noble life。
It was a grief to her that her father made such a poor
introduction。 He was brief as ever； like a boy saying his
errand； and his clothes looked ill…fitting and casual。 Whereas
Ursula would have liked robes and a ceremonial of introduction
to this； her new estate。
She made a new illusion of school。 Miss Grey； the
headmistress； had a certain silvery； school…mistressy beauty of
character。 The school itself had been a gentleman's house。 Dark；
sombre lawns separated it from the dark； select avenue。 But its
rooms were large and of good appearance； and from the back； one
looked over lawns and shrubbery； over the trees and the grassy
slope of the Arboretum； to the town which heaped the hollow with
its roofs and cupolas and its shadows。
So Ursula seated herself upon the hill of learning； looking
down on the smoke and confusion and the manufacturing； engrossed
activity of the town。 She was happy。 Up here； in the Grammar
School； she fancied the air was finer； beyond the factory smoke。
She wanted to learn Latin and Greek and French and mathematics。
She trembled like a postulant when she wrote the Greek alphabet
for the first time。
She was upon another hill…slope； whose summit she had not
scaled。 There was always the marvellous eagerness in her heart；
to climb and to see beyond。 A Latin verb was virgin soil to her：
she sniffed a new odour in it； it meant something； though she
did not know what it meant。 But she gathered it up： it was
significant。 When she knew that：
x2…y2 = （x ＋ y）（x…y）
then she felt that she had grasped something； that she was
liberated into an intoxicating air； rare and unconditioned。 And
she was very glad as she wrote her French exercise：
〃J'AI DONNE LE PAIN A MON PETIT FRERE。〃
In all these things there was the sound of a bugle to her
heart； exhilarating； summoning her to perfect places。 She never
forgot her brown 〃Longman's First French Grammar〃； nor her 〃Via
Latina〃 with its red edges； nor her little grey Algebra book。
There was always a magic in them。
At learning she was quick； intelligent； instinctive； but she
was not 〃thorough〃。 If a thing did not e to her
instinctively； she could not learn it。 And then； her mad rage of
loathing for all lessons； her bitter contempt of all teachers
and schoolmistresses； her recoil to a fierce； animal arrogance
made her detestable。
She was a free； unabateable animal； she declared in her
revolts： there was no law for her； nor any rule。 She existed for
herself alone。 Then ensued a long struggle with everybody； in
which she broke down at last； when she had run the full length
of her resistance； and sobbed her heart out； desolate； and
afterwards； in a chastened； washed…out； bodiless state； she
received the understanding that would not e before； and went
her way sadder and wiser。
Ursula and Gudrun went to school together。 Gudrun was a shy；
quiet； wild creature； a thin slip of a thing hanging back from
notice or twisting past to disappear into her own world again。
She seemed to avoid all contact； instinctively； and pursued her
own intent way； pursuing half…formed fancies that had no
relation to anyone else。
She was not clever at all。 She thought Ursula clever enough
for two。 Ursula understood； so why should she； Gudrun； bother
herself？ The younger girl lived her religious； responsible life
in her sister； by proxy。 For herself； she was indifferent and
intent as a wild animal； and as irresponsible。
When she found herself at the bottom of the class； she
laughed； lazily； and was content； saying she was safe now。 She
did not mind her father's chagrin nor her mother's tinge of
mortification。
〃What do I pay for you to go to Nottingham for？〃 her father
asked； exasperated。
〃Well； Dad； you know you needn't pay for me；〃 she replied；
nonchalant。 〃I'm ready to stop at home。〃
She was happy at home； Ursula was not。 Slim and unwilling
abroad； Gudrun was easy in her own house as a wild thing in its
lair。 Whereas Ursula； attentive and keen abroad； at home was
reluctant； uneasy； unwilling to be herself； or unable。
Nevertheless Sunday remained the maximum day of the week for
both。 Ursula turned passionately to it； to the sense of eternal
security it gave。 She suffered anguish of fears during the
week…days； for she felt strong powers that would not recognize
her。 There was upon her always a fear and a dislike of
authority。 She felt she could always do as she wanted if she
managed to avoid a battle with Authority and the authorised
Powers。 But if she gave herself away； she would be lost；
destroyed。 There was always the menace against her。
This strange sense of cruelty and ugliness always imminent；
ready to seize hold upon her this feeling of the grudging power
of the mob lying in wait for her； who was the exception； formed
one of the deepest influences of her life。 Wherever she was； at
school； among friends； in the street； in the train； she
instinctively abated herself； made herself smaller； feigned to
be less than she was； for fear that her undiscovered self should
be seen； pounced upon； attacked by brutish resentment of the
monplace； the average Self。
She was fairly safe at school； now。 She knew how to take her
place there； and how much of herself to reserve。 But she was
free only on Sundays。 When she was but a girl of fourteen； she
began to feel a resentment growing against her in her own home。
She knew she was the disturbing influence there。 But as yet； on
Sundays； she was free； really free； free to be herself； without
fear or misgiving。
Even at its stormiest； Sunday was a blessed day。 Ursula woke
to it with a feeling of immense relief。 She wondered why her
heart was so light。 Then she remembered it was Sunday。 A
gladness seemed to burst out around her； a feeling of great
freedom。 The whole world was for twenty…four hours revoked； put
back。 Only the Sunday world existed。
She loved the very confusion of the household。 It was lucky
if the children slept till seven o'clock。 Usually； soon after
six； a chirp was heard； a voice； an excited chirrup began；
announcing the creation of a new day； there was a thudding of
quick little feet； and the children were up and about；
scampering in their shirts； with pink legs and glistening；
flossy hair all clean from the Saturday's night bathing； their
souls excited by their bodies' cleanliness。
As the house began to teem with rushing； half…naked clean
children； one of the parents rose； either the mother； easy and
slatternly； with her thick； dark hair loosely coiled and
slipping over one ear； or the father； warm and fortable； with
ruffled black hair and shirt unbuttoned at the neck。
Then the girls upstairs heard the continual：
〃Now then； Billy； what are you up to？〃 in the father's
strong； vibrating voice： or the mother's dignified：
〃I have said； Cassie； I will not have it。〃
It was amazing how the father's voice could ring out like a
gong； without his being in the least moved； and how the mother
could speak like a queen holding an audience； though her blouse
was sticking out all round and her hair was not fastened up and
the children were yelling a pandemonium。
Gradually breakfast was produced； and the elder girls came
down into the babel； whilst half…naked children flitted round
like the wrong ends of cherubs； as Gudrun said； watching the
bare little legs and the chubby tails appearing and
disappearing。
Gradually the young ones were captured； and nightdresses
finally removed； ready for the clean Sunday shirt。 But before
the Sunday shirt was slipped over the fleecy head； away darted
the naked body； to wallow in the sheepskin which formed the
parlour rug； whilst the mother walked after； protesting sharply；
holding the shirt like a noose； and the father's bronze voice
rang out； and the naked child wallowing on its back in the deep
sheepskin announced gleefully：
〃I'm bading in the sea； mother。〃
〃Why should I walk after you with your shirt？〃 said the
mother。 〃Get up now。〃
〃I'm bading in the sea； mother；〃 repeated the wallowing；
naked figure。
〃We say bathing； not bading；〃 said the mother； with her
strange； indifferent dignity。 〃I am waiting here with your
shirt。〃
At length shirts were on； and stockings were paired； and
little trousers buttoned and little petticoats tied behind。 The
besetting cowardice of the family was its shirking of the garter
question。
〃Where are your garters； Cassie？〃
〃I don't know。〃
〃Well； look for them。〃
But not one of the elder Brangwens would really face the
situation。 After Cassie had grovelled under all the furniture
and blacked up all her Sunday cleanliness； to the infinite grief
of everybody； the garter was forgotten in the new washing of the
young face and hands。
Later； Ursula would be indignant to see Miss Cassie marching
into church from Sunday school with her stocking sluthered down
to her ankle； and a grubby knee showing。
〃It's disgraceful！〃 cried Ursula at dinner。 〃People will
think we're pigs； and the children are never washed。〃
〃Never mind what people think；〃 said the mother superbly。 〃I
see that the child is bathed properly； and if I satisfy myself I
satisfy everybody。 She can't keep her stocking up and no garter；
and it isn't the child's fault she was let to go without
one。〃
The garter trouble continued in varying degrees； but till
each child wore long skirts or long trousers； it was not
removed。
On this day of decorum； the Brangwen family went to church by
the high…road； making a detour outside all the garden…hedge；
rather than climb the wall into the churchyard。 There was no law
of this； from the parents。 The children themselves were the
wardens of the Sabbath decency； very jealous and instant with
each other。
It came to be； gradually； that after church on Sundays the
house was really something of a sanctuary； with peace breathing
like a strange bird alighted in the rooms。 Indoors； only reading
and tale…telling and quiet pursuits； such as drawing； were
allowed。 Out of doors； all playing was to be carried on
unobtrusively。 If there were noise； yelling or shouting； then
some fierce spirit woke up in the father and the elder children；
so that the younger were subdued； afraid of being
exmunicated。
The children themselves preserved the Sabbath。 If Ursula in
her vanity sang：
〃Il etait un' bergere
Et ron…ron…ron petit patapon；〃
Theresa was sure to cry：
〃That's not a Sunday song； our Ursula。〃
〃You don't know；〃 replied Ursula； superior。 Nevertheless； she
wavered。 And her song faded down before she came to the end。
Because； though she did not know it； her Sunday was very
precious to her。 She found herself in a strange； undefined
place； where her spirit could wander in dreams； unassailed。
The white…robed spirit of Christ passed between olive trees。
It was a vision； not a reality。 And she herself partook of the
visionary being。 There was the voice in the night calling；
〃Samuel； Samuel！〃 And still the voice called in the night。 But
not this night； nor last night； but in the unfathomed night of
Sunday； of the Sabbath silence。
There was Sin； the serpent； in whom was also wisdom。 There
was Judas with the money and the kiss。
But there was no actual Sin。