
穿過學校與教堂中間的灌木叢進到學校裏，厄秀拉坐在月桂樹下的矮石墻上歇息。她身 後學校高大的紅樓靜靜地伫立着，假日裏窗戶全敞開着，面前灌木叢那邊就是教堂淡淡的屋 頂和塔樓。姐妹兩人被掩映在樹木中。
戈珍默默地坐了下來，緊閉着嘴，頭扭嚮一邊。她真後悔回到傢來。厄秀拉看看她，覺 得她漂亮極了，自己認輸了，臉都紅了。可她讓厄秀拉感到緊張得有點纍了。厄秀拉希望單 獨自處，脫離戈珍給她造成的透不過氣來的緊張感。
“我們還要在這兒呆下去嗎？”戈珍問。
“我就歇一小會兒，”厄秀拉說着站起身，象是受到戈珍的斥責一樣。“咱們就站在隔 壁球場的角落裏，從那兒什麽都看得見。”
太陽正輝煌地照耀着教堂墓地，空氣中淡淡地彌漫着樹脂的清香，那是春天的氣息，或 許是墓地黑紫羅蘭散發着幽香的緣故。一些雛菊已綻開了潔白的花朵，象小天使一樣漂亮。 空中銅色山毛櫸上舒展出血紅色的樹葉。
十一點時，馬車準時到達。一輛車駛過來，門口人群擁擠起來，産生了一陣騷動。出席 婚禮的賓客們徐徐走上臺階，沿着紅地毯走嚮教堂。這天陽光明媚，人們個個興高采烈。
戈珍用外來人那種好奇的目光仔細觀察着這些人。她把每個人都整體地觀察一通，或把 他們看作書中的一個個人物，一幅畫中的人物或劇院中的活動木偶，總之，完整地觀察他 們。她喜歡辨別他們不同的性格，將他們還其本來面目，給他們設置自我環境，在他們從她 眼前走過的當兒就給他們下了個永久的定論。她瞭解他們了，對她來說他們是些完整的人， 已經打上了烙印的完整的人。等到剋裏奇傢的人開始露面時，再也沒有什麽未知、不能解决 的問題了。她的興趣被激發起來了，她發現這裏有點什麽東西是不那麽容易提前下結論的。
那邊走過來剋裏奇太太和她的兒子傑拉德。儘管她為了今天這個日子明顯地修飾裝扮了 一番，但仍看得出她這人是不修邊幅的。她臉色蒼白，有點發黃，皮膚潔淨透明，有點前傾 的身體，綫條分明，很健壯，看上去象是要鼓足力氣不顧一切地去捕捉什麽。她一頭的白發 一點都不整齊，幾縷頭髮從緑綢帽裏掉出來，飄到罩着墨緑綢衣的褶皺紗上。一看就知道她 是個患偏執狂的女人，狡猾而傲慢。
她兒子本是個膚色白淨的人，但讓太陽曬黑了。他個頭中等偏高，身材很好，穿着似乎 有些過分的講究。但他的神態卻是那麽奇異、警覺，臉上情不自禁地閃爍着光芒，似乎他同 周圍的這些人有着根本的不同。戈珍的目光在打量他，他身上某種北方人的東西迷住了戈 珍。他那北方人純淨的肌膚和金色的頭髮象透過水晶折射的陽光一樣在閃爍。他看上去是那 麽新奇的一個人，沒有任何做作的痕跡，象北極的東西一樣純潔。他或許有三十歲了，或許 更大些。他丰采照人，男子氣十足，恰象一隻脾氣溫和、微笑着的幼狼一樣。但這副外表無 法令她變得盲目，她還是冷靜地看出他靜態中存在着危險，他那撲食的習性是無法改變的。 “他的圖騰是狼，”她自己重複着這句話。“他母親是一隻毫不屈服的老狼。”想到此，她 一陣狂喜，好象她有了一個全世界都不知道的令人難以置信的發現。一陣狂喜攫住了她，全 身的血管一時間猛烈激動起來。“天啊！”她自己大叫着，“這是怎麽一回事啊？”一會 兒，她又自信地說，“我會更多地瞭解那個人的。”她要再次見到他，她被這種欲望折磨 着，一定要再次見到他，這心情如同一種鄉戀一樣。她清楚，她沒有錯，她沒有自欺欺人， 她的確因為見到了他纔産生了這種奇特而振奮人心的感覺。她從本質上瞭解了他，深刻地理 解他，“難道我真地選中了他嗎？難道真有一道蒼白、金色的北極光把我們兩人拴在一起了 嗎？”她對自己發問。她無法相信自己，她仍然沉思着，幾乎意識不到周圍都發生了什麽事。
女儐相來了，但新娘還遲遲未到。厄秀拉猜想可能出了點差錯，這場婚禮弄不好就辦不 成了。她為此感到憂慮，似乎婚禮成功與否是取决於她。主要的女儐相們都到了，厄秀拉看 着她們走上臺階。她認識她們當中的一個，這人高高的個子，行動緩慢，長着一頭金發，長 長的臉，臉色蒼白，一看就知道是個難以駕馭的人。她是剋裏奇傢的朋友，叫赫麥妮·羅迪 斯。她走過來了，昂着頭，戴着一頂淺黃色天鵝絨寬沿帽，帽子上插着幾根天然灰色鴕鳥羽 毛。她飄然而過，似乎對周圍視而不見，蒼白的長臉嚮上揚起，並不留意周圍。她很富有， 今天穿了一件淺黃色軟天鵝絨上衣，亮閃閃的，手上捧一束玫瑰色仙客來花兒；鞋和襪子的 顔色很象帽子上羽毛的顔色，也是灰色的。她這人汗毛很重呢。走起路來臀部收得很緊，這 是她的一大特點，那種悠悠然的樣子跟衆人就是不同，她的衣着由淺黃和暗灰搭配而成，衣 服漂亮，人也很美，但有點可怕，有點讓人生厭。她走過時，人們都靜了下來，看來讓她迷 住了，繼而人們又激動起來，想調侃幾句，但終究不敢，又沉默了。她高揚着蒼白的長臉， 樣子頗象羅塞蒂①，似乎有點麻木，似乎她黑暗的內心深處聚集了許許多多奇特的思想令她 永遠無法從中解脫。
①羅塞蒂（１８３０—１８９４），英國拉斐爾前派著名女詩人。她的詩多以田園 牧歌詩為主，富有神秘宗教色彩。
厄秀拉出神地看着赫麥妮。她瞭解一點她的情況。赫麥妮是中原地區最出色的女人，父 親是德比郡的男爵，是個舊派人物，而她則全然新派，聰明過人且極有思想。她對改革充滿 熱情，心思全用在社會事業上。可她還是終歸嫁了人，仍然得受男性世界的左右。
她同各路有地位的男人都有神交。厄秀拉衹知道其中有一位是學校監察員，名叫盧伯 特·伯金。倒是戈珍在倫敦認識人更多些。她同搞藝術的朋友們出入各種社交圈子，已經認 識了不少知名人士。她與赫麥妮打過兩次交道，但她們兩人話不投機。她們在倫敦城裏各類 朋友傢以平等的身份相識，現在如果以如此懸殊的社會地位在中原相會將會令人很不舒服。 戈珍在社會上一直是個佼佼者，與貴族中搞點藝術的有閑者交往密切。
赫麥妮知道自己穿得很漂亮，她知道自己在威利·格林可以平等地同任何她想認識的人 打交道，或許想擺擺架子就擺擺架子。她知道她的地位在文化知識界的圈子裏是得到認可 的，她是文化意識的傳播媒介。無論在社會上還是在思想意識方面甚至在藝術上，她都處在 最高層次上，木秀於林，在這些方面她顯得左右逢源。沒誰能把她比下去，沒誰能夠讓她出 醜，因為她總是高居一流，而那些與她作對的人都在她之下，無論在等級上、財力上或是在 高層次的思想交流，思想發展及領悟能力上都不如她。因此她是冒犯不得的人物。她一生中 都努力不受人傷害或侵犯，要讓人們無法判斷她。
但是她的心在受折磨，這一點她無法掩飾。別看她在通往教堂的路上如此信步前行，確 信庸俗的對她毫無損傷，深信自己的形象完美無缺、屬於第一流。但是她忍受着折磨， 自信和傲慢衹是表面現象而已，其實她感到自己傷痕纍纍，受着人們的嘲諷與蔑視。她總感 到自己容易受到傷害，在她的盔甲下總有一道隱秘的傷口。她不知道這是怎麽回事。其實這 是因為她缺乏強健的自我，不具備天然的自負感。她有的衹是一個可怕空洞的靈魂，缺乏生 命的底藴。
她需要有個人來充溢她生命的底藴，永遠這樣。於是她極力追求盧伯特·伯金。當伯金 在她身邊時，她就感到自己是完整的，底氣很足。而在其它時間裏，她就感到搖搖欲跌，就 象建立在斷裂帶之上的房屋一樣。儘管她愛面子，掩飾自己，但任何一位自信、脾氣倔犟的 普通女傭都可以用輕微的嘲諷和蔑視舉止將她拋入無底的深淵，令她感到自己無能。但是， 這位憂鬱、忍受着折磨的女人一直在進取，用美學、文化、上流社會的態度和大公無私的行 為來保護自己。可她怎麽也無法越過這道可怕的溝壑，總感到自己沒有底氣。
'Ursula,' said Gudrun, 'don't you REALLY WANT to get married?' Ursula laid her embroidery in her lap and looked up. Her face was calm and considerate.
'I don't know,' she replied. 'It depends how you mean.'
Gudrun was slightly taken aback. She watched her sister for some moments.
'Well,' she said, ironically, 'it usually means one thing! But don't you think anyhow, you'd be--' she darkened slightly--'in a better position than you are in now.'
A shadow came over Ursula's face.
'I might,' she said. 'But I'm not sure.'
Again Gudrun paused, slightly irritated. She wanted to be quite definite.
'You don't think one needs the EXPERIENCE of having been married?' she asked.
'Do you think it need BE an experience?' replied Ursula.
'Bound to be, in some way or other,' said Gudrun, coolly. 'Possibly undesirable, but bound to be an experience of some sort.'
'Not really,' said Ursula. 'More likely to be the end of experience.'
Gudrun sat very still, to attend to this.
'Of course,' she said, 'there's THAT to consider.' This brought the conversation to a close. Gudrun, almost angrily, took up her rubber and began to rub out part of her drawing. Ursula stitched absorbedly.
'You wouldn't consider a good offer?' asked Gudrun.
'I think I've rejected several,' said Ursula.
'REALLY!' Gudrun flushed dark--'But anything really worth while? Have you REALLY?'
'A thousand a year, and an awfully nice man. I liked him awfully,' said Ursula.
'Really! But weren't you fearfully tempted?'
'In the abstract but not in the concrete,' said Ursula. 'When it comes to the point, one isn't even tempted--oh, if I were tempted, I'd marry like a shot. I'm only tempted NOT to.' The faces of both sisters suddenly lit up with amusement.
'Isn't it an amazing thing,' cried Gudrun, 'how strong the temptation is, not to!' They both laughed, looking at each other. In their hearts they were frightened.
There was a long pause, whilst Ursula stitched and Gudrun went on with her sketch. The sisters were women, Ursula twenty-six, and Gudrun twenty-five. But both had the remote, virgin look of modern girls, sisters of Artemis rather than of Hebe. Gudrun was very beautiful, passive, soft-skinned, soft-limbed. She wore a dress of dark-blue silky stuff, with ruches of blue and green linen lace in the neck and sleeves; and she had emerald-green stockings. Her look of confidence and diffidence contrasted with Ursula's sensitive expectancy. The provincial people, intimidated by Gudrun's perfect sang-froid and exclusive bareness of manner, said of her: 'She is a smart woman.' She had just come back from London, where she had spent several years, working at an art-school, as a student, and living a studio life.
'I was hoping now for a man to come along,' Gudrun said, suddenly catching her underlip between her teeth, and making a strange grimace, half sly smiling, half anguish. Ursula was afraid.
'So you have come home, expecting him here?' she laughed.
'Oh my dear,' cried Gudrun, strident, 'I wouldn't go out of my way to look for him. But if there did happen to come along a highly attractive individual of sufficient means--well--' she tailed off ironically. Then she looked searchingly at Ursula, as if to probe her. 'Don't you find yourself getting bored?' she asked of her sister. 'Don't you find, that things fail to materialise? NOTHING MATERIALISES! Everything withers in the bud.'
'What withers in the bud?' asked Ursula.
'Oh, everything--oneself--things in general.' There was a pause, whilst each sister vaguely considered her fate.
'It does frighten one,' said Ursula, and again there was a pause. 'But do you hope to get anywhere by just marrying?'
'It seems to be the inevitable next step,' said Gudrun. Ursula pondered this, with a little bitterness. She was a class mistress herself, in Willey Green Grammar School, as she had been for some years.
'I know,' she said, 'it seems like that when one thinks in the abstract. But really imagine it: imagine any man one knows, imagine him coming home to one every evening, and saying "Hello," and giving one a kiss--'
There was a blank pause.
'Yes,' said Gudrun, in a narrowed voice. 'It's just impossible. The man makes it impossible.'
'Of course there's children--' said Ursula doubtfully.
Gudrun's face hardened.
'Do you REALLY want children, Ursula?' she asked coldly. A dazzled, baffled look came on Ursula's face.
'One feels it is still beyond one,' she said.
'DO you feel like that?' asked Gudrun. 'I get no feeling whatever from the thought of bearing children.'
Gudrun looked at Ursula with a masklike, expressionless face. Ursula knitted her brows.
'Perhaps it isn't genuine,' she faltered. 'Perhaps one doesn't really want them, in one's soul--only superficially.' A hardness came over Gudrun's face. She did not want to be too definite.
'When one thinks of other people's children--' said Ursula.
Again Gudrun looked at her sister, almost hostile.
'Exactly,' she said, to close the conversation.
The two sisters worked on in silence, Ursula having always that strange brightness of an essential flame that is caught, meshed, contravened. She lived a good deal by herself, to herself, working, passing on from day to day, and always thinking, trying to lay hold on life, to grasp it in her own understanding. Her active living was suspended, but underneath, in the darkness, something was coming to pass. If only she could break through the last integuments! She seemed to try and put her hands out, like an infant in the womb, and she could not, not yet. Still she had a strange prescience, an intimation of something yet to come.
She laid down her work and looked at her sister. She thought Gudrun so CHARMING, so infinitely charming, in her softness and her fine, exquisite richness of texture and delicacy of line. There was a certain playfulness about her too, such a piquancy or ironic suggestion, such an untouched reserve. Ursula admired her with all her soul.
'Why did you come home, Prune?' she asked.
Gudrun knew she was being admired. She sat back from her drawing and looked at Ursula, from under her finely-curved lashes.
'Why did I come back, Ursula?' she repeated. 'I have asked myself a thousand times.'
'And don't you know?'
'Yes, I think I do. I think my coming back home was just RECULER POUR MIEUX SAUTER.'
And she looked with a long, slow look of knowledge at Ursula.
'I know!' cried Ursula, looking slightly dazzled and falsified, and as if she did NOT know. 'But where can one jump to?'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,' said Gudrun, somewhat superbly. 'If one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere.'
'But isn't it very risky?' asked Ursula.
A slow mocking smile dawned on Gudrun's face.
'Ah!' she said laughing. 'What is it all but words!' And so again she closed the conversation. But Ursula was still brooding.
'And how do you find home, now you have come back to it?' she asked.
Gudrun paused for some moments, coldly, before answering. Then, in a cold truthful voice, she said:
'I find myself completely out of it.'
'And father?'
Gudrun looked at Ursula, almost with resentment, as if brought to bay.
'I haven't thought about him: I've refrained,' she said coldly.
'Yes,' wavered Ursula; and the conversation was really at an end. The sisters found themselves confronted by a void, a terrifying chasm, as if they had looked over the edge.
They worked on in silence for some time, Gudrun's cheek was flushed with repressed emotion. She resented its having been called into being.
'Shall we go out and look at that wedding?' she asked at length, in a voice that was too casual.
'Yes!' cried Ursula, too eagerly, throwing aside her sewing and leaping up, as if to escape something, thus betraying the tension of the situation and causing a friction of dislike to go over Gudrun's nerves.
As she went upstairs, Ursula was aware of the house, of her home round about her. And she loathed it, the sordid, too-familiar place! She was afraid at the depth of her feeling against the home, the milieu, the whole atmosphere and condition of this obsolete life. Her feeling frightened her.
The two girls were soon walking swiftly down the main road of Beldover, a wide street, part shops, part dwelling-houses, utterly formless and sordid, without poverty. Gudrun, new from her life in Chelsea and Sussex, shrank cruelly from this amorphous ugliness of a small colliery town in the Midlands. Yet forward she went, through the whole sordid gamut of pettiness, the long amorphous, gritty street. She was exposed to every stare, she passed on through a stretch of torment. It was strange that she should have chosen to come back and test the full effect of this shapeless, barren ugliness upon herself. Why had she wanted to submit herself to it, did she still want to submit herself to it, the insufferable torture of these ugly, meaningless people, this defaced countryside? She felt like a beetle toiling in the dust. She was filled with repulsion.
They turned off the main road, past a black patch of common-garden, where sooty cabbage stumps stood shameless. No one thought to be ashamed. No one was ashamed of it all.
'It is like a country in an underworld,' said Gudrun. 'The colliers bring it above-ground with them, shovel it up. Ursula, it's marvellous, it's really marvellous--it's really wonderful, another world. The people are all ghouls, and everything is ghostly. Everything is a ghoulish replica of the real world, a replica, a ghoul, all soiled, everything sordid. It's like being mad, Ursula.'
The sisters were crossing a black path through a dark, soiled field. On the left was a large landscape, a valley with collieries, and opposite hills with cornfields and woods, all blackened with distance, as if seen through a veil of crape. White and black smoke rose up in steady columns, magic within the dark air. Near at hand came the long rows of dwellings, approaching curved up the hill-slope, in straight lines along the brow of the hill. They were of darkened red brick, brittle, with dark slate roofs. The path on which the sisters walked was black, trodden-in by the feet of the recurrent colliers, and bounded from the field by iron fences; the stile that led again into the road was rubbed shiny by the moleskins of the passing miners. Now the two girls were going between some rows of dwellings, of the poorer sort. Women, their arms folded over their coarse aprons, standing gossiping at the end of their block, stared after the Brangwen sisters with that long, unwearying stare of aborigines; children called out names.
Gudrun went on her way half dazed. If this were human life, if these were human beings, living in a complete world, then what was her own world, outside? She was aware of her grass-green stockings, her large grass-green velour hat, her full soft coat, of a strong blue colour. And she felt as if she were treading in the air, quite unstable, her heart was contracted, as if at any minute she might be precipitated to the ground. She was afraid.
She clung to Ursula, who, through long usage was inured to this violation of a dark, uncreated, hostile world. But all the time her heart was crying, as if in the midst of some ordeal: 'I want to go back, I want to go away, I want not to know it, not to know that this exists.' Yet she must go forward.
Ursula could feel her suffering.
'You hate this, don't you?' she asked.
'It bewilders me,' stammered Gudrun.
'You won't stay long,' replied Ursula.
And Gudrun went along, grasping at release.
They drew away from the colliery region, over the curve of the hill, into the purer country of the other side, towards Willey Green. Still the faint glamour of blackness persisted over the fields and the wooded hills, and seemed darkly to gleam in the air. It was a spring day, chill, with snatches of sunshine. Yellow celandines showed out from the hedge-bottoms, and in the cottage gardens of Willey Green, currant-bushes were breaking into leaf, and little flowers were coming white on the grey alyssum that hung over the stone walls.
Turning, they passed down the high-road, that went between high banks towards the church. There, in the lowest bend of the road, low under the trees, stood a little group of expectant people, waiting to see the wedding. The daughter of the chief mine-owner of the district, Thomas Crich, was getting married to a naval officer.
'Let us go back,' said Gudrun, swerving away. 'There are all those people.'
And she hung wavering in the road.
'Never mind them,' said Ursula, 'they're all right. They all know me, they don't matter.'
'But must we go through them?' asked Gudrun.
'They're quite all right, really,' said Ursula, going forward. And together the two sisters approached the group of uneasy, watchful common people. They were chiefly women, colliers' wives of the more shiftless sort. They had watchful, underworld faces.
The two sisters held themselves tense, and went straight towards the gate. The women made way for them, but barely sufficient, as if grudging to yield ground. The sisters passed in silence through the stone gateway and up the steps, on the red carpet, a policeman estimating their progress.
'What price the stockings!' said a voice at the back of Gudrun. A sudden fierce anger swept over the girl, violent and murderous. She would have liked them all annihilated, cleared away, so that the world was left clear for her. How she hated walking up the churchyard path, along the red carpet, continuing in motion, in their sight.
'I won't go into the church,' she said suddenly, with such final decision that Ursula immediately halted, turned round, and branched off up a small side path which led to the little private gate of the Grammar School, whose grounds adjoined those of the church.
Just inside the gate of the school shrubbery, outside the churchyard, Ursula sat down for a moment on the low stone wall under the laurel bushes, to rest. Behind her, the large red building of the school rose up peacefully, the windows all open for the holiday. Over the shrubs, before her, were the pale roofs and tower of the old church. The sisters were hidden by the foliage.
Gudrun sat down in silence. Her mouth was shut close, her face averted. She was regretting bitterly that she had ever come back. Ursula looked at her, and thought how amazingly beautiful she was, flushed with discomfiture. But she caused a constraint over Ursula's nature, a certain weariness. Ursula wished to be alone, freed from the tightness, the enclosure of Gudrun's presence.
'Are we going to stay here?' asked Gudrun.
'I was only resting a minute,' said Ursula, getting up as if rebuked. 'We will stand in the corner by the fives-court, we shall see everything from there.'
For the moment, the sunshine fell brightly into the churchyard, there was a vague scent of sap and of spring, perhaps of violets from off the graves. Some white daisies were out, bright as angels. In the air, the unfolding leaves of a copper-beech were blood-red.
Punctually at eleven o'clock, the carriages began to arrive. There was a stir in the crowd at the gate, a concentration as a carriage drove up, wedding guests were mounting up the steps and passing along the red carpet to the church. They were all gay and excited because the sun was shining.
Gudrun watched them closely, with objective curiosity. She saw each one as a complete figure, like a character in a book, or a subject in a picture, or a marionette in a theatre, a finished creation. She loved to recognise their various characteristics, to place them in their true light, give them their own surroundings, settle them for ever as they passed before her along the path to the church. She knew them, they were finished, sealed and stamped and finished with, for her. There was none that had anything unknown, unresolved, until the Criches themselves began to appear. Then her interest was piqued. Here was something not quite so preconcluded.
There came the mother, Mrs Crich, with her eldest son Gerald. She was a queer unkempt figure, in spite of the attempts that had obviously been made to bring her into line for the day. Her face was pale, yellowish, with a clear, transparent skin, she leaned forward rather, her features were strongly marked, handsome, with a tense, unseeing, predative look. Her colourless hair was untidy, wisps floating down on to her sac coat of dark blue silk, from under her blue silk hat. She looked like a woman with a monomania, furtive almost, but heavily proud.
Her son was of a fair, sun-tanned type, rather above middle height, well-made, and almost exaggeratedly well-dressed. But about him also was the strange, guarded look, the unconscious glisten, as if he did not belong to the same creation as the people about him. Gudrun lighted on him at once. There was something northern about him that magnetised her. In his clear northern flesh and his fair hair was a glisten like sunshine refracted through crystals of ice. And he looked so new, unbroached, pure as an arctic thing. Perhaps he was thirty years old, perhaps more. His gleaming beauty, maleness, like a young, good-humoured, smiling wolf, did not blind her to the significant, sinister stillness in his bearing, the lurking danger of his unsubdued temper. 'His totem is the wolf,' she repeated to herself. 'His mother is an old, unbroken wolf.' And then she experienced a keen paroxyism, a transport, as if she had made some incredible discovery, known to nobody else on earth. A strange transport took possession of her, all her veins were in a paroxysm of violent sensation. 'Good God!' she exclaimed to herself, 'what is this?' And then, a moment after, she was saying assuredly, 'I shall know more of that man.' She was tortured with desire to see him again, a nostalgia, a necessity to see him again, to make sure it was not all a mistake, that she was not deluding herself, that she really felt this strange and overwhelming sensation on his account, this knowledge of him in her essence, this powerful apprehension of him. 'Am I REALLY singled out for him in some way, is there really some pale gold, arctic light that envelopes only us two?' she asked herself. And she could not believe it, she remained in a muse, scarcely conscious of what was going on around.
The bridesmaids were here, and yet the bridegroom had not come. Ursula wondered if something was amiss, and if the wedding would yet all go wrong. She felt troubled, as if it rested upon her. The chief bridesmaids had arrived. Ursula watched them come up the steps. One of them she knew, a tall, slow, reluctant woman with a weight of fair hair and a pale, long face. This was Hermione Roddice, a friend of the Criches. Now she came along, with her head held up, balancing an enormous flat hat of pale yellow velvet, on which were streaks of ostrich feathers, natural and grey. She drifted forward as if scarcely conscious, her long blanched face lifted up, not to see the world. She was rich. She wore a dress of silky, frail velvet, of pale yellow colour, and she carried a lot of small rose-coloured cyclamens. Her shoes and stockings were of brownish grey, like the feathers on her hat, her hair was heavy, she drifted along with a peculiar fixity of the hips, a strange unwilling motion. She was impressive, in her lovely pale-yellow and brownish-rose, yet macabre, something repulsive. People were silent when she passed, impressed, roused, wanting to jeer, yet for some reason silenced. Her long, pale face, that she carried lifted up, somewhat in the Rossetti fashion, seemed almost drugged, as if a strange mass of thoughts coiled in the darkness within her, and she was never allowed to escape.
如果伯金能夠保持跟她之間的密切關係，赫麥妮在人生這多愁多憂的航行中就會感到安 全。伯金可以讓她安全，讓她成功，讓她戰勝天使。他要是這樣就好了！可他沒有。於是她 就在恐怖與擔心中受着折磨。她把自己裝扮得很漂亮，盡量達到能令伯金相信的美與優越程 度。可她總也不能。
他也不是個一般人。他把她擊退了，總擊退她。她越是要拉他，他越是要擊退她。可他 們幾年來竟一直相愛着。天啊，這太令人厭倦痛苦了，可她依然很自信。她知道他試圖離她 而去，但她仍然自信有力量守住他，她對自己高深的學問深信不疑。伯金的知識水平很高， 但赫麥妮則是真理的試金石，她要的是伯金跟她一條心。
他象一個有心理的任性孩子一樣要否認與她的聯繫，否認了這個就是否認了自己的 完美。他象一個任性的孩子，要打破他們兩人之間的神聖聯繫。
他會來參加這場婚禮的，他要來當男儐相。他會早早來教堂等候的。赫麥妮走進教堂大 門時想到這些，不禁怕起來，心裏打了一個寒慄。他會在那裏的，他肯定會看到她的衣服是 多麽漂亮，他肯定會明白她是為了他纔把自己打扮得如此漂亮。他會明白的，他能夠看得出 她是為了他纔把自己打扮得如此出衆，無與倫比。他會認可自己最好的命運，最終他不會不 接受她的。
渴望令她疲倦地抽搐了一下。她走進教堂的門後左右尋顧着找他，她苗條的軀體不安地 顫動着。作為男儐相，他是應該站在祭壇邊上的。她緩緩地充滿自信地把目光投過去，但心 中不免有點懷疑。
他沒在那兒，這給了她一個可怕的打擊，她好象要沉沒了。毀滅性的失望感攫住了她。 她木然地朝祭壇挪過去。她從來沒有經歷過這樣徹底毀滅性的打擊，它比死還可怕，那種感 覺是如此空曠、荒蕪。
新郎和伴郎還沒有到。外面的人群漸漸亂動起來。厄秀拉感到自己似乎該對這件事負 責。她不忍心看到新娘來了卻沒有新郎陪伴。這場婚禮千萬不能失敗，千萬不能。
新娘的馬車來了，馬車上裝飾着彩帶和花結。灰馬雀躍着奔嚮教堂大門，整個進程都充 滿了歡笑，這兒是所有歡笑與歡樂的中心。馬車門開了，今天的花兒就要從車中出來了。
路上的人們稍有不滿地竊竊私語。
先走出馬車的是新娘的父親，他就象一個陰影出現在晨空中。他高大、瘦削、一副飽經 磨難的形象，唇上細細的一道黑髭已經有些灰白了。他忘我耐心地等在車門口。
車門一開，車上落下紛紛揚揚的漂亮葉子和鮮花，飄下來白色緞帶，車中傳出一個歡快 的聲音：
“我怎麽出去呀？”
等待的人群中響起一片滿意的議論聲。大傢靠近車門來迎她，眼巴巴地盯着她垂下去的 頭，那一頭金發上沾滿了花蕾。眼看着那衹嬌小的白色金蓮兒試探着蹬到車梯上，一陣雪浪 般的衝擊，隨之新娘呼地一下，擁嚮樹蔭下的父親，她一團雪白，從面紗中蕩漾出笑聲來。
“這下好了！”
她用手輓住飽經風霜、面帶病色的父親，蕩着一身白浪走上了紅地毯。面色發黃的父親 沉默不語，黑髭令他看上去更顯得飽經磨難。他快步踏上臺階，似乎頭腦裏一片空虛，可他 身邊的新娘卻一直笑聲不斷。
可是新郎還沒有到！厄秀拉簡直對此無法忍受。她憂心忡忡地望着遠山，希望那白色的 下山路上會出現新郎的身影。那邊駛來一輛馬車，漸漸進入人們的視綫。沒錯，是他來了。 厄秀拉隨即轉身面對着新娘和人群，從高處嚮人們發出了一聲吶喊。她想告訴人們，新郎來 了。可是她的喊聲衹悶在心中，無人聽到。於是她深深為自己畏首畏尾、願望未竟感到慚愧。
馬車叮叮咣咣駛下山來，愈來愈近了。人群中有人大叫起來。剛剛踏上臺階頂的新娘驚 喜地轉過身來，她看到人頭沸動，一輛馬車停了下來，她的情人從車上跳下來，躲開馬匹， 擠進人堆中。
“梯普斯！梯普斯！”她站在高處，在陽光下興奮地揮舞着鮮花，滑稽地喊叫着。可他 手握着帽子在人群中鑽來鑽去，並未聽到她的叫喊。
“梯普斯！”她朝下看着他，又大叫一聲。
他毫無意識地朝上看了一眼，看到新娘和她的父親站在上方，臉上掠過一絲奇特、驚訝 的表情。他猶豫了片刻，然後使盡全身力氣跳起來嚮她撲過去。
“啊哈！”她反應過來了，微微發出一聲奇怪的叫喊，然後驚跳起來，轉身跑了。她朝 教堂飛跑着，穿着白鞋的腳穩穩地敲打着地面，白色衣服飄飄然擦着路面。這小夥子象一位 獵人一樣緊緊在她身後追着，他跳越着從她父親身邊掠過，豐滿結實的腿和臀部扭動着，如 同撲嚮獵物的獵人一般。
“嘿，追上她！”下面那些粗俗的女人突然湊過來逗樂兒，大喊大叫着。
新娘手捧鮮花穩穩地轉過了教堂的墻角。然後她回頭看看身後，挑戰般放聲大笑着轉過 身來站穩。這時新郎跑了過來，彎下腰一手扒住那沉默墻角的石垛，飛身旋轉過去，隨之他 的身影和粗壯結實的腰腿都在人們的視綫中消失了。
門口的人群中立刻爆發出一陣喝彩聲。然後，厄秀拉再一次註意到微微駝背的剋裏奇先 生，他茫然地等在一邊，毫無表情地看着新郎新娘奔嚮教堂。直到看不到他們兩人了，他纔 轉回身看看身後的盧伯特·伯金，伯金忙上前搭話：
“咱們殿後吧。”說着臉上掠過一絲笑。
“好的！”父親簡短地回答。說完兩人就轉身上去了。
伯金象剋裏奇先生一樣瘦削，蒼白的臉上露出些許病容。他身架窄小，但身材很不錯。 他走起路來一隻腳有些故意地拖地。儘管他這身伴郎的裝束一絲不苟，可他天生的氣質卻與 之不協調，因此穿上這身衣服看上去很滑稽。他生性聰明但不合群，對正式場合一點都不適 應，可他又不得不違心地去迎合一般俗人的觀念。
他裝作一個極普通人的樣子，裝得維妙維肖。他學着周圍人講話的口氣，能夠迅速擺正 與對話者的關係，根據自己的處境調整自己的言行，從而達到與其它凡夫俗子毫無區別的程 度。他這樣做常常可以一時博得旁人的好感，從而免遭攻訐。
現在，他一路走一路同剋裏奇先生輕鬆愉快地交談着。他就象一個走繩索的人那樣對局 勢應付自如，儘管走在繩索上卻要裝出一副悠然自得的樣子來。
“我們這麽晚纔到，太抱歉了。”他說，“我們怎麽也找不到鈕扣鈎了，花了好長時間 纔把靴子上的扣子都係好。您是按時到達的吧。”
“我們總是遵守時間的，”剋裏奇先生說。
“可我卻常遲到，”伯金說，“不過今天我的確是想準點到那兒的，卻出於偶然沒能準 點到這兒，太抱歉了。”
這兩個人也走遠了，一時間沒什麽可看的了。厄秀拉在思量着伯金，他引起了她的註 意，令她着迷也令她心亂。
她想更多地瞭解他。她衹跟他交談過一兩次，那是他來學校履行他學校監察員的職責的 時候。她以為他似乎看出了兩人之間的曖昧，那是一種自然的、心照不宣的理解，他們有共 同語言哩。可這種理解沒有發展的機會。有什麽東西使她跟他若即若離的？他身上有某種敵 意，隱藏着某種無法突破的拘謹、冷漠，讓人無法接近。
可她還是要瞭解他。
“你覺得盧伯特·伯金這人怎麽樣？”她有點勉強地問戈珍。其實她並不想議論他。
“我覺得他怎麽樣？”戈珍重複道，“我覺得他有吸引力，絶對有吸引力。我不能容忍 的是他待人的方式。他對待任何一個小傻瓜都那麽正兒八經，似乎他多麽看重人傢。這讓人 産生一種受騙的感覺。”
“他幹嗎要這樣？”厄秀拉問。
“因為他對人沒有真正的判斷能力，什麽時候都是這樣。”戈珍說，“跟你說吧，他對 我、對你跟對待什麽小傻瓜一樣，這簡直是一種屈辱。”
“哦，是這樣，”厄秀拉說，“一個人必須要有判斷力。”
“一個人必須要有判斷力。”戈珍重複說，“可在別的方面他是個挺不錯的人，他的性 格可好了。不過你不能相信他。”
“嗯，”厄秀拉有一搭沒一搭地說。厄秀拉總是同意戈珍的話，甚至當她並不完全 與戈珍一致時也這樣。
姐妹兩人默默地坐着等待參加婚禮的人們出來。戈珍不耐煩談話了，她要想一想傑拉 德·剋裏奇了，她想看一看她對他産生的強烈感情是否是真的。她要讓自己有個思想準備。
教堂裏，婚禮正在進行。可赫麥妮·羅迪斯一心衹想着伯金。他就站在附近，似乎他在 吸引着她過去。她真想去撫摸他，如果不摸一摸他，她就無法確信他就在附近。不過她總算 忍耐到了婚禮結束。
他沒來之前，她感到太痛苦了，直到現在她還感到有些眩暈。她仍然因為他精神上對她 漫不經心而感到痛苦，神經受着折磨。她似乎在一種幽幽的夢幻中等待着他，精神上忍受着 磨難。她憂鬱地站着，臉上那沉迷的表情讓她看上去象天使一樣，實際上那都是痛苦所致。 這副神態顯得楚楚動人，不禁令伯金感到心碎，對她産生了憐憫。他看到她垂着頭，那銷魂 蕩魄的神態幾乎象瘋狂的魔鬼。她感到他在看她，於是她擡起頭來，美麗的灰眼睛閃爍着嚮 他發出一個信號。可是他避開了她的目光，於是她痛苦屈辱地低下頭去，心靈繼續受着熬 煎。他也因為羞恥、反感和對她深深的憐憫感到痛苦。
他不想與她的目光相遇，不想接受她的致意。
新娘和新郎的結婚儀式舉行完以後，人們都進了室。赫麥妮情不自禁擠上來碰一碰 伯金，伯金容忍了她的做法。
戈珍和厄秀拉在教堂外傾聽她們的父親彈奏着風琴。他就喜歡演奏婚禮進行麯。瞧，新 婚夫婦來了！鐘聲四起，震得空氣都發顫了。厄秀拉想，不知樹木和花朵是否能感到這鐘聲 的震顫，對空中這奇特的震動它們會做何感想？新娘輓着新郎的胳膊，顯得很嫻靜，新郎則 盯着天空，下意識地眨着眼睛，似乎他既不在這兒也不在那兒。他眨着眼睛竭力要進入角 色，可被這麽一大群人圍觀感覺上又不好受，那副模樣十分滑稽。他看上去是位典型的海軍 軍官，有男子氣又忠於職守。
伯金和赫麥妮並肩走着。赫麥妮一臉的得意相兒，就象一位浪子回頭做了天使，可她仍 然有點象魔鬼。現在，她已經輓起伯金的胳膊了，伯金面無表情，任她擺布，似乎毫無疑問 這是他命裏註定的事。
傑拉德·剋裏奇過來了，他皮膚白皙，漂亮、健壯，渾身藴藏着未釋放出來的巨大能 量。他身架挺直，身材很美，和藹的態度和幸福感使他的臉微微閃着奇特的光芒。看到這 裏，戈珍猛地站起身走開了。她對此無法忍受了，她想單獨一個人在一處品味一下這奇特強 烈的感受，它改變了她整個兒的氣質。
She had various intimacies of mind and soul with various men of capacity. Ursula knew, among these men, only Rupert Birkin, who was one of the school-inspectors of the county. But Gudrun had met others, in London. Moving with her artist friends in different kinds of society, Gudrun had already come to know a good many people of repute and standing. She had met Hermione twice, but they did not take to each other. It would be queer to meet again down here in the Midlands, where their social standing was so diverse, after they had known each other on terms of equality in the houses of sundry acquaintances in town. For Gudrun had been a social success, and had her friends among the slack aristocracy that keeps touch with the arts.
Hermione knew herself to be well-dressed; she knew herself to be the social equal, if not far the superior, of anyone she was likely to meet in Willey Green. She knew she was accepted in the world of culture and of intellect. She was a KULTURTRAGER, a medium for the culture of ideas. With all that was highest, whether in society or in thought or in public action, or even in art, she was at one, she moved among the foremost, at home with them. No one could put her down, no one could make mock of her, because she stood among the first, and those that were against her were below her, either in rank, or in wealth, or in high association of thought and progress and understanding. So, she was invulnerable. All her life, she had sought to make herself invulnerable, unassailable, beyond reach of the world's judgment.
And yet her soul was tortured, exposed. Even walking up the path to the church, confident as she was that in every respect she stood beyond all vulgar judgment, knowing perfectly that her appearance was complete and perfect, according to the first standards, yet she suffered a torture, under her confidence and her pride, feeling herself exposed to wounds and to mockery and to despite. She always felt vulnerable, vulnerable, there was always a secret chink in her armour. She did not know herself what it was. It was a lack of robust self, she had no natural sufficiency, there was a terrible void, a lack, a deficiency of being within her.
And she wanted someone to close up this deficiency, to close it up for ever. She craved for Rupert Birkin. When he was there, she felt complete, she was sufficient, whole. For the rest of time she was established on the sand, built over a chasm, and, in spite of all her vanity and securities, any common maid-servant of positive, robust temper could fling her down this bottomless pit of insufficiency, by the slightest movement of jeering or contempt. And all the while the pensive, tortured woman piled up her own defences of aesthetic knowledge, and culture, and world-visions, and disinterestedness. Yet she could never stop up the terrible gap of insufficiency.
If only Birkin would form a close and abiding connection with her, she would be safe during this fretful voyage of life. He could make her sound and triumphant, triumphant over the very angels of heaven. If only he would do it! But she was tortured with fear, with misgiving. She made herself beautiful, she strove so hard to come to that degree of beauty and advantage, when he should be convinced. But always there was a deficiency.
He was perverse too. He fought her off, he always fought her off. The more she strove to bring him to her, the more he battled her back. And they had been lovers now, for years. Oh, it was so wearying, so aching; she was so tired. But still she believed in herself. She knew he was trying to leave her. She knew he was trying to break away from her finally, to be free. But still she believed in her strength to keep him, she believed in her own higher knowledge. His own knowledge was high, she was the central touchstone of truth. She only needed his conjunction with her.
And this, this conjunction with her, which was his highest fulfilment also, with the perverseness of a wilful child he wanted to deny. With the wilfulness of an obstinate child, he wanted to break the holy connection that was between them.
He would be at this wedding; he was to be groom's man. He would be in the church, waiting. He would know when she came. She shuddered with nervous apprehension and desire as she went through the church-door. He would be there, surely he would see how beautiful her dress was, surely he would see how she had made herself beautiful for him. He would understand, he would be able to see how she was made for him, the first, how she was, for him, the highest. Surely at last he would be able to accept his highest fate, he would not deny her.
In a little convulsion of too-tired yearning, she entered the church and looked slowly along her cheeks for him, her slender body convulsed with agitation. As best man, he would be standing beside the altar. She looked slowly, deferring in her certainty.
And then, he was not there. A terrible storm came over her, as if she were drowning. She was possessed by a devastating hopelessness. And she approached mechanically to the altar. Never had she known such a pang of utter and final hopelessness. It was beyond death, so utterly null, desert.
The bridegroom and the groom's man had not yet come. There was a growing consternation outside. Ursula felt almost responsible. She could not bear it that the bride should arrive, and no groom. The wedding must not be a fiasco, it must not.
But here was the bride's carriage, adorned with ribbons and cockades. Gaily the grey horses curvetted to their destination at the church-gate, a laughter in the whole movement. Here was the quick of all laughter and pleasure. The door of the carriage was thrown open, to let out the very blossom of the day. The people on the roadway murmured faintly with the discontented murmuring of a crowd.
The father stepped out first into the air of the morning, like a shadow. He was a tall, thin, careworn man, with a thin black beard that was touched with grey. He waited at the door of the carriage patiently, self-obliterated.
In the opening of the doorway was a shower of fine foliage and flowers, a whiteness of satin and lace, and a sound of a gay voice saying:
'How do I get out?'
A ripple of satisfaction ran through the expectant people. They pressed near to receive her, looking with zest at the stooping blond head with its flower buds, and at the delicate, white, tentative foot that was reaching down to the step of the carriage. There was a sudden foaming rush, and the bride like a sudden surf-rush, floating all white beside her father in the morning shadow of trees, her veil flowing with laughter.
'That's done it!' she said.
She put her hand on the arm of her care-worn, sallow father, and frothing her light draperies, proceeded over the eternal red carpet. Her father, mute and yellowish, his black beard making him look more careworn, mounted the steps stiffly, as if his spirit were absent; but the laughing mist of the bride went along with him undiminished.
And no bridegroom had arrived! It was intolerable for her. Ursula, her heart strained with anxiety, was watching the hill beyond; the white, descending road, that should give sight of him. There was a carriage. It was running. It had just come into sight. Yes, it was he. Ursula turned towards the bride and the people, and, from her place of vantage, gave an inarticulate cry. She wanted to warn them that he was coming. But her cry was inarticulate and inaudible, and she flushed deeply, between her desire and her wincing confusion.
The carriage rattled down the hill, and drew near. There was a shout from the people. The bride, who had just reached the top of the steps, turned round gaily to see what was the commotion. She saw a confusion among the people, a cab pulling up, and her lover dropping out of the carriage, and dodging among the horses and into the crowd.
'Tibs! Tibs!' she cried in her sudden, mocking excitement, standing high on the path in the sunlight and waving her bouquet. He, dodging with his hat in his hand, had not heard.
'Tibs!' she cried again, looking down to him.
He glanced up, unaware, and saw the bride and her father standing on the path above him. A queer, startled look went over his face. He hesitated for a moment. Then he gathered himself together for a leap, to overtake her.
'Ah-h-h!' came her strange, intaken cry, as, on the reflex, she started, turned and fled, scudding with an unthinkable swift beating of her white feet and fraying of her white garments, towards the church. Like a hound the young man was after her, leaping the steps and swinging past her father, his supple haunches working like those of a hound that bears down on the quarry.
'Ay, after her!' cried the vulgar women below, carried suddenly into the sport.
She, her flowers shaken from her like froth, was steadying herself to turn the angle of the church. She glanced behind, and with a wild cry of laughter and challenge, veered, poised, and was gone beyond the grey stone buttress. In another instant the bridegroom, bent forward as he ran, had caught the angle of the silent stone with his hand, and had swung himself out of sight, his supple, strong loins vanishing in pursuit.
Instantly cries and exclamations of excitement burst from the crowd at the gate. And then Ursula noticed again the dark, rather stooping figure of Mr Crich, waiting suspended on the path, watching with expressionless face the flight to the church. It was over, and he turned round to look behind him, at the figure of Rupert Birkin, who at once came forward and joined him.
'We'll bring up the rear,' said Birkin, a faint smile on his face.
'Ay!' replied the father laconically. And the two men turned together up the path.
Birkin was as thin as Mr Crich, pale and ill-looking. His figure was narrow but nicely made. He went with a slight trail of one foot, which came only from self-consciousness. Although he was dressed correctly for his part, yet there was an innate incongruity which caused a slight ridiculousness in his appearance. His nature was clever and separate, he did not fit at all in the conventional occasion. Yet he subordinated himself to the common idea, travestied himself.
He affected to be quite ordinary, perfectly and marvellously commonplace. And he did it so well, taking the tone of his surroundings, adjusting himself quickly to his interlocutor and his circumstance, that he achieved a verisimilitude of ordinary commonplaceness that usually propitiated his onlookers for the moment, disarmed them from attacking his singleness.
Now he spoke quite easily and pleasantly to Mr Crich, as they walked along the path; he played with situations like a man on a tight-rope: but always on a tight-rope, pretending nothing but ease.
'I'm sorry we are so late,' he was saying. 'We couldn't find a button-hook, so it took us a long time to button our boots. But you were to the moment.'
'We are usually to time,' said Mr Crich.
'And I'm always late,' said Birkin. 'But today I was REALLY punctual, only accidentally not so. I'm sorry.'
The two men were gone, there was nothing more to see, for the time. Ursula was left thinking about Birkin. He piqued her, attracted her, and annoyed her.
She wanted to know him more. She had spoken with him once or twice, but only in his official capacity as inspector. She thought he seemed to acknowledge some kinship between her and him, a natural, tacit understanding, a using of the same language. But there had been no time for the understanding to develop. And something kept her from him, as well as attracted her to him. There was a certain hostility, a hidden ultimate reserve in him, cold and inaccessible.
Yet she wanted to know him.
'What do you think of Rupert Birkin?' she asked, a little reluctantly, of Gudrun. She did not want to discuss him.
'What do I think of Rupert Birkin?' repeated Gudrun. 'I think he's attractive--decidedly attractive. What I can't stand about him is his way with other people--his way of treating any little fool as if she were his greatest consideration. One feels so awfully sold, oneself.'
'Why does he do it?' said Ursula.
'Because he has no real critical faculty--of people, at all events,' said Gudrun. 'I tell you, he treats any little fool as he treats me or you--and it's such an insult.'
'Oh, it is,' said Ursula. 'One must discriminate.'
'One MUST discriminate,' repeated Gudrun. 'But he's a wonderful chap, in other respects--a marvellous personality. But you can't trust him.'
'Yes,' said Ursula vaguely. She was always forced to assent to Gudrun's pronouncements, even when she was not in accord altogether.
The sisters sat silent, waiting for the wedding party to come out. Gudrun was impatient of talk. She wanted to think about Gerald Crich. She wanted to see if the strong feeling she had got from him was real. She wanted to have herself ready.
Inside the church, the wedding was going on. Hermione Roddice was thinking only of Birkin. He stood near her. She seemed to gravitate physically towards him. She wanted to stand touching him. She could hardly be sure he was near her, if she did not touch him. Yet she stood subjected through the wedding service.
She had suffered so bitterly when he did not come, that still she was dazed. Still she was gnawed as by a neuralgia, tormented by his potential absence from her. She had awaited him in a faint delirium of nervous torture. As she stood bearing herself pensively, the rapt look on her face, that seemed spiritual, like the angels, but which came from torture, gave her a certain poignancy that tore his heart with pity. He saw her bowed head, her rapt face, the face of an almost demoniacal ecstatic. Feeling him looking, she lifted her face and sought his eyes, her own beautiful grey eyes flaring him a great signal. But he avoided her look, she sank her head in torment and shame, the gnawing at her heart going on. And he too was tortured with shame, and ultimate dislike, and with acute pity for her, because he did not want to meet her eyes, he did not want to receive her flare of recognition.
The bride and bridegroom were married, the party went into the vestry. Hermione crowded involuntarily up against Birkin, to touch him. And he endured it.
Outside, Gudrun and Ursula listened for their father's playing on the organ. He would enjoy playing a wedding march. Now the married pair were coming! The bells were ringing, making the air shake. Ursula wondered if the trees and the flowers could feel the vibration, and what they thought of it, this strange motion in the air. The bride was quite demure on the arm of the bridegroom, who stared up into the sky before him, shutting and opening his eyes unconsciously, as if he were neither here nor there. He looked rather comical, blinking and trying to be in the scene, when emotionally he was violated by his exposure to a crowd. He looked a typical naval officer, manly, and up to his duty.
Birkin came with Hermione. She had a rapt, triumphant look, like the fallen angels restored, yet still subtly demoniacal, now she held Birkin by the arm. And he was expressionless, neutralised, possessed by her as if it were his fate, without question.
Gerald Crich came, fair, good-looking, healthy, with a great reserve of energy. He was erect and complete, there was a strange stealth glistening through his amiable, almost happy appearance. Gudrun rose sharply and went away. She could not bear it. She wanted to be alone, to know this strange, sharp inoculation that had changed the whole temper of her blood.
他也不是個一般人。他把她擊退了，總擊退她。她越是要拉他，他越是要擊退她。可他 們幾年來竟一直相愛着。天啊，這太令人厭倦痛苦了，可她依然很自信。她知道他試圖離她 而去，但她仍然自信有力量守住他，她對自己高深的學問深信不疑。伯金的知識水平很高， 但赫麥妮則是真理的試金石，她要的是伯金跟她一條心。
他象一個有心理的任性孩子一樣要否認與她的聯繫，否認了這個就是否認了自己的 完美。他象一個任性的孩子，要打破他們兩人之間的神聖聯繫。
他會來參加這場婚禮的，他要來當男儐相。他會早早來教堂等候的。赫麥妮走進教堂大 門時想到這些，不禁怕起來，心裏打了一個寒慄。他會在那裏的，他肯定會看到她的衣服是 多麽漂亮，他肯定會明白她是為了他纔把自己打扮得如此漂亮。他會明白的，他能夠看得出 她是為了他纔把自己打扮得如此出衆，無與倫比。他會認可自己最好的命運，最終他不會不 接受她的。
渴望令她疲倦地抽搐了一下。她走進教堂的門後左右尋顧着找他，她苗條的軀體不安地 顫動着。作為男儐相，他是應該站在祭壇邊上的。她緩緩地充滿自信地把目光投過去，但心 中不免有點懷疑。
他沒在那兒，這給了她一個可怕的打擊，她好象要沉沒了。毀滅性的失望感攫住了她。 她木然地朝祭壇挪過去。她從來沒有經歷過這樣徹底毀滅性的打擊，它比死還可怕，那種感 覺是如此空曠、荒蕪。
新郎和伴郎還沒有到。外面的人群漸漸亂動起來。厄秀拉感到自己似乎該對這件事負 責。她不忍心看到新娘來了卻沒有新郎陪伴。這場婚禮千萬不能失敗，千萬不能。
新娘的馬車來了，馬車上裝飾着彩帶和花結。灰馬雀躍着奔嚮教堂大門，整個進程都充 滿了歡笑，這兒是所有歡笑與歡樂的中心。馬車門開了，今天的花兒就要從車中出來了。
路上的人們稍有不滿地竊竊私語。
先走出馬車的是新娘的父親，他就象一個陰影出現在晨空中。他高大、瘦削、一副飽經 磨難的形象，唇上細細的一道黑髭已經有些灰白了。他忘我耐心地等在車門口。
車門一開，車上落下紛紛揚揚的漂亮葉子和鮮花，飄下來白色緞帶，車中傳出一個歡快 的聲音：
“我怎麽出去呀？”
等待的人群中響起一片滿意的議論聲。大傢靠近車門來迎她，眼巴巴地盯着她垂下去的 頭，那一頭金發上沾滿了花蕾。眼看着那衹嬌小的白色金蓮兒試探着蹬到車梯上，一陣雪浪 般的衝擊，隨之新娘呼地一下，擁嚮樹蔭下的父親，她一團雪白，從面紗中蕩漾出笑聲來。
“這下好了！”
她用手輓住飽經風霜、面帶病色的父親，蕩着一身白浪走上了紅地毯。面色發黃的父親 沉默不語，黑髭令他看上去更顯得飽經磨難。他快步踏上臺階，似乎頭腦裏一片空虛，可他 身邊的新娘卻一直笑聲不斷。
可是新郎還沒有到！厄秀拉簡直對此無法忍受。她憂心忡忡地望着遠山，希望那白色的 下山路上會出現新郎的身影。那邊駛來一輛馬車，漸漸進入人們的視綫。沒錯，是他來了。 厄秀拉隨即轉身面對着新娘和人群，從高處嚮人們發出了一聲吶喊。她想告訴人們，新郎來 了。可是她的喊聲衹悶在心中，無人聽到。於是她深深為自己畏首畏尾、願望未竟感到慚愧。
馬車叮叮咣咣駛下山來，愈來愈近了。人群中有人大叫起來。剛剛踏上臺階頂的新娘驚 喜地轉過身來，她看到人頭沸動，一輛馬車停了下來，她的情人從車上跳下來，躲開馬匹， 擠進人堆中。
“梯普斯！梯普斯！”她站在高處，在陽光下興奮地揮舞着鮮花，滑稽地喊叫着。可他 手握着帽子在人群中鑽來鑽去，並未聽到她的叫喊。
“梯普斯！”她朝下看着他，又大叫一聲。
他毫無意識地朝上看了一眼，看到新娘和她的父親站在上方，臉上掠過一絲奇特、驚訝 的表情。他猶豫了片刻，然後使盡全身力氣跳起來嚮她撲過去。
“啊哈！”她反應過來了，微微發出一聲奇怪的叫喊，然後驚跳起來，轉身跑了。她朝 教堂飛跑着，穿着白鞋的腳穩穩地敲打着地面，白色衣服飄飄然擦着路面。這小夥子象一位 獵人一樣緊緊在她身後追着，他跳越着從她父親身邊掠過，豐滿結實的腿和臀部扭動着，如 同撲嚮獵物的獵人一般。
“嘿，追上她！”下面那些粗俗的女人突然湊過來逗樂兒，大喊大叫着。
新娘手捧鮮花穩穩地轉過了教堂的墻角。然後她回頭看看身後，挑戰般放聲大笑着轉過 身來站穩。這時新郎跑了過來，彎下腰一手扒住那沉默墻角的石垛，飛身旋轉過去，隨之他 的身影和粗壯結實的腰腿都在人們的視綫中消失了。
門口的人群中立刻爆發出一陣喝彩聲。然後，厄秀拉再一次註意到微微駝背的剋裏奇先 生，他茫然地等在一邊，毫無表情地看着新郎新娘奔嚮教堂。直到看不到他們兩人了，他纔 轉回身看看身後的盧伯特·伯金，伯金忙上前搭話：
“咱們殿後吧。”說着臉上掠過一絲笑。
“好的！”父親簡短地回答。說完兩人就轉身上去了。
伯金象剋裏奇先生一樣瘦削，蒼白的臉上露出些許病容。他身架窄小，但身材很不錯。 他走起路來一隻腳有些故意地拖地。儘管他這身伴郎的裝束一絲不苟，可他天生的氣質卻與 之不協調，因此穿上這身衣服看上去很滑稽。他生性聰明但不合群，對正式場合一點都不適 應，可他又不得不違心地去迎合一般俗人的觀念。
他裝作一個極普通人的樣子，裝得維妙維肖。他學着周圍人講話的口氣，能夠迅速擺正 與對話者的關係，根據自己的處境調整自己的言行，從而達到與其它凡夫俗子毫無區別的程 度。他這樣做常常可以一時博得旁人的好感，從而免遭攻訐。
現在，他一路走一路同剋裏奇先生輕鬆愉快地交談着。他就象一個走繩索的人那樣對局 勢應付自如，儘管走在繩索上卻要裝出一副悠然自得的樣子來。
“我們這麽晚纔到，太抱歉了。”他說，“我們怎麽也找不到鈕扣鈎了，花了好長時間 纔把靴子上的扣子都係好。您是按時到達的吧。”
“我們總是遵守時間的，”剋裏奇先生說。
“可我卻常遲到，”伯金說，“不過今天我的確是想準點到那兒的，卻出於偶然沒能準 點到這兒，太抱歉了。”
這兩個人也走遠了，一時間沒什麽可看的了。厄秀拉在思量着伯金，他引起了她的註 意，令她着迷也令她心亂。
她想更多地瞭解他。她衹跟他交談過一兩次，那是他來學校履行他學校監察員的職責的 時候。她以為他似乎看出了兩人之間的曖昧，那是一種自然的、心照不宣的理解，他們有共 同語言哩。可這種理解沒有發展的機會。有什麽東西使她跟他若即若離的？他身上有某種敵 意，隱藏着某種無法突破的拘謹、冷漠，讓人無法接近。
可她還是要瞭解他。
“你覺得盧伯特·伯金這人怎麽樣？”她有點勉強地問戈珍。其實她並不想議論他。
“我覺得他怎麽樣？”戈珍重複道，“我覺得他有吸引力，絶對有吸引力。我不能容忍 的是他待人的方式。他對待任何一個小傻瓜都那麽正兒八經，似乎他多麽看重人傢。這讓人 産生一種受騙的感覺。”
“他幹嗎要這樣？”厄秀拉問。
“因為他對人沒有真正的判斷能力，什麽時候都是這樣。”戈珍說，“跟你說吧，他對 我、對你跟對待什麽小傻瓜一樣，這簡直是一種屈辱。”
“哦，是這樣，”厄秀拉說，“一個人必須要有判斷力。”
“一個人必須要有判斷力。”戈珍重複說，“可在別的方面他是個挺不錯的人，他的性 格可好了。不過你不能相信他。”
“嗯，”厄秀拉有一搭沒一搭地說。厄秀拉總是同意戈珍的話，甚至當她並不完全 與戈珍一致時也這樣。
姐妹兩人默默地坐着等待參加婚禮的人們出來。戈珍不耐煩談話了，她要想一想傑拉 德·剋裏奇了，她想看一看她對他産生的強烈感情是否是真的。她要讓自己有個思想準備。
教堂裏，婚禮正在進行。可赫麥妮·羅迪斯一心衹想着伯金。他就站在附近，似乎他在 吸引着她過去。她真想去撫摸他，如果不摸一摸他，她就無法確信他就在附近。不過她總算 忍耐到了婚禮結束。
他沒來之前，她感到太痛苦了，直到現在她還感到有些眩暈。她仍然因為他精神上對她 漫不經心而感到痛苦，神經受着折磨。她似乎在一種幽幽的夢幻中等待着他，精神上忍受着 磨難。她憂鬱地站着，臉上那沉迷的表情讓她看上去象天使一樣，實際上那都是痛苦所致。 這副神態顯得楚楚動人，不禁令伯金感到心碎，對她産生了憐憫。他看到她垂着頭，那銷魂 蕩魄的神態幾乎象瘋狂的魔鬼。她感到他在看她，於是她擡起頭來，美麗的灰眼睛閃爍着嚮 他發出一個信號。可是他避開了她的目光，於是她痛苦屈辱地低下頭去，心靈繼續受着熬 煎。他也因為羞恥、反感和對她深深的憐憫感到痛苦。
他不想與她的目光相遇，不想接受她的致意。
新娘和新郎的結婚儀式舉行完以後，人們都進了室。赫麥妮情不自禁擠上來碰一碰 伯金，伯金容忍了她的做法。
戈珍和厄秀拉在教堂外傾聽她們的父親彈奏着風琴。他就喜歡演奏婚禮進行麯。瞧，新 婚夫婦來了！鐘聲四起，震得空氣都發顫了。厄秀拉想，不知樹木和花朵是否能感到這鐘聲 的震顫，對空中這奇特的震動它們會做何感想？新娘輓着新郎的胳膊，顯得很嫻靜，新郎則 盯着天空，下意識地眨着眼睛，似乎他既不在這兒也不在那兒。他眨着眼睛竭力要進入角 色，可被這麽一大群人圍觀感覺上又不好受，那副模樣十分滑稽。他看上去是位典型的海軍 軍官，有男子氣又忠於職守。
伯金和赫麥妮並肩走着。赫麥妮一臉的得意相兒，就象一位浪子回頭做了天使，可她仍 然有點象魔鬼。現在，她已經輓起伯金的胳膊了，伯金面無表情，任她擺布，似乎毫無疑問 這是他命裏註定的事。
傑拉德·剋裏奇過來了，他皮膚白皙，漂亮、健壯，渾身藴藏着未釋放出來的巨大能 量。他身架挺直，身材很美，和藹的態度和幸福感使他的臉微微閃着奇特的光芒。看到這 裏，戈珍猛地站起身走開了。她對此無法忍受了，她想單獨一個人在一處品味一下這奇特強 烈的感受，它改變了她整個兒的氣質。
She had various intimacies of mind and soul with various men of capacity. Ursula knew, among these men, only Rupert Birkin, who was one of the school-inspectors of the county. But Gudrun had met others, in London. Moving with her artist friends in different kinds of society, Gudrun had already come to know a good many people of repute and standing. She had met Hermione twice, but they did not take to each other. It would be queer to meet again down here in the Midlands, where their social standing was so diverse, after they had known each other on terms of equality in the houses of sundry acquaintances in town. For Gudrun had been a social success, and had her friends among the slack aristocracy that keeps touch with the arts.
Hermione knew herself to be well-dressed; she knew herself to be the social equal, if not far the superior, of anyone she was likely to meet in Willey Green. She knew she was accepted in the world of culture and of intellect. She was a KULTURTRAGER, a medium for the culture of ideas. With all that was highest, whether in society or in thought or in public action, or even in art, she was at one, she moved among the foremost, at home with them. No one could put her down, no one could make mock of her, because she stood among the first, and those that were against her were below her, either in rank, or in wealth, or in high association of thought and progress and understanding. So, she was invulnerable. All her life, she had sought to make herself invulnerable, unassailable, beyond reach of the world's judgment.
And yet her soul was tortured, exposed. Even walking up the path to the church, confident as she was that in every respect she stood beyond all vulgar judgment, knowing perfectly that her appearance was complete and perfect, according to the first standards, yet she suffered a torture, under her confidence and her pride, feeling herself exposed to wounds and to mockery and to despite. She always felt vulnerable, vulnerable, there was always a secret chink in her armour. She did not know herself what it was. It was a lack of robust self, she had no natural sufficiency, there was a terrible void, a lack, a deficiency of being within her.
And she wanted someone to close up this deficiency, to close it up for ever. She craved for Rupert Birkin. When he was there, she felt complete, she was sufficient, whole. For the rest of time she was established on the sand, built over a chasm, and, in spite of all her vanity and securities, any common maid-servant of positive, robust temper could fling her down this bottomless pit of insufficiency, by the slightest movement of jeering or contempt. And all the while the pensive, tortured woman piled up her own defences of aesthetic knowledge, and culture, and world-visions, and disinterestedness. Yet she could never stop up the terrible gap of insufficiency.
If only Birkin would form a close and abiding connection with her, she would be safe during this fretful voyage of life. He could make her sound and triumphant, triumphant over the very angels of heaven. If only he would do it! But she was tortured with fear, with misgiving. She made herself beautiful, she strove so hard to come to that degree of beauty and advantage, when he should be convinced. But always there was a deficiency.
He was perverse too. He fought her off, he always fought her off. The more she strove to bring him to her, the more he battled her back. And they had been lovers now, for years. Oh, it was so wearying, so aching; she was so tired. But still she believed in herself. She knew he was trying to leave her. She knew he was trying to break away from her finally, to be free. But still she believed in her strength to keep him, she believed in her own higher knowledge. His own knowledge was high, she was the central touchstone of truth. She only needed his conjunction with her.
And this, this conjunction with her, which was his highest fulfilment also, with the perverseness of a wilful child he wanted to deny. With the wilfulness of an obstinate child, he wanted to break the holy connection that was between them.
He would be at this wedding; he was to be groom's man. He would be in the church, waiting. He would know when she came. She shuddered with nervous apprehension and desire as she went through the church-door. He would be there, surely he would see how beautiful her dress was, surely he would see how she had made herself beautiful for him. He would understand, he would be able to see how she was made for him, the first, how she was, for him, the highest. Surely at last he would be able to accept his highest fate, he would not deny her.
In a little convulsion of too-tired yearning, she entered the church and looked slowly along her cheeks for him, her slender body convulsed with agitation. As best man, he would be standing beside the altar. She looked slowly, deferring in her certainty.
And then, he was not there. A terrible storm came over her, as if she were drowning. She was possessed by a devastating hopelessness. And she approached mechanically to the altar. Never had she known such a pang of utter and final hopelessness. It was beyond death, so utterly null, desert.
The bridegroom and the groom's man had not yet come. There was a growing consternation outside. Ursula felt almost responsible. She could not bear it that the bride should arrive, and no groom. The wedding must not be a fiasco, it must not.
But here was the bride's carriage, adorned with ribbons and cockades. Gaily the grey horses curvetted to their destination at the church-gate, a laughter in the whole movement. Here was the quick of all laughter and pleasure. The door of the carriage was thrown open, to let out the very blossom of the day. The people on the roadway murmured faintly with the discontented murmuring of a crowd.
The father stepped out first into the air of the morning, like a shadow. He was a tall, thin, careworn man, with a thin black beard that was touched with grey. He waited at the door of the carriage patiently, self-obliterated.
In the opening of the doorway was a shower of fine foliage and flowers, a whiteness of satin and lace, and a sound of a gay voice saying:
'How do I get out?'
A ripple of satisfaction ran through the expectant people. They pressed near to receive her, looking with zest at the stooping blond head with its flower buds, and at the delicate, white, tentative foot that was reaching down to the step of the carriage. There was a sudden foaming rush, and the bride like a sudden surf-rush, floating all white beside her father in the morning shadow of trees, her veil flowing with laughter.
'That's done it!' she said.
She put her hand on the arm of her care-worn, sallow father, and frothing her light draperies, proceeded over the eternal red carpet. Her father, mute and yellowish, his black beard making him look more careworn, mounted the steps stiffly, as if his spirit were absent; but the laughing mist of the bride went along with him undiminished.
And no bridegroom had arrived! It was intolerable for her. Ursula, her heart strained with anxiety, was watching the hill beyond; the white, descending road, that should give sight of him. There was a carriage. It was running. It had just come into sight. Yes, it was he. Ursula turned towards the bride and the people, and, from her place of vantage, gave an inarticulate cry. She wanted to warn them that he was coming. But her cry was inarticulate and inaudible, and she flushed deeply, between her desire and her wincing confusion.
The carriage rattled down the hill, and drew near. There was a shout from the people. The bride, who had just reached the top of the steps, turned round gaily to see what was the commotion. She saw a confusion among the people, a cab pulling up, and her lover dropping out of the carriage, and dodging among the horses and into the crowd.
'Tibs! Tibs!' she cried in her sudden, mocking excitement, standing high on the path in the sunlight and waving her bouquet. He, dodging with his hat in his hand, had not heard.
'Tibs!' she cried again, looking down to him.
He glanced up, unaware, and saw the bride and her father standing on the path above him. A queer, startled look went over his face. He hesitated for a moment. Then he gathered himself together for a leap, to overtake her.
'Ah-h-h!' came her strange, intaken cry, as, on the reflex, she started, turned and fled, scudding with an unthinkable swift beating of her white feet and fraying of her white garments, towards the church. Like a hound the young man was after her, leaping the steps and swinging past her father, his supple haunches working like those of a hound that bears down on the quarry.
'Ay, after her!' cried the vulgar women below, carried suddenly into the sport.
She, her flowers shaken from her like froth, was steadying herself to turn the angle of the church. She glanced behind, and with a wild cry of laughter and challenge, veered, poised, and was gone beyond the grey stone buttress. In another instant the bridegroom, bent forward as he ran, had caught the angle of the silent stone with his hand, and had swung himself out of sight, his supple, strong loins vanishing in pursuit.
Instantly cries and exclamations of excitement burst from the crowd at the gate. And then Ursula noticed again the dark, rather stooping figure of Mr Crich, waiting suspended on the path, watching with expressionless face the flight to the church. It was over, and he turned round to look behind him, at the figure of Rupert Birkin, who at once came forward and joined him.
'We'll bring up the rear,' said Birkin, a faint smile on his face.
'Ay!' replied the father laconically. And the two men turned together up the path.
Birkin was as thin as Mr Crich, pale and ill-looking. His figure was narrow but nicely made. He went with a slight trail of one foot, which came only from self-consciousness. Although he was dressed correctly for his part, yet there was an innate incongruity which caused a slight ridiculousness in his appearance. His nature was clever and separate, he did not fit at all in the conventional occasion. Yet he subordinated himself to the common idea, travestied himself.
He affected to be quite ordinary, perfectly and marvellously commonplace. And he did it so well, taking the tone of his surroundings, adjusting himself quickly to his interlocutor and his circumstance, that he achieved a verisimilitude of ordinary commonplaceness that usually propitiated his onlookers for the moment, disarmed them from attacking his singleness.
Now he spoke quite easily and pleasantly to Mr Crich, as they walked along the path; he played with situations like a man on a tight-rope: but always on a tight-rope, pretending nothing but ease.
'I'm sorry we are so late,' he was saying. 'We couldn't find a button-hook, so it took us a long time to button our boots. But you were to the moment.'
'We are usually to time,' said Mr Crich.
'And I'm always late,' said Birkin. 'But today I was REALLY punctual, only accidentally not so. I'm sorry.'
The two men were gone, there was nothing more to see, for the time. Ursula was left thinking about Birkin. He piqued her, attracted her, and annoyed her.
She wanted to know him more. She had spoken with him once or twice, but only in his official capacity as inspector. She thought he seemed to acknowledge some kinship between her and him, a natural, tacit understanding, a using of the same language. But there had been no time for the understanding to develop. And something kept her from him, as well as attracted her to him. There was a certain hostility, a hidden ultimate reserve in him, cold and inaccessible.
Yet she wanted to know him.
'What do you think of Rupert Birkin?' she asked, a little reluctantly, of Gudrun. She did not want to discuss him.
'What do I think of Rupert Birkin?' repeated Gudrun. 'I think he's attractive--decidedly attractive. What I can't stand about him is his way with other people--his way of treating any little fool as if she were his greatest consideration. One feels so awfully sold, oneself.'
'Why does he do it?' said Ursula.
'Because he has no real critical faculty--of people, at all events,' said Gudrun. 'I tell you, he treats any little fool as he treats me or you--and it's such an insult.'
'Oh, it is,' said Ursula. 'One must discriminate.'
'One MUST discriminate,' repeated Gudrun. 'But he's a wonderful chap, in other respects--a marvellous personality. But you can't trust him.'
'Yes,' said Ursula vaguely. She was always forced to assent to Gudrun's pronouncements, even when she was not in accord altogether.
The sisters sat silent, waiting for the wedding party to come out. Gudrun was impatient of talk. She wanted to think about Gerald Crich. She wanted to see if the strong feeling she had got from him was real. She wanted to have herself ready.
Inside the church, the wedding was going on. Hermione Roddice was thinking only of Birkin. He stood near her. She seemed to gravitate physically towards him. She wanted to stand touching him. She could hardly be sure he was near her, if she did not touch him. Yet she stood subjected through the wedding service.
She had suffered so bitterly when he did not come, that still she was dazed. Still she was gnawed as by a neuralgia, tormented by his potential absence from her. She had awaited him in a faint delirium of nervous torture. As she stood bearing herself pensively, the rapt look on her face, that seemed spiritual, like the angels, but which came from torture, gave her a certain poignancy that tore his heart with pity. He saw her bowed head, her rapt face, the face of an almost demoniacal ecstatic. Feeling him looking, she lifted her face and sought his eyes, her own beautiful grey eyes flaring him a great signal. But he avoided her look, she sank her head in torment and shame, the gnawing at her heart going on. And he too was tortured with shame, and ultimate dislike, and with acute pity for her, because he did not want to meet her eyes, he did not want to receive her flare of recognition.
The bride and bridegroom were married, the party went into the vestry. Hermione crowded involuntarily up against Birkin, to touch him. And he endured it.
Outside, Gudrun and Ursula listened for their father's playing on the organ. He would enjoy playing a wedding march. Now the married pair were coming! The bells were ringing, making the air shake. Ursula wondered if the trees and the flowers could feel the vibration, and what they thought of it, this strange motion in the air. The bride was quite demure on the arm of the bridegroom, who stared up into the sky before him, shutting and opening his eyes unconsciously, as if he were neither here nor there. He looked rather comical, blinking and trying to be in the scene, when emotionally he was violated by his exposure to a crowd. He looked a typical naval officer, manly, and up to his duty.
Birkin came with Hermione. She had a rapt, triumphant look, like the fallen angels restored, yet still subtly demoniacal, now she held Birkin by the arm. And he was expressionless, neutralised, possessed by her as if it were his fate, without question.
Gerald Crich came, fair, good-looking, healthy, with a great reserve of energy. He was erect and complete, there was a strange stealth glistening through his amiable, almost happy appearance. Gudrun rose sharply and went away. She could not bear it. She wanted to be alone, to know this strange, sharp inoculation that had changed the whole temper of her blood.