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Section forty four of The Rainbow. This is a LibriVox recording.
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All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
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by A. Rowan Patagill. The Rainbow by D. H. Lawrence,
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Chapter fourteen, Part one, Chapter fourteen, The Widening Circle. Maggie's people,
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the Showfields, lived in the large gardener's cottage that was
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half a farm behind Belcote Hall. The hall was too
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damp to live in, so the Showfields were caretakers, gamekeepers,
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farmers all in one. The father was gamekeeper and stock breeder.
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The eldest son was market gardener using the Big Hall gardens.
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The second son was farmer and gardener. There was a
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large family as at Cosathay. Ursula loved to stay at
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Belcote to be treated as a grand lady by Maggie's brothers.
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They were good looking men. The eldest was twenty six
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years old. He was the gardener, a man not very tall,
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but strong and well made, with brown, sunny, easy eyes
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and a face handsomely hewn brown with a long, fair
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mustache which he pulled as he talked to Ursula. The
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girl was excited because these men attended to her when
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she came near. She could make their eyes light up
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and quiver. She could make Antony the eldest, twist and
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twist his mustache. She knew she could move them almost
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at will with her light, laughter and chatter. They loved
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her ideas, watched her as she talked vehemently about politics
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or economics, and she, while she talked, saw the golden
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brown eyes of Antony gleam like the eyes of a
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satyr as they watched her. He did not listen to
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her words. He listened to her. It excited her. He
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was like a fawn, pleased when she would go with
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him over his hot houses to look at the green
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and pretty plants, at the pink primulas nodding among their leaves,
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and sonarias flaunting purple and crimson and white. She asked
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about everything, and he told her very exactly and minutely,
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in a queer, pedantic way that made her want to laugh.
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Yet she was rarely interested in what he did, and
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he had the curious light in his face, like the
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light in the eyes of the goat that was tethered
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by the farmyard gate. She went down with him into
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the warmish cellar, where already in the darkness the little
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yellow knobs of rhubarb were coming. He held the lantern
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down to the dark earth. She saw the tiny knob
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end of the rhubarb thrusting upwards upon the thick red stem,
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thrusting itself like a knob of flame through the soft soil.
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His face was turned up to her. The light glittered
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on his eyes and his teeth as he laughed, a
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faint musical Nay, he looked handsome, And she heard a
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new sound in her ears, the faintly musical, neighing laugh
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of Antony, whose mustache twisted up, and whose eyes were
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luminous with the cold, steady, arrogant, laughing glare. There seemed
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a little prance of triumph in his movement. She could
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not rid herself of a movement of acquiescence, a touch
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of acceptance. Yet he was so humble, his voice was
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so caressing. He held his hand for her to step
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on when she must climb a wall, and she stepped
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on the living firmness of him that quivered firmly under
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her weight. She was aware of him as if in
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a mesmeric state. In her ordinary sense, she had nothing
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to do with him, but the peculiar ease and unnoticeableness
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of his entering the house. The power of his cold,
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gleaming light on her when he looked at her, was
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like a bewitchment. In his eyes, as in the pale
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gray eyes of a goat. There seemed some of that steady,
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hard fire of moonlight, which has nothing to do with
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the day. It made her alert, and yet her mind
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went out like an extinguished thing. She was all senses,
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all her senses were alive. Then she saw him on Sunday,
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dressed up in his Sunday clothes, trying to impress her,
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and he looked ridiculous. She clung to the ridiculous effect
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of his stiff Sunday clothes. She was always conscious of
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some unfaithfulness to Maggie. On Antony's score, poor Maggie stood apart,
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as if betrayed. Maggie and Antony were enemies by instinct.
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Ursula had to go back to her friend, brimming with
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affection and a poignancy of pity, which Maggie received with
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a little stiffness. Then poetry and books and learning took
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the place of Antony. With his goat's movements and his cold,
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gleaming humor. While Ursula was at bulcoat, the snow fell
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in the morning. A covering of snow weighed on the
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rhododendron bushes. Shall we go out, said Maggie. She had
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lost some of her leader's sureness and was now tensative
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a little in reserve from her friend. They took the
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key of the gate and wandered into the park. It
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was a white world on which dark trees and tree
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masses stood under a sky keen with frost. The two
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girls went past the hall that were shuttered and silent,
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their footprints marking the snow. On the drive down the
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park long way off, a man was carrying armfuls of
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hay across the snow. He was a small, dark figure,
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like an animal, moving in its unawareness. Ursula and Maggie
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went on exploring down a tinkling, chilly brook that had
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worn the snow away in little scoops and ran dark between.
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They saw a robin glance its bright eyes and burst
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scarlet and gray into the hedge. Then some pertly marked
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blue tits scuffled. Meanwhile, the brook slid on coldly, chuckling
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to itself. The girls wandered across the snowy grass to
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where the artificial fish ponds lay under thin ice. There
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was a big tree with a thick trunk twisted with ivy,
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that hung almost horizontal over the ponds. Ursula climbed joyfully
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into this and sat amidst bosses of bright ivy and
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dull berries. Some ivy leaves were like green spears, held
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out and tipped with snow. The ice was seen beneath them.
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Maggie took out a book, and, sitting lower down the trunk,
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began to read Coleridge's Crystabell. Ursula half listened. She was
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wildly thrilled. Then she saw Antony coming across the snow
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with his confident slightly strutting stride. His face looked brown
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and hard against the snow, smiling with a sort of
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tense confidence. Hallo, she called to him. A response went
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over his face. His head was lifted in an answering,
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jerking gesture. Hallo. He said, you're like a bird in there,
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and Ursula's laugh rang out. She answered to the peculiar
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reedy twang in his penetrating voice. She did not think
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of Antony yet she lived in a sort of connection
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with him in his world. One evening, she met him
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as she was coming down the lane, and they walked
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side by side. I think it's so lovely here, she cried,
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do you, he said, I'm glad you like it. There
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was a curious confidence in his voice. Oh, I love it.
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What more does one want than to live in this
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beautiful place and make things grow in your garden? It
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is like the Guardian of Eden, is it he? He said,
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with a little laugh. Yes, well, it's not so bad.
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He was hesitating. The pale gleam was strong in his eyes.
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He was looking at her, steadily, watching her as an
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animal might. Something leaped in her soul. She knew he
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was going to suggest to her that she should be
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as he was. Would you like to stay here with me,
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he asked tentatively. She blenched with fear, and with the
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intense sensation of proffered license, suggested to her. They had
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come to the gate, how, she asked, You aren't alone here?
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We could marry, he answered, in the strange, coldly gleaming,
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insinuating tone that chilled the sunshine into moonlight. All substantial
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things seemed transformed. Shadows and dancing moonlight were real. And
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all cold, inhuman, gleaming sensations. She realized, with something like terror,
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that she was going to accept this. She was going
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in inevitably to accept him. His hand was reaching out
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to the gate before them. She stood still. His flesh
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was hard and brown and final. She seemed to be
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in the grip of some insult. I couldn't, she answered, involuntarily.
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He gave the same brief, neighing, little laugh, very sad
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and bitter now, and slotted back the bar of the gate.
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Yet he did not open for a moment. They both
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stood looking at the fire of sunset that quivered among
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the purple twigs of the trees. She saw his brown, hard,
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well hewn face, gleaming with anger and humiliation and submission.
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He was an animal that knows that it is subdued.
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Her heart flamed with the sensation of him, of the
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fascinating thing that he offered her, and with sorrow, and
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with an inconsolable sense of loneliness. Her soul was an
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infant crying in the night. He had no soul, Oh,
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and why had she? He was the cleaner. She turned away.
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She turned round from him and saw the east flush.
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Strangely rose the moon coming yellow and lovely upon a
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rosy sky, above the darkening bluish snow. All this so beautiful,
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all this so lovely. He did not see it, he
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was one with it. But she saw it and was
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one with it. Her seeing separated them infinitely. They went
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on in silence down the path, following their different fates.
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The trees grew darker and darker, the snow made only
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a dimness in an unreal world, and like a shadow,
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the day had gone into a faintly luminous, snowy evening.
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While she was talking aimlessly to him to keep him
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at a distance, yet to keep him near her, and
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he walked heavily. He opened the garden gate for her quietly,
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and she was entering into her own pleasances, leaving him
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outside the gate. Then, even whilst she was escaping, or
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trying to escape, this feeling of pain came Maggie the
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next day, saying, I wouldn't make Antony love you, Ursula,
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if you don't want him, it is not nice. But Maggie,
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I never made him love me, cried Ursula, dismayed and suffering,
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and feeling as if she had done something base. She
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liked Antony, though all her life. At intervals she returned
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to the thought of him and of that which he offered.
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But she was a traveler. She was a traveler on
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the face of the earth, and he was an isolated
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creature living in the fulfillment of his own senses. She
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could not help it that she was a traveler. She
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knew antony that he was not one. But oh, ultimately
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and finally, she must go on and on, seeking the
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goal that she knew she did draw nearer to. She
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was wearing away her second and last cyclets and phillips.
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As the months went she ticked them off, first October,
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then November, December, January. She was careful always to subtract
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a month from the remainder for the summer holidays. She
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saw herself traveling round a circle, only the ark of
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which remained complete. Then she was in the open, like
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a bird tossed into mid air, a bird that had
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learned in some measure to fly. There was college ahead.
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That was her mid air, unknown, spacious, come college, and
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she would have broken from the confines of all the
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life she had known. For her father was also going
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to move. They were all going to leave Cossythay Brangwin
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had kept his carelessness about his circumstances. He knew his
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work in the lace designing meant little to him personally.
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He just earned his wage. Bite he did not know
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what meant much to him. Living close to Anna Brangwen,
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his mind was always suffused through with physical heat. He
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moved from instinct to instinct, groping, always groping on. When
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it was suggested to him that he might apply for
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one of the posts as hand work instructor posts about
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to be created by the Nottingham Education Committee, it was
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as if a space had been given to him in
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which he could remove from his hot, dusky enclosure. He
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sent in his application confidently, expectantly. He had a sort
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of belief in his supernatural fate. The inevitable weariness of
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his daily work had stiffened some of his muscles and
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made a slight deadness in his ruddy alert face. Now
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he might escape. He was full of new possibilities, and
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his wife was acquiescent. She was willing now to have
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a change. She too was tired of Coscathae. The house
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was too small for the growing children, and since she
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was nearly forty years old, she began to come awake
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from her sleep of motherhood, her energy moved more outwards.
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The din of growing lives roused her from her apathy.
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She too must have her hand in making life. She
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was quite ready to move, taking all her brood. It
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would be better now if she transplanted them, for she
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had borne her last child. It would be growing up.
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So that, in her easy, unused fashion, she talked plans
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and arrangements with her husband, indifferent rarely as to the
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method of the change. Since a change was coming, even
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if it did not come this way, it would come
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in another. The house was full of ferment. Ursula was
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wild with excitement. At last, her father was going to
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be something socially. So long he had been a social
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cipher without form or standing. Now he was going to
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be art and handwork instructor for the County of Nottingham.
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That was rarely a status, it was a position. He
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would be a specialist in his way, and he was
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an uncommon man. Ursula felt that they were all getting
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a foothold. At last, he was coming to his own
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Who else that she knew, could turn out from his
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own fingers the beautiful things her father could produce. She
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felt he was certain of this new job, they would move.
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They would leave this cottage at Cossythae, which had grown
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too small for them. They would leave Cossythae, where the
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children had all been born and where they were always
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kept to the same measure, for the people who had
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known them as children, along with the other village boys
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and girls would never could never understand that they should
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grow up different. They had held Urtler Brangwin one of themselves,
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and had given her her place in the native village
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as in a family, and the bond was strong. But now,
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when she was growing to something beyond what Cossthae would
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allow or understand, the bond between her and her old
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associates was becoming a bondage ala ursula ah ye going on,
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they said. When they met her and had demanded of
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her in the old voice, the old response, and something
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in her must respond belonged to the people who knew her.
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But something else denied bitterly. What was true of her
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ten years ago was not true now. And something else,
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which she was and must be, they could neither see
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nor allow. They felt it. There nevertheless, something beyond them,
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and they were injured. They said, she was proud and
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conceited that she was too big for her shoes. Nowadays,
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they said she needn't pretend, because they knew what she was.
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They had known her since she was born. They quoted
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this and that about her, and she was ashamed because
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she did feel different from the people she had lived
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amongst It hurt her that she could not be at
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her ease with them any more. And yet, and yet,
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one's kite will rise on the wind as far as
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ever one has string to let it go. It tugs
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and tugs and will go, and one is glad the
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further it goes, even if everybody else is nasty about it.
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So cosstthe hampered her, and she wanted to go away
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to be free to fly her kite as high as
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she liked. She wants to go away to be free
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to stand straight up to her own height, so that
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when she knew that her father had the new post
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and that the family would move, she felt like skipping
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on the face of the earth and making psalms of joy.
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The old bound shell of Cossathae was to be cast off,
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and she was to dance away into the blue air.
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She wanted to dance and sing. She made dreams of
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the new place she would live in, where stately cultured
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people of high feeling would be friends with her, and
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she would live with the noble and the land, moving
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to a large freedom of feeling. She dreamed of a rich, proud,
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simple girlfriend who had never known mister Harby and his like,
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nor ever had a note in her voice of bondage,
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contempt and fear as Maggie had. And she gave herself
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to all that she loved in Kossathay passionately. Because she
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was going away now, she wandered about to her favorite spots.
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There was a place where she went trespossing to find
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the snowdrops that grew wild. It was evening in the winter, dark,
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and meadows were full of mystery when she came to
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the woods, an oak tree that had been newly chopped
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down in the dull, pale drops of flowers glimmered, many
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under the hazels, and by the sharp golden splinters of
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wood that were splashed about, and the gray green blades
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of snowdrop leaves pricked unheeding the drooping still little flowers
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were without heed. Ursula picked some lovingly in an ecstasy.
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The golden chips of wood shone yellow like sunlight. The
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snowdrops in the twilight were like the first stars of night,
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and she alone amongst them, was wildly happy to have
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found her way into such a glimmering dusk, to the
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intimate little flowers and the splash of wood chips like
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sunshine over the twilight of the ground. She sat down
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on the fell tree and remained a while remote. Going home,
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she left the purplish dark of the trees for the
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open lane, where the puddles shone long and jewel like
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in the ruts. The land about her was darkened, and
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the sky a jewel overhead. Oh, how amazing it was
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to her. It was almost too much. She wanted to
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run and sing and cry out for very wildness and poignancy.
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But she could not run and sing and cry out
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in such a way as to cry out the deep
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things in her heart. So she was still and almost
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sad with loneliness. End of Section forty four.
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Section forty four of The Rainbow. This is a LibriVox recording.
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All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
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by A. Rowan Patagill. The Rainbow by D. H. Lawrence,
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Chapter fourteen, Part one, Chapter fourteen, The Widening Circle. Maggie's people,
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the Showfields, lived in the large gardener's cottage that was
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half a farm behind Belcote Hall. The hall was too
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damp to live in, so the Showfields were caretakers, gamekeepers,
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farmers all in one. The father was gamekeeper and stock breeder.
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The eldest son was market gardener using the Big Hall gardens.
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The second son was farmer and gardener. There was a
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large family as at Cosathay. Ursula loved to stay at
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Belcote to be treated as a grand lady by Maggie's brothers.
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They were good looking men. The eldest was twenty six
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years old. He was the gardener, a man not very tall,
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but strong and well made, with brown, sunny, easy eyes
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and a face handsomely hewn brown with a long, fair
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mustache which he pulled as he talked to Ursula. The
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girl was excited because these men attended to her when
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she came near. She could make their eyes light up
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and quiver. She could make Antony the eldest, twist and
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twist his mustache. She knew she could move them almost
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at will with her light, laughter and chatter. They loved
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her ideas, watched her as she talked vehemently about politics
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or economics, and she, while she talked, saw the golden
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brown eyes of Antony gleam like the eyes of a
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satyr as they watched her. He did not listen to
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her words. He listened to her. It excited her. He
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was like a fawn, pleased when she would go with
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him over his hot houses to look at the green
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and pretty plants, at the pink primulas nodding among their leaves,
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and sonarias flaunting purple and crimson and white. She asked
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about everything, and he told her very exactly and minutely,
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in a queer, pedantic way that made her want to laugh.
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Yet she was rarely interested in what he did, and
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he had the curious light in his face, like the
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light in the eyes of the goat that was tethered
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by the farmyard gate. She went down with him into
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the warmish cellar, where already in the darkness the little
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yellow knobs of rhubarb were coming. He held the lantern
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down to the dark earth. She saw the tiny knob
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end of the rhubarb thrusting upwards upon the thick red stem,
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thrusting itself like a knob of flame through the soft soil.
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His face was turned up to her. The light glittered
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on his eyes and his teeth as he laughed, a
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faint musical Nay, he looked handsome, And she heard a
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new sound in her ears, the faintly musical, neighing laugh
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of Antony, whose mustache twisted up, and whose eyes were
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luminous with the cold, steady, arrogant, laughing glare. There seemed
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a little prance of triumph in his movement. She could
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not rid herself of a movement of acquiescence, a touch
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of acceptance. Yet he was so humble, his voice was
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so caressing. He held his hand for her to step
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on when she must climb a wall, and she stepped
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on the living firmness of him that quivered firmly under
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her weight. She was aware of him as if in
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a mesmeric state. In her ordinary sense, she had nothing
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to do with him, but the peculiar ease and unnoticeableness
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of his entering the house. The power of his cold,
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gleaming light on her when he looked at her, was
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like a bewitchment. In his eyes, as in the pale
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gray eyes of a goat. There seemed some of that steady,
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hard fire of moonlight, which has nothing to do with
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the day. It made her alert, and yet her mind
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went out like an extinguished thing. She was all senses,
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all her senses were alive. Then she saw him on Sunday,
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dressed up in his Sunday clothes, trying to impress her,
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and he looked ridiculous. She clung to the ridiculous effect
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of his stiff Sunday clothes. She was always conscious of
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some unfaithfulness to Maggie. On Antony's score, poor Maggie stood apart,
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as if betrayed. Maggie and Antony were enemies by instinct.
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Ursula had to go back to her friend, brimming with
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affection and a poignancy of pity, which Maggie received with
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a little stiffness. Then poetry and books and learning took
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the place of Antony. With his goat's movements and his cold,
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gleaming humor. While Ursula was at bulcoat, the snow fell
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in the morning. A covering of snow weighed on the
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rhododendron bushes. Shall we go out, said Maggie. She had
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lost some of her leader's sureness and was now tensative
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a little in reserve from her friend. They took the
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key of the gate and wandered into the park. It
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was a white world on which dark trees and tree
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masses stood under a sky keen with frost. The two
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girls went past the hall that were shuttered and silent,
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their footprints marking the snow. On the drive down the
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park long way off, a man was carrying armfuls of
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hay across the snow. He was a small, dark figure,
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like an animal, moving in its unawareness. Ursula and Maggie
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went on exploring down a tinkling, chilly brook that had
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worn the snow away in little scoops and ran dark between.
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They saw a robin glance its bright eyes and burst
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scarlet and gray into the hedge. Then some pertly marked
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blue tits scuffled. Meanwhile, the brook slid on coldly, chuckling
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to itself. The girls wandered across the snowy grass to
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where the artificial fish ponds lay under thin ice. There
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was a big tree with a thick trunk twisted with ivy,
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that hung almost horizontal over the ponds. Ursula climbed joyfully
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into this and sat amidst bosses of bright ivy and
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dull berries. Some ivy leaves were like green spears, held
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out and tipped with snow. The ice was seen beneath them.
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Maggie took out a book, and, sitting lower down the trunk,
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began to read Coleridge's Crystabell. Ursula half listened. She was
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wildly thrilled. Then she saw Antony coming across the snow
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with his confident slightly strutting stride. His face looked brown
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and hard against the snow, smiling with a sort of
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tense confidence. Hallo, she called to him. A response went
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over his face. His head was lifted in an answering,
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jerking gesture. Hallo. He said, you're like a bird in there,
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and Ursula's laugh rang out. She answered to the peculiar
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reedy twang in his penetrating voice. She did not think
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of Antony yet she lived in a sort of connection
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with him in his world. One evening, she met him
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as she was coming down the lane, and they walked
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side by side. I think it's so lovely here, she cried,
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do you, he said, I'm glad you like it. There
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was a curious confidence in his voice. Oh, I love it.
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What more does one want than to live in this
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beautiful place and make things grow in your garden? It
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is like the Guardian of Eden, is it he? He said,
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with a little laugh. Yes, well, it's not so bad.
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He was hesitating. The pale gleam was strong in his eyes.
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He was looking at her, steadily, watching her as an
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animal might. Something leaped in her soul. She knew he
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was going to suggest to her that she should be
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as he was. Would you like to stay here with me,
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he asked tentatively. She blenched with fear, and with the
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intense sensation of proffered license, suggested to her. They had
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come to the gate, how, she asked, You aren't alone here?
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We could marry, he answered, in the strange, coldly gleaming,
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insinuating tone that chilled the sunshine into moonlight. All substantial
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things seemed transformed. Shadows and dancing moonlight were real. And
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all cold, inhuman, gleaming sensations. She realized, with something like terror,
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that she was going to accept this. She was going
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in inevitably to accept him. His hand was reaching out
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to the gate before them. She stood still. His flesh
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was hard and brown and final. She seemed to be
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in the grip of some insult. I couldn't, she answered, involuntarily.
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He gave the same brief, neighing, little laugh, very sad
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and bitter now, and slotted back the bar of the gate.
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Yet he did not open for a moment. They both
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stood looking at the fire of sunset that quivered among
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the purple twigs of the trees. She saw his brown, hard,
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well hewn face, gleaming with anger and humiliation and submission.
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He was an animal that knows that it is subdued.
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Her heart flamed with the sensation of him, of the
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fascinating thing that he offered her, and with sorrow, and
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with an inconsolable sense of loneliness. Her soul was an
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infant crying in the night. He had no soul, Oh,
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and why had she? He was the cleaner. She turned away.
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She turned round from him and saw the east flush.
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Strangely rose the moon coming yellow and lovely upon a
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rosy sky, above the darkening bluish snow. All this so beautiful,
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all this so lovely. He did not see it, he
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was one with it. But she saw it and was
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one with it. Her seeing separated them infinitely. They went
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on in silence down the path, following their different fates.
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The trees grew darker and darker, the snow made only
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a dimness in an unreal world, and like a shadow,
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the day had gone into a faintly luminous, snowy evening.
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While she was talking aimlessly to him to keep him
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at a distance, yet to keep him near her, and
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he walked heavily. He opened the garden gate for her quietly,
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and she was entering into her own pleasances, leaving him
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outside the gate. Then, even whilst she was escaping, or
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trying to escape, this feeling of pain came Maggie the
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next day, saying, I wouldn't make Antony love you, Ursula,
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if you don't want him, it is not nice. But Maggie,
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I never made him love me, cried Ursula, dismayed and suffering,
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and feeling as if she had done something base. She
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liked Antony, though all her life. At intervals she returned
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to the thought of him and of that which he offered.
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But she was a traveler. She was a traveler on
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the face of the earth, and he was an isolated
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creature living in the fulfillment of his own senses. She
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could not help it that she was a traveler. She
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knew antony that he was not one. But oh, ultimately
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and finally, she must go on and on, seeking the
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goal that she knew she did draw nearer to. She
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was wearing away her second and last cyclets and phillips.
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As the months went she ticked them off, first October,
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then November, December, January. She was careful always to subtract
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a month from the remainder for the summer holidays. She
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saw herself traveling round a circle, only the ark of
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which remained complete. Then she was in the open, like
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a bird tossed into mid air, a bird that had
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learned in some measure to fly. There was college ahead.
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That was her mid air, unknown, spacious, come college, and
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she would have broken from the confines of all the
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life she had known. For her father was also going
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to move. They were all going to leave Cossythay Brangwin
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had kept his carelessness about his circumstances. He knew his
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work in the lace designing meant little to him personally.
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He just earned his wage. Bite he did not know
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what meant much to him. Living close to Anna Brangwen,
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his mind was always suffused through with physical heat. He
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moved from instinct to instinct, groping, always groping on. When
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it was suggested to him that he might apply for
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one of the posts as hand work instructor posts about
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to be created by the Nottingham Education Committee, it was
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as if a space had been given to him in
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which he could remove from his hot, dusky enclosure. He
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sent in his application confidently, expectantly. He had a sort
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of belief in his supernatural fate. The inevitable weariness of
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his daily work had stiffened some of his muscles and
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made a slight deadness in his ruddy alert face. Now
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he might escape. He was full of new possibilities, and
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his wife was acquiescent. She was willing now to have
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a change. She too was tired of Coscathae. The house
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was too small for the growing children, and since she
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was nearly forty years old, she began to come awake
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from her sleep of motherhood, her energy moved more outwards.
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The din of growing lives roused her from her apathy.
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She too must have her hand in making life. She
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was quite ready to move, taking all her brood. It
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would be better now if she transplanted them, for she
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had borne her last child. It would be growing up.
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So that, in her easy, unused fashion, she talked plans
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and arrangements with her husband, indifferent rarely as to the
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method of the change. Since a change was coming, even
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if it did not come this way, it would come
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in another. The house was full of ferment. Ursula was
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wild with excitement. At last, her father was going to
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be something socially. So long he had been a social
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cipher without form or standing. Now he was going to
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be art and handwork instructor for the County of Nottingham.
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That was rarely a status, it was a position. He
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would be a specialist in his way, and he was
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an uncommon man. Ursula felt that they were all getting
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a foothold. At last, he was coming to his own
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Who else that she knew, could turn out from his
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own fingers the beautiful things her father could produce. She
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felt he was certain of this new job, they would move.
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They would leave this cottage at Cossythae, which had grown
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too small for them. They would leave Cossythae, where the
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children had all been born and where they were always
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kept to the same measure, for the people who had
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known them as children, along with the other village boys
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and girls would never could never understand that they should
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grow up different. They had held Urtler Brangwin one of themselves,
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and had given her her place in the native village
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as in a family, and the bond was strong. But now,
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when she was growing to something beyond what Cossthae would
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allow or understand, the bond between her and her old
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associates was becoming a bondage ala ursula ah ye going on,
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they said. When they met her and had demanded of
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her in the old voice, the old response, and something
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in her must respond belonged to the people who knew her.
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But something else denied bitterly. What was true of her
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ten years ago was not true now. And something else,
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which she was and must be, they could neither see
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nor allow. They felt it. There nevertheless, something beyond them,
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and they were injured. They said, she was proud and
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conceited that she was too big for her shoes. Nowadays,
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they said she needn't pretend, because they knew what she was.
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They had known her since she was born. They quoted
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this and that about her, and she was ashamed because
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she did feel different from the people she had lived
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amongst It hurt her that she could not be at
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her ease with them any more. And yet, and yet,
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one's kite will rise on the wind as far as
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ever one has string to let it go. It tugs
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and tugs and will go, and one is glad the
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further it goes, even if everybody else is nasty about it.
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So cosstthe hampered her, and she wanted to go away
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to be free to fly her kite as high as
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she liked. She wants to go away to be free
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to stand straight up to her own height, so that
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when she knew that her father had the new post
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and that the family would move, she felt like skipping
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on the face of the earth and making psalms of joy.
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The old bound shell of Cossathae was to be cast off,
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and she was to dance away into the blue air.
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She wanted to dance and sing. She made dreams of
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the new place she would live in, where stately cultured
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people of high feeling would be friends with her, and
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she would live with the noble and the land, moving
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to a large freedom of feeling. She dreamed of a rich, proud,
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simple girlfriend who had never known mister Harby and his like,
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nor ever had a note in her voice of bondage,
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contempt and fear as Maggie had. And she gave herself
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to all that she loved in Kossathay passionately. Because she
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was going away now, she wandered about to her favorite spots.
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There was a place where she went trespossing to find
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the snowdrops that grew wild. It was evening in the winter, dark,
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and meadows were full of mystery when she came to
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the woods, an oak tree that had been newly chopped
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down in the dull, pale drops of flowers glimmered, many
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under the hazels, and by the sharp golden splinters of
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wood that were splashed about, and the gray green blades
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of snowdrop leaves pricked unheeding the drooping still little flowers
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were without heed. Ursula picked some lovingly in an ecstasy.
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The golden chips of wood shone yellow like sunlight. The
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snowdrops in the twilight were like the first stars of night,
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and she alone amongst them, was wildly happy to have
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found her way into such a glimmering dusk, to the
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intimate little flowers and the splash of wood chips like
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sunshine over the twilight of the ground. She sat down
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on the fell tree and remained a while remote. Going home,
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she left the purplish dark of the trees for the
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open lane, where the puddles shone long and jewel like
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in the ruts. The land about her was darkened, and
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the sky a jewel overhead. Oh, how amazing it was
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to her. It was almost too much. She wanted to
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run and sing and cry out for very wildness and poignancy.
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But she could not run and sing and cry out
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in such a way as to cry out the deep
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things in her heart. So she was still and almost
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sad with loneliness. End of Section forty four.