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Chapter 29 Continental
URSULA WENT on in an unreal suspense, the last weeks before going away. She was not herself, -- she was not anything. She was something that is going to be -- soon -- soon -- very soon. But as yet, she was only imminent.
She went to see her parents. It was a rather stiff, sad meeting, more like a verification of separateness than a reunion. But they were all vague and indefinite with one another, stiffened in the fate that moved them apart.
She did not really come to until she was on the ship crossing from Dover to Ostend. Dimly she had come down to London with Birkin, London had been a vagueness, so had the train-journey to Dover. It was all like a sleep.
And now, at last, as she stood in the stern of the ship, in a pitch-dark, rather blowy night, feeling the motion of the sea, and watching the small, rather desolate little lights that twinkled on the shores of England, as on the shores of nowhere, watched them sinking smaller and smaller on the profound and living darkness, she felt her soul stirring to awake from its anaesthetic sleep.
`Let us go forward, shall we?' said Birkin. He wanted to be at the tip of their projection. So they left off looking at the faint sparks that glimmered out of nowhere, in the far distance, called England, and turned their faces to the unfathomed night in front.
They went right to the bows of the softly plunging vessel. In the complete obscurity, Birkin found a comparatively sheltered nook, where a great rope was coiled up. It was quite near the very point of the ship, near the black, unpierced space ahead. There they sat down, folded together, folded round with the same rug, creeping in nearer and ever nearer to one another, till it seemed they had crept right into each other, and become one substance. It was very cold, and the darkness was palpable.
One of the ship's crew came along the deck, dark as the darkness, not really visible. They then made out the faintest pallor of his face. He felt their presence, and stopped, unsure -- then bent forward. When his face was near them, he saw the faint pallor of their faces. Then he withdrew like a phantom. And they watched him without making any sound.
They seemed to fall away into the profound darkness. There was no sky, no earth, only one unbroken darkness, into which, with a soft, sleeping motion, they seemed to fall like one closed seed of life falling through dark, fathomless space.
They had forgotten where they were, forgotten all that was and all that had been, conscious only in their heart, and there conscious only of this pure trajectory through the surpassing darkness. The ship's prow cleaved on, with a faint noise of cleavage, into the complete night, without knowing, without seeing, only surging on.
In Ursula the sense of the unrealised world ahead triumphed over everything. In the midst of this profound darkness, there seemed to glow on her heart the effulgence of a paradise unknown and unrealised. Her heart was full of the most wonderful light, golden like honey of darkness, sweet like the warmth of day, a light which was not shed on the world, only on the unknown paradise towards which she was going, a sweetness of habitation, a delight of living quite unknown, but hers infallibly. In her transport she lifted her face suddenly to him, and he touched it with his lips. So cold, so fresh, so sea-clear her face was, it was like kissing a flower that grows near the surf.
But he did not know the ecstasy of bliss in fore-knowledge that she knew. To him, the wonder of this transit was overwhelming. He was falling through a gulf of infinite darkness, like a meteorite plunging across the chasm between the worlds. The world was torn in two, and he was plunging like an unlit star through the ineffable rift. What was beyond was not yet for him. He was overcome by the trajectory.
In a trance he lay enfolding Ursula round about. His face was against her fine, fragile hair, he breathed its fragrance with the sea and the profound night. And his soul was at peace; yielded, as he fell into the unknown. This was the first time that an utter and absolute peace had entered his heart, now, in this final transit out of life.
When there came some stir on the deck, they roused. They stood up. How stiff and cramped they were, in the night-time! And yet the paradisal glow on her heart, and the unutterable peace of darkness in his, this was the all-in-all.
They stood up and looked ahead. Low lights were seen down the darkness. This was the world again. It was not the bliss of her heart, nor the peace of his. It was the superficial unreal world of fact. Yet not quite the old world. For the peace and the bliss in their hearts was enduring.
Strange, and desolate above all things, like disembarking from the Styx into the desolated underworld, was this landing at night. There was the raw, half-lighted, covered-in vastness of the dark place, boarded and hollow underfoot, with only desolation everywhere. Ursula had caught sight of the big, pallid, mystic letters `OSTEND,' standing in the darkness. Everybody was hurrying with a blind, insect-like intentness through the dark grey air, porters were calling in un-English English, then trotting with heavy bags, their colourless blouses looking ghostly as they disappeared; Ursula stood at a long, low, zinc-covered barrier, along with hundreds of other spectral people, and all the way down the vast, raw darkness was this low stretch of open bags and spectral people, whilst, on the other side of the barrier, pallid officials in peaked caps and moustaches were turning the underclothing in the bags, then scrawling a chalk-mark.
It was done. Birkin snapped the hand bags, off they went, the porter coming behind. They were through a great doorway, and in the open night again -- ah, a railway platform! Voices were still calling in inhuman agitation through the dark-grey air, spectres were running along the darkness between the train.
`Koln -- Berlin --' Ursula made out on the boards hung on the high train on one side.
`Here we are,' said Birkin. And on her side she saw: `Elsass -- Lothringen -- Luxembourg, Metz -- Basle.'
`That was it, Basle!'
The porter came up.
`A Bale -- deuxieme classe? -- Voila!' And he clambered into the high train. They followed. The compartments were already some of them taken. But many were dim and empty. The luggage was stowed, the porter was tipped.
`Nous avons encore -- ?' said Birkin, looking at his watch and at the porter.
`Encore une demi-heure.' With which, in his blue blouse, he disappeared. He was ugly and insolent.
`Come,' said Birkin. `It is cold. Let us eat.'
There was a coffee-wagon on the platform. They drank hot, watery coffee, and ate the long rolls, split, with ham between, which were such a wide bite that it almost dislocated Ursula's jaw; and they walked beside the high trains. It was all so strange, so extremely desolate, like the underworld, grey, grey, dirt grey, desolate, forlorn, nowhere -- grey, dreary nowhere.
At last they were moving through the night. In the darkness Ursula made out the flat fields, the wet flat dreary darkness of the Continent. They pulled up surprisingly soon -- Bruges! Then on through the level darkness, with glimpses of sleeping farms and thin poplar trees and deserted highroads. She sat dismayed, hand in hand with Birkin. He pale, immobile like a revenant himself, looked sometimes out of the window, sometimes closed his eyes. Then his eyes opened again, dark as the darkness outside.
A flash of a few lights on the darkness -- Ghent station! A few more spectres moving outside on the platform -- then the bell -- then motion again through the level darkness. Ursula saw a man with a lantern come out of a farm by the railway, and cross to the dark farm-buildings. She thought of the Marsh, the old, intimate farm-life at Cossethay. My God, how far was she projected from her childhood, how far was she still to go! In one life-time one travelled through aeons. The great chasm of memory from her childhood in the intimate country surroundings of Cossethay and the Marsh Farm -- she remembered the servant Tilly, who used to give her bread and butter sprinkled with brown sugar, in the old living-room where the grandfather clock had two pink roses in a basket painted above the figures on the face -- and now when she was travelling into the unknown with Birkin, an utter stranger -- was so great, that it seemed she had no identity, that the child she had been, playing in Cossethay churchyard, was a little creature of history, not really herself.
They were at Brussels -- half an hour for breakfast. They got down. On the great station clock it said six o'clock. They had coffee and rolls and honey in the vast desert refreshment room, so dreary, always so dreary, dirty, so spacious, such desolation of space. But she washed her face and hands in hot water, and combed her hair -- that was a blessing.
Soon they were in the train again and moving on. The greyness of dawn began. There were several people in the compartment, large florid Belgian business-men with long brown beards, talking incessantly in an ugly French she was too tired to follow.
It seemed the train ran by degrees out of the darkness into a faint light, then beat after beat into the day. Ah, how weary it was! Faintly, the trees showed, like shadows. Then a house, white, had a curious distinctness. How was it? Then she saw a village -- there were always houses passing.
This was an old world she was still journeying through, winter-heavy and dreary. There was plough-land and pasture, and copses of bare trees, copses of bushes, and homesteads naked and work-bare. No new earth had come to pass.
She looked at Birkin's face. It was white and still and eternal, too eternal. She linked her fingers imploringly in his, under the cover of her rug. His fingers responded, his eyes looked back at her. How dark, like a night, his eyes were, like another world beyond! Oh, if he were the world as well, if only the world were he! If only he could call a world into being, that should be their own world!
The Belgians left, the train ran on, through Luxembourg, through Alsace-Lorraine, through Metz. But she was blind, she could see no more. Her soul did not look out.
They came at last to Basle, to the hotel. It was all a drifting trance, from which she never came to. They went out in the morning, before the train departed. She saw the street, the river, she stood on the bridge. But it all meant nothing. She remembered some shops -- one full of pictures, one with orange velvet and ermine. But what did these signify? -- nothing.
She was not at ease till they were in the train again. Then she was relieved. So long as they were moving onwards, she was satisfied. They came to Zurich, then, before very long, ran under the mountains, that were deep in snow. At last she was drawing near. This was the other world now.
Innsbruck was wonderful, deep in snow, and evening. They drove in an open sledge over the snow: the train had been so hot and stifling. And the hotel, with the golden light glowing under the porch, seemed like a home.
They laughed with pleasure when they were in the hall. The place seemed full and busy.
`Do you know if Mr and Mrs Crich -- English -- from Paris, have arrived?' Birkin asked in German.
The porter reflected a moment, and was just going to answer, when Ursula caught sight of Gudrun sauntering down the stairs, wearing her dark glossy coat, with grey fur.
`Gudrun! Gudrun!' she called, waving up the well of the staircase. `Shuhu!'
Gudrun looked over the rail, and immediately lost her sauntering, diffident air. Her eyes flashed.
`Really -- Ursula!' she cried. And she began to move downstairs as Ursula ran up. They met at a turn and kissed with laughter and exclamations inarticulate and stirring.
`But!' cried Gudrun, mortified. `We thought it was tomorrow you were coming! I wanted to come to the station.'
`No, we've come today!' cried Ursula. `Isn't it lovely here!'
`Adorable!' said Gudrun. `Gerald's just gone out to get something. Ursula, aren't you fearfully tired?'
`No, not so very. But I look a filthy sight, don't I!'
`No, you don't. You look almost perfectly fresh. I like that fur cap immensely!' She glanced over Ursula, who wore a big soft coat with a collar of deep, soft, blond fur, and a soft blond cap of fur.
`And you!' cried Ursula. `What do you think you look like!'
Gudrun assumed an unconcerned, expressionless face.
`Do you like it?' she said.
`It's very fine!' cried Ursula, perhaps with a touch of satire.
`Go up -- or come down,' said Birkin. For there the sisters stood, Gudrun with her hand on Ursula's arm, on the turn of the stairs half way to the first landing, blocking the way and affording full entertainment to the whole of the hall below, from the door porter to the plump Jew in black clothes.
The two young women slowly mounted, followed by Birkin and the waiter.
`First floor?' asked Gudrun, looking back over her shoulder.
`Second Madam -- the lift!' the waiter replied. And he darted to the elevator to forestall the two women. But they ignored him, as, chattering without heed, they set to mount the second flight. Rather chagrined, the waiter followed.
It was curious, the delight of the sisters in each other, at this meeting. It was as if they met in exile, and united their solitary forces against all the world. Birkin looked on with some mistrust and wonder.
When they had bathed and changed, Gerald came in. He looked shining like the sun on frost.
`Go with Gerald and smoke,' said Ursula to Birkin. `Gudrun and I want to talk.'
Then the sisters sat in Gudrun's bedroom, and talked clothes, and experiences. Gudrun told Ursula the experience of the Birkin letter in the cafe. Ursula was shocked and frightened.
`Where is the letter?' she asked.
`I kept it,' said Gudrun.
`You'll give it me, won't you?' she said.
But Gudrun was silent for some moments, before she replied:
`Do you really want it, Ursula?'
`I want to read it,' said Ursula.
`Certainly,' said Gudrun.
Even now, she could not admit, to Ursula, that she wanted to keep it, as a memento, or a symbol. But Ursula knew, and was not pleased. So the subject was switched off.
`What did you do in Paris?' asked Ursula.
`Oh,' said Gudrun laconically -- `the usual things. We had a fine party one night in Fanny Bath's studio.'
`Did you? And you and Gerald were there! Who else? Tell me about it.'
`Well,' said Gudrun. `There's nothing particular to tell. You know Fanny is frightfully in love with that painter, Billy Macfarlane. He was there -- so Fanny spared nothing, she spent very freely. It was really remarkable! Of course, everybody got fearfully drunk -- but in an interesting way, not like that filthy London crowd. The fact is these were all people that matter, which makes all the difference. There was a Roumanian, a fine chap. He got completely drunk, and climbed to the top of a high studio ladder, and gave the most marvellous address -- really, Ursula, it was wonderful! He began in French -- La vie, c'est une affaire d'ames imperiales -- in a most beautiful voice -- he was a fine-looking chap -- but he had got into Roumanian before he had finished, and not a soul understood. But Donald Gilchrist was worked to a frenzy. He dashed his glass to the ground, and declared, by God, he was glad he had been born, by God, it was a miracle to be alive. And do you know, Ursula, so it was -- ' Gudrun laughed rather hollowly.
`But how was Gerald among them all?' asked Ursula.
`Gerald! Oh, my word, he came out like a dandelion in the sun! He's a whole saturnalia in himself, once he is roused. I shouldn't like to say whose waist his arm did not go round. Really, Ursula, he seems to reap the women like a harvest. There wasn't one that would have resisted him. It was too amazing! Can you understand it?'
Ursula reflected, and a dancing light came into her eyes.
`Yes,' she said. `I can. He is such a whole-hogger.'
`Whole-hogger! I should think so!' exclaimed Gudrun. `But it is true, Ursula, every woman in the room was ready to surrender to him. Chanticleer isn't in it -- even Fanny Bath, who is genuinely in love with Billy Macfarlane! I never was more amazed in my life! And you know, afterwards -- I felt I was a whole roomful of women. I was no more myself to him, than I was Queen Victoria. I was a whole roomful of women at once. It was most astounding! But my eye, I'd caught a Sultan that time --'
Gudrun's eyes were flashing, her cheek was hot, she looked strange, exotic, satiric. Ursula was fascinated at once -- and yet uneasy.
They had to get ready for dinner. Gudrun came down in a daring gown of vivid green silk and tissue of gold, with green velvet bodice and a strange black-and-white band round her hair. She was really brilliantly beautiful and everybody noticed her. Gerald was in that full-blooded, gleaming state when he was most handsome. Birkin watched them with quick, laughing, half-sinister eyes, Ursula quite lost her head. There seemed a spell, almost a blinding spell, cast round their table, as if they were lighted up more strongly than the rest of the dining-room.
`Don't you love to be in this place?' cried Gudrun. `Isn't the snow wonderful! Do you notice how it exalts everything? It is simply marvellous. One really does feel iibermenschlich -- more than human.'
`One does,' cried Ursula. `But isn't that partly the being out of England?'
`Oh, of course,' cried Gudrun. `One could never feel like this in England, for the simple reason that the damper is never lifted off one, there. It is quite impossible really to let go, in England, of that I am assured.'
And she turned again to the food she was eating. She was fluttering with vivid intensity.
`It's quite true,' said Gerald, `it never is quite the same in England. But perhaps we don't want it to be -- perhaps it's like bringing the light a little too near the powder-magazine, to let go altogether, in England. One is afraid what might happen, if everybody else let go.'
`My God!' cried Gudrun. `But wouldn't it be wonderful, if all England did suddenly go off like a display of fireworks.'
`It couldn't,' said Ursula. `They are all too damp, the powder is damp in them.'
`I'm not so sure of that,' said Gerald.
`Nor I,' said Birkin. `When the English really begin to go off, en masse, it'll be time to shut your ears and run.'
`They never will,' said Ursula.
`We'll see,' he replied.
`Isn't it marvellous,' said Gudrun, `how thankful one can be, to be out of one's country. I cannot believe myself, I am so transported, the moment I set foot on a foreign shore. I say to myself "Here steps a new creature into life."'
`Don't be too hard on poor old England,' said Gerald. `Though we curse it, we love it really.'
To Ursula, there seemed a fund of cynicism in these words.
`We may,' said Birkin. `But it's a damnably uncomfortable love: like a love for an aged parent who suffers horribly from a complication of diseases, for which there is no hope.'
Gudrun looked at him with dilated dark eyes.
`You think there is no hope?' she asked, in her pertinent fashion.
But Birkin backed away. He would not answer such a question.
`Any hope of England's becoming real? God knows. It's a great actual unreality now, an aggregation into unreality. It might be real, if there were no Englishmen.'
`You think the English will have to disappear?' persisted Gudrun. It was strange, her pointed interest in his answer. It might have been her own fate she was inquiring after. Her dark, dilated eyes rested on Birkin, as if she could conjure the truth of the future out of him, as out of some instrument of divination.
He was pale. Then, reluctantly, he answered:
`Well -- what else is in front of them, but disappearance? They've got to disappear from their own special brand of Englishness, anyhow.'
Gudrun watched him as if in a hypnotic state, her eyes wide and fixed on him.
`But in what way do you mean, disappear? --' she persisted.
`Yes, do you mean a change of heart?' put in Gerald.
`I don't mean anything, why should I?' said Birkin. `I'm an Englishman, and I've paid the price of it. I can't talk about England -- I can only speak for myself.'
`Yes,' said Gudrun slowly, `you love England immensely, immensely, Rupert.'
`And leave her,' he replied.
`No, not for good. You'll come back,' said Gerald, nodding sagely.
`They say the lice crawl off a dying body,' said Birkin, with a glare of bitterness. `So I leave England.'
`Ah, but you'll come back,' said Gudrun, with a sardonic smile.
`Tant pis pour moi,' he replied.
`Isn't he angry with his mother country!' laughed Gerald, amused.
`Ah, a patriot!' said Gudrun, with something like a sneer.
Birkin refused to answer any more.
Gudrun watched him still for a few seconds. Then she turned away. It was finished, her spell of divination in him. She felt already purely cynical. She looked at Gerald. He was wonderful like a piece of radium to her. She felt she could consume herself and know all, by means of this fatal, living metal. She smiled to herself at her fancy. And what would she do with herself, when she had destroyed herself? For if spirit, if integral being is destructible, Matter is indestructible.
He was looking bright and abstracted, puzzled, for the moment. She stretched out her beautiful arm, with its fluff of green tulle, and touched his chin with her subtle, artist's fingers.
`What are they then?' she asked, with a strange, knowing smile.
`What?' he replied, his eyes suddenly dilating with wonder.
`Your thoughts.'
Gerald looked like a man coming awake.
`I think I had none,' he said.
`Really!' she said, with grave laughter in her voice.
And to Birkin it was as if she killed Gerald, with that touch.
`Ah but,' cried Gudrun, `let us drink to Britannia -- let us drink to Britannia.'
It seemed there was wild despair in her voice. Gerald laughed, and filled the glasses.
`I think Rupert means,' he said, `that nationally all Englishmen must die, so that they can exist individually and -- '
`Super-nationally --' put in Gudrun, with a slight ironic grimace, raising her glass.
The next day, they descended at the tiny railway station of Hohenhausen, at the end of the tiny valley railway. It was snow everywhere, a white, perfect cradle of snow, new and frozen, sweeping up an either side, black crags, and white sweeps of silver towards the blue pale heavens.
As they stepped out on the naked platform, with only snow around and above, Gudrun shrank as if it chilled her heart.
`My God, Jerry,' she said, turning to Gerald with sudden intimacy, `you've done it now.'
`What?'
She made a faint gesture, indicating the world on either hand.
`Look at it!'
She seemed afraid to go on. He laughed.
They were in the heart of the mountains. From high above, on either side, swept down the white fold of snow, so that one seemed small and tiny in a valley of pure concrete heaven, all strangely radiant and changeless and silent.
`It makes one feel so small and alone,' said Ursula, turning to Birkin and laying her hand on his arm.
`You're not sorry you've come, are you?' said Gerald to Gudrun.
She looked doubtful. They went out of the station between banks of snow.
`Ah,' said Gerald, sniffing the air in elation, `this is perfect. There's our sledge. We'll walk a bit -- we'll run up the road.'
Gudrun, always doubtful, dropped her heavy coat on the sledge, as he did his, and they set off. Suddenly she threw up her head and set off scudding along the road of snow, pulling her cap down over her ears. Her blue, bright dress fluttered in the wind, her thick scarlet stockings were brilliant above the whiteness. Gerald watched her: she seemed to be rushing towards her fate, and leaving him behind. He let her get some distance, then, loosening his limbs, he went after her.
Everywhere was deep and silent snow. Great snow-eaves weighed down the broad-roofed Tyrolese houses, that were sunk to the window-sashes in snow. Peasant-women, full-skirted, wearing each a cross-over shawl, and thick snow-boots, turned in the way to look at the soft, determined girl running with such heavy fleetness from the man, who was overtaking her, but not gaining any power over her.
They passed the inn with its painted shutters and balcony, a few cottages, half buried in the snow; then the snow-buried silent sawmill by the roofed bridge, which crossed the hidden stream, over which they ran into the very depth of the untouched sheets of snow. It was a silence and a sheer whiteness exhilarating to madness. But the perfect silence was most terrifying, isolating the soul, surrounding the heart with frozen air.
`It's a marvellous place, for all that,' said Gudrun, looking into his eyes with a strange, meaning look. His soul leapt.
`Good,' he said.
A fierce electric energy seemed to flow over all his limbs, his muscles were surcharged, his hands felt hard with strength. They walked along rapidly up the snow-road, that was marked by withered branches of trees stuck in at intervals. He and she were separate, like opposite poles of one fierce energy. But they felt powerful enough to leap over the confines of life into the forbidden places, and back again.
Birkin and Ursula were running along also, over the snow. He had disposed of the luggage, and they had a little start of the sledges. Ursula was excited and happy, but she kept turning suddenly to catch hold of Birkin's arm, to make sure of him.
`This is something I never expected,' she said. `It is a different world, here.'
They went on into a snow meadow. There they were overtaken by the sledge, that came tinkling through the silence. It was another mile before they came upon Gudrun and Gerald on the steep up-climb, beside the pink, half-buried shrine.
Then they passed into a gulley, where were walls of black rock and a river filled with snow, and a still blue sky above. Through a covered bridge they went, drumming roughly over the boards, crossing the snow-bed once more, then slowly up and up, the horses walking swiftly, the driver cracking his long whip as he walked beside, and calling his strange wild hue-hue!, the walls of rock passing slowly by, till they emerged again between slopes and masses of snow. Up and up, gradually they went, through the cold shadow-radiance of the afternoon, silenced by the imminence of the mountains, the luminous, dazing sides of snow that rose above them and fell away beneath.
They came forth at last in a little high table-land of snow, where stood the last peaks of snow like the heart petals of an open rose. In the midst of the last deserted valleys of heaven stood a lonely building with brown wooden walls and white heavy roof, deep and deserted in the waste of snow, like a dream. It stood like a rock that had rolled down from the last steep slopes, a rock that had taken the form of a house, and was now half-buried. It was unbelievable that one could live there uncrushed by all this terrible waste of whiteness and silence and clear, upper, ringing cold.
Yet the sledges ran up in fine style, people came to the door laughing and excited, the floor of the hostel rang hollow, the passage was wet with snow, it was a real, warm interior.
The new-comers tramped up the bare wooden stairs, following the serving woman. Gudrun and Gerald took the first bedroom. In a moment they found themselves alone in a bare, smallish, close-shut room that was all of golden-coloured wood, floor, walls, ceiling, door, all of the same warm gold panelling of oiled pine. There was a window opposite the door, but low down, because the roof sloped. Under the slope of the ceiling were the table with wash-hand bowl and jug, and across, another table with mirror. On either side the door were two beds piled high with an enormous blue-checked overbolster, enormous.
This was all -- no cupboard, none of the amenities of life. Here they were shut up together in this cell of golden-coloured wood, with two blue checked beds. They looked at each other and laughed, frightened by this naked nearness of isolation.
A man knocked and came in with the luggage. He was a sturdy fellow with flattish cheek-bones, rather pale, and with coarse fair moustache. Gudrun watched him put down the bags, in silence, then tramp heavily out.
`It isn't too rough, is it?' Gerald asked.
The bedroom was not very warm, and she shivered slightly.
`It is wonderful,' she equivocated. `Look at the colour of this panelling -it's wonderful, like being inside a nut.'
He was standing watching her, feeling his short-cut moustache, leaning back slightly and watching her with his keen, undaunted eyes, dominated by the constant passion, that was like a doom upon him.
She went and crouched down in front of the window, curious.
`Oh, but this -- !' she cried involuntarily, almost in pain.
In front was a valley shut in under the sky, the last huge slopes of snow and black rock, and at the end, like the navel of the earth, a white-folded wall, and two peaks glimmering in the late light. Straight in front ran the cradle of silent snow, between the great slopes that were fringed with a little roughness of pine-trees, like hair, round the base. But the cradle of snow ran on to the eternal closing-in, where the walls of snow and rock rose impenetrable, and the mountain peaks above were in heaven immediate. This was the centre, the knot, the navel of the world, where the earth belonged to the skies, pure, unapproachable, impassable.
It filled Gudrun with a strange rapture. She crouched in front of the window, clenching her face in her hands, in a sort of trance. At last she had arrived, she had reached her place. Here at last she folded her venture and settled down like a crystal in the navel of snow, and was gone.
Gerald bent above her and was looking out over her shoulder. Already he felt he was alone. She was gone. She was completely gone, and there was icy vapour round his heart. He saw the blind valley, the great cul-de-sac of snow and mountain peaks, under the heaven. And there was no way out. The terrible silence and cold and the glamorous whiteness of the dusk wrapped him round, and she remained crouching before the window, as at a shrine, a shadow.
`Do you like it?' he asked, in a voice that sounded detached and foreign. At least she might acknowledge he was with her. But she only averted her soft, mute face a little from his gaze. And he knew that there were tears in her eyes, her own tears, tears of her strange religion, that put him to nought.
Quite suddenly, he put his hand under her chin and lifted up her face to him. Her dark blue eyes, in their wetness of tears, dilated as if she was startled in her very soul. They looked at him through their tears in terror and a little horror. His light blue eyes were keen, small-pupilled and unnatural in their vision. Her lips parted, as she breathed with difficulty.
The passion came up in him, stroke after stroke, like the ringing of a bronze bell, so strong and unflawed and indomitable. His knees tightened to bronze as he hung above her soft face, whose lips parted and whose eyes dilated in a strange violation. In the grasp of his hand her chin was unutterably soft and silken. He felt strong as winter, his hands were living metal, invincible and not to be turned aside. His heart rang like a bell clanging inside him.
He took her up in his arms. She was soft and inert, motionless. All the while her eyes, in which the tears had not yet dried, were dilated as if in a kind of swoon of fascination and helplessness. He was superhumanly strong, and unflawed, as if invested with supernatural force.
He lifted her close and folded her against him. Her softness, her inert, relaxed weight lay against his own surcharged, bronze-like limbs in a heaviness of desirability that would destroy him, if he were not fulfilled. She moved convulsively, recoiling away from him. His heart went up like a flame of ice, he closed over her like steel. He would destroy her rather than be denied.
But the overweening power of his body was too much for her. She relaxed again, and lay loose and soft, panting in a little delirium. And to him, she was so sweet, she was such bliss of release, that he would have suffered a whole eternity of torture rather than forego one second of this pang of unsurpassable bliss.
`My God,' he said to her, his face drawn and strange, transfigured, `what next?'
She lay perfectly still, with a still, child-like face and dark eyes, looking at him. She was lost, fallen right away.
`I shall always love you,' he said, looking at her.
But she did not hear. She lay, looking at him as at something she could never understand, never: as a child looks at a grown-up person, without hope of understanding, only submitting.
He kissed her, kissed her eyes shut, so that she could not look any more. He wanted something now, some recognition, some sign, some admission. But she only lay silent and child-like and remote, like a child that is overcome and cannot understand, only feels lost. He kissed her again, giving up.
`Shall we go down and have coffee and Kuchen?' he asked.
The twilight was falling slate-blue at the window. She closed her eyes, closed away the monotonous level of dead wonder, and opened them again to the every-day world.
`Yes,' she said briefly, regaining her will with a click. She went again to the window. Blue evening had fallen over the cradle of snow and over the great pallid slopes. But in the heaven the peaks of snow were rosy, glistening like transcendent, radiant spikes of blossom in the heavenly upper-world, so lovely and beyond.
Gudrun saw all their loveliness, she knew how immortally beautiful they were, great pistils of rose-coloured, snow-fed fire in the blue twilight of the heaven. She could see it, she knew it, but she was not of it. She was divorced, debarred, a soul shut out.
With a last look of remorse, she turned away, and was doing her hair. He had unstrapped the luggage, and was waiting, watching her. She knew he was watching her. It made her a little hasty and feverish in her precipitation.
They went downstairs, both with a strange other-world look on their faces, and with a glow in their eyes. They saw Birkin and Ursula sitting at the long table in a corner, waiting for them.
`How good and simple they look together,' Gudrun thought, jealously. She envied them some spontaneity, a childish sufficiency to which she herself could never approach. They seemed such children to her.
`Such good Kranzkuchen!' cried Ursula greedily. `So good!'
`Right,' said Gudrun. `Can we have Kaffee mit Kranzkuchen?' she added to the waiter.
And she seated herself on the bench beside Gerald. Birkin, looking at them, felt a pain of tenderness for them.
`I think the place is really wonderful, Gerald,' he said; `prachtvoll and wunderbar and wunderschon and unbeschreiblich and all the other German adjectives.'
Gerald broke into a slight smile.
`I like it,' he said.
The tables, of white scrubbed wood, were placed round three sides of the room, as in a Gasthaus. Birkin and Ursula sat with their backs to the wall, which was of oiled wood, and Gerald and Gudrun sat in the corner next them, near to the stove. It was a fairly large place, with a tiny bar, just like a country inn, but quite simple and bare, and all of oiled wood, ceilings and walls and floor, the only furniture being the tables and benches going round three sides, the great green stove, and the bar and the doors on the fourth side. The windows were double, and quite uncurtained. It was early evening.
The coffee came -- hot and good -- and a whole ring of cake.
`A whole Kuchen!' cried Ursula. `They give you more than us! I want some of yours.'
There were other people in the place, ten altogether, so Birkin had found out: two artists, three students, a man and wife, and a Professor and two daughters -- all Germans. The four English people, being newcomers, sat in their coign of vantage to watch. The Germans peeped in at the door, called a word to the waiter, and went away again. It was not meal-time, so they did not come into this dining-room, but betook themselves, when their boots were changed, to the Reunionsaal.
The English visitors could hear the occasional twanging of a zither, the strumming of a piano, snatches of laughter and shouting and singing, a faint vibration of voices. The whole building being of wood, it seemed to carry every sound, like a drum, but instead of increasing each particular noise, it decreased it, so that the sound of the zither seemed tiny, as if a diminutive zither were playing somewhere, and it seemed the piano must be a small one, like a little spinet.
The host came when the coffee was finished. He was a Tyrolese, broad, rather flat-cheeked, with a pale, pock-marked skin and flourishing moustaches.
`Would you like to go to the Reunionsaal to be introduced to the other ladies and gentlemen?' he asked, bending forward and smiling, showing his large, strong teeth. His blue eyes went quickly from one to the other -he was not quite sure of his ground with these English people. He was unhappy too because he spoke no English and he was not sure whether to try his French.
`Shall we go to the Reunionsaal, and be introduced to the other people?' repeated Gerald, laughing.
There was a moment's hesitation.
`I suppose we'd better -- better break the ice,' said Birkin.
The women rose, rather flushed. And the Wirt's black, beetle-like, broad-shouldered figure went on ignominiously in front, towards the noise. He opened the door and ushered the four strangers into the play-room.
Instantly a silence fell, a slight embarrassment came over the company. The newcomers had a sense of many blond faces looking their way. Then, the host was bowing to a short, energetic-looking man with large moustaches, and saying in a low voice:
`Herr Professor, darf ich vorstellen--'
The Herr Professor was prompt and energetic. He bowed low to the English people, smiling, and began to be a comrade at once.
`Nehmen die Herrschaften teil an unserer Unterhaltung?' he said, with a vigorous suavity, his voice curling up in the question.
The four English people smiled, lounging with an attentive uneasiness in the middle of the room. Gerald, who was spokesman, said that they would willingly take part in the entertainment. Gudrun and Ursula, laughing, excited, felt the eyes of all the men upon them, and they lifted their heads and looked nowhere, and felt royal.
The Professor announced the names of those present, sans ceremonie. There was a bowing to the wrong people and to the right people. Everybody was there, except the man and wife. The two tall, clearskinned, athletic daughters of the professor, with their plain-cut, dark blue blouses and loden skirts, their rather long, strong necks, their clear blue eyes and carefully banded hair, and their blushes, bowed and stood back; the three students bowed very low, in the humble hope of making an impression of extreme good-breeding; then there was a thin, dark-skinned man with full eyes, an odd creature, like a child, and like a troll, quick, detached; he bowed slightly; his companion, a large fair young man, stylishly dressed, blushed to the eyes and bowed very low.
It was over.
`Herr Loerke was giving us a recitation in the Cologne dialect,' said the Professor.
`He must forgive us for interrupting him,' said Gerald, `we should like very much to hear it.'
There was instantly a bowing and an offering of seats. Gudrun and Ursula, Gerald and Birkin sat in the deep sofas against the wall. The room was of naked oiled panelling, like the rest of the house. It had a piano, sofas and chairs, and a couple of tables with books and magazines. In its complete absence of decoration, save for the big, blue stove, it was cosy and pleasant.
Herr Loerke was the little man with the boyish figure, and the round, full, sensitive-looking head, and the quick, full eyes, like a mouse's. He glanced swiftly from one to the other of the strangers, and held himself aloof.
`Please go on with the recitation,' said the Professor, suavely, with his slight authority. Loerke, who was sitting hunched on the piano stool, blinked and did not answer.
`It would be a great pleasure,' said Ursula, who had been getting the sentence ready, in German, for some minutes.
Then, suddenly, the small, unresponding man swung aside, towards his previous audience and broke forth, exactly as he had broken off; in a controlled, mocking voice, giving an imitation of a quarrel between an old Cologne woman and a railway guard.
His body was slight and unformed, like a boy's, but his voice was mature, sardonic, its movement had the flexibility of essential energy, and of a mocking penetrating understanding. Gudrun could not understand a word of his monologue, but she was spell-bound, watching him. He must be an artist, nobody else could have such fine adjustment and singleness. The Germans were doubled up with laughter, hearing his strange droll words, his droll phrases of dialect. And in the midst of their paroxysms, they glanced with deference at the four English strangers, the elect. Gudrun and Ursula were forced to laugh. The room rang with shouts of laughter. The blue eyes of the Professor's daughters were swimming over with laughter-tears, their clear cheeks were flushed crimson with mirth, their father broke out in the most astonishing peals of hilarity, the students bowed their heads on their knees in excess of joy. Ursula looked round amazed, the laughter was bubbling out of her involuntarily. She looked at Gudrun. Gudrun looked at her, and the two sisters burst out laughing, carried away. Loerke glanced at them swiftly, with his full eyes. Birkin was sniggering involuntarily. Gerald Crich sat erect, with a glistening look of amusement on his face. And the laughter crashed out again, in wild paroxysms, the Professor's daughters were reduced to shaking helplessness, the veins of the Professor's neck were swollen, his face was purple, he was strangled in ultimate, silent spasms of laughter. The students were shouting half-articulated words that tailed off in helpless explosions. Then suddenly the rapid patter of the artist ceased, there were little whoops of subsiding mirth, Ursula and Gudrun were wiping their eyes, and the Professor was crying loudly.
`Das war ausgezeichnet, das war famos --'
`Wirklich famos,' echoed his exhausted daughters, faintly.
`And we couldn't understand it,' cried Ursula.
`Oh leider, leider!' cried the Professor.
`You couldn't understand it?' cried the Students, let loose at last in speech with the newcomers. `Ja, das ist wirklich schade, das ist schade, gnadige Frau. Wissen Sie --'
The mixture was made, the newcomers were stirred into the party, like new ingredients, the whole room was alive. Gerald was in his element, he talked freely and excitedly, his face glistened with a strange amusement. Perhaps even Birkin, in the end, would break forth. He was shy and withheld, though full of attention.
Ursula was prevailed upon to sing `Annie Lowrie,' as the Professor called it. There was a hush of extreme deference. She had never been so flattered in her life. Gudrun accompanied her on the piano, playing from memory.
Ursula had a beautiful ringing voice, but usually no confidence, she spoiled everything. This evening she felt conceited and untrammelled. Birkin was well in the background, she shone almost in reaction, the Germans made her feel fine and infallible, she was liberated into overweening self-confidence. She felt like a bird flying in the air, as her voice soared out, enjoying herself extremely in the balance and flight of the song, like the motion of a bird's wings that is up in the wind, sliding and playing on the air, she played with sentimentality, supported by rapturous attention. She was very happy, singing that song by herself, full of a conceit of emotion and power, working upon all those people, and upon herself, exerting herself with gratification, giving immeasurable gratification to the Germans.
At the end, the Germans were all touched with admiring, delicious melancholy, they praised her in soft, reverent voices, they could not say too much.
`Wie schon, wie ruhrend! Ach, die Schottischen Lieder, sie haben so viel Stimmung! Aber die gnadige Frau hat eine wunderbare Stimme; die gnadige Frau ist wirklich eine Kunstlerin, aber wirklich!'
She was dilated and brilliant, like a flower in the morning sun. She felt Birkin looking at her, as if he were jealous of her, and her breasts thrilled, her veins were all golden. She was as happy as the sun that has just opened above clouds. And everybody seemed so admiring and radiant, it was perfect.
After dinner she wanted to go out for a minute, to look at the world. The company tried to dissuade her -- it was so terribly cold. But just to look, she said.
They all four wrapped up warmly, and found themselves in a vague, unsubstantial outdoors of dim snow and ghosts of an upper-world, that made strange shadows before the stars. It was indeed cold, bruisingly, frighteningly, unnaturally cold. Ursula could not believe the air in her nostrils. It seemed conscious, malevolent, purposive in its intense murderous coldness.
Yet it was wonderful, an intoxication, a silence of dim, unrealised snow, of the invisible intervening between her and the visible, between her and the flashing stars. She could see Orion sloping up. How wonderful he was, wonderful enough to make one cry aloud.
And all around was this cradle of snow, and there was firm snow underfoot, that struck with heavy cold through her boot-soles. It was night, and silence. She imagined she could hear the stars. She imagined distinctly she could hear the celestial, musical motion of the stars, quite near at hand. She seemed like a bird flying amongst their harmonious motion.
And she clung close to Birkin. Suddenly she realised she did not know what he was thinking. She did not know where he was ranging.
`My love!' she said, stopping to look at him.
His face was pale, his eyes dark, there was a faint spark of starlight on them. And he saw her face soft and upturned to him, very near. He kissed her softly.
`What then?' he asked.
`Do you love me?' she asked.
`Too much,' he answered quietly.
She clung a little closer.
`Not too much,' she pleaded.
`Far too much,' he said, almost sadly.
`And does it make you sad, that I am everything to you?' she asked, wistful. He held her close to him, kissing her, and saying, scarcely audible:
`No, but I feel like a beggar -- I feel poor.'
She was silent, looking at the stars now. Then she kissed him.
`Don't be a beggar,' she pleaded, wistfully. `It isn't ignominious that you love me.'
`It is ignominious to feel poor, isn't it?' he replied.
`Why? Why should it be?' she asked. He only stood still, in the terribly cold air that moved invisibly over the mountain tops, folding her round with his arms.
她去看望她的父母。这是一个相当僵硬，悲伤的会议，更像是一个验证的独立性比团聚。但他们都含糊和无限期彼此的命运，他们除了感动，加筋。
她并没有真的来了，直到她从多佛尔到奥斯坦德的大船渡。她隐约已经回落到伦敦的Birkin，伦敦一直是含糊不清的，所以不得不多佛尔的火车旅程。这是所有像睡眠。
而现在，在最后，当她站在船尾的船舶，在一个伸手不见五指，而吹风的夜晚，感受大海的运动，看着小，而荒凉的小灯闪烁着对英格兰海岸，无处岸边，看着他们那颗小的深刻和生活的黑暗，她觉得她的惊心动魄其麻醉睡眠清醒。
`让我们向前走，好吗？“ 伯金说。他想成为其投影的尖端。于是他们离开望着微弱的火花，一闪一闪地从无到有，在远的距离，称为英格兰，，深不可测晚上在前面，并把他们的脸。
他们去正确的轻轻切入容器的弓。完整的默默无闻，BIRKIN发现一个比较避风的角落，在一个伟大的绳子盘绕起来。这是相当接近附近的黑船，中极穴，未穿孔未来空间。他们在那里坐了下来，折叠起来，折叠轮相同的地毯，匍匐接近以往任何时候都更接近彼此，直到它似乎他们蹑手蹑脚到对方，并成为一种物质。这是非常寒冷，黑暗之情溢于言表。
船舶的船员来到沿甲板，黑暗中，黑暗中，没有真正可见。然后，他们做出来的微弱他的脸苍白。他感到他们的存在，并停了下来，不确定的 - 然后向前弯曲。当他的脸在他们附近，他看到了他们脸上的淡淡的苍白。然后，他像一个幻影退出。他们看着他没有发出任何声音。
他们似乎落进了深刻的黑暗。有没有天空，没有地球，只有一个完整的黑暗，进入其中，用柔软的睡眠运动，他们似乎像秋天一个封闭的生命种子，通过黑暗，深不可测的空间下降。
他们已经忘记了他们在那里，忘记了一切，这是和所有已经意识到，只有在他们的心里，并有意识的，只有这种纯粹通过超越黑暗轨迹。船头劈开，用微弱的声音裂解成完整的夜晚，不知道，没有看到，只涌动。
乌苏拉未来感未变现世界战胜一切。在这种深刻的黑暗之中，似乎焕发她的心的灿烂的天堂未知及未变现。她的心里充满最美妙的光，金色的蜂蜜一样的黑暗，甜似一天，一个温暖的光，这是不是世界上脱落，只有未知的天堂朝她要去一个甜头的居住，一个喜悦的生活相当陌生，但她绝对无误。在她的交通工具，她抬起她的脸突然给他，他摸到了他的嘴唇。那么冷，那么新鲜，所以海清除她的脸，就好像接吻朵花，附近的冲浪。
但他不知道前知识，她知道幸福的狂喜。对他来说，这段过境的奇迹是压倒性的。他掉下来的无限黑暗的鸿沟，整个世界之间的鸿沟像陨石飞泻。世界被撕成了两半，他是通过不可言喻的裂痕像熄灭星级暴跌。什么是超越还没有他。他轨迹克服。
在恍惚中，他躺在捂着乌苏拉四围。他的脸，对她的细腻，脆弱的头发，他的呼吸它的香味与大海和深刻的夜晚。他的灵魂在和平屈服了，他陷入未知。这是第一次，彻底的和绝对的和平已进入了他的心，现在，在这最后的生活过境。
当出现了一些轰动的甲板上，他们惊醒。他们站了起来。如何僵硬和局促，在夜间时！然而，在她的心里，天堂般的光芒在他的黑暗和难言的和平，这是所有的所有。
他们站了起来，看着前方。被视为低灯的黑暗。这是世界一次。这是不是她心里的幸福，也不是他的和平。事实上这是肤浅的不真实的世界。然而，不太旧世界。的和平与幸福在他们的心中经久不衰。
怪了，荒凉的上述所有的东西一样，下船从冥河进入荒凉的黑社会，这在夜间降落。有原料，半点燃，覆盖在广袤的黑暗的地方，登上和空心脚下，只有荒凉，随处可见。乌苏拉瞧见大的，苍白的，神秘的字母`奥斯坦德，站立在黑暗中。每个人都行色匆匆深灰色空气通过一个盲目的，像昆虫一样的专心，搬运工呼吁在未英语，然后小跑着与沉重的书包，其无色上衣看着他们消失鬼魅;乌苏拉站在一个长期的，低锌覆盖屏障，以及数以百计的其他光谱的人，所有的广阔，原料黑暗的一路下跌是这样低的伸展开袋和光谱的人，同时，在另一侧的阻隔，苍白官员鸭舌帽和胡须把内衣袋，然后涂划粉笔标记。
有人做过。Birkin的抢购手包，他们就出发了，看门的背后。他们通过大门口，并在重新开放夜 - 啊，铁路平台！声音仍然幽灵调用在不人道的鼓动通过暗灰色的空气，沿着黑暗之间的火车运行。
`靠隆尼 - 柏林 - 厄休拉“上板挂在一侧的高速列车运行。
'我们在这里，“伯金说。在她的身边，她看到：`阿尔萨斯 - Lothringen地区 - 卢森堡，梅斯 - 巴塞尔。
`那是，巴塞尔！
看门人走了过来。
`A罢了 - DEUXIEME CLASSE？ - 瞧！他爬进高速列车运行。他们跟在后面。车厢已经被他们中的一些措施。但是，许多人暗淡空。看门的行李存放，被放倒。
`常识艾芬达的安可 - ？伯金说，看着他的手表，和看门的。
`喝采UNE半幅HEURE的。，在他的蓝色上衣，他就消失了。他丑陋和张狂。
`来，“伯金说。`这是冷的。让我们吃。“
平台上有一个咖啡旅行车。他们喝了，水汪汪的大热咖啡，吃卷，分割，火腿之间，这样一个广泛的，它几乎咬Ursula的下巴脱臼;他们身旁走过高的列车。这一切都是如此陌生，所以极其荒凉，像黑社会，灰色，灰色，灰色的污垢，荒凉，孤独，无处 - 灰色，沉闷无处。
最后，他们经过一夜。在黑暗中，乌苏拉平板领域，湿平沉闷黑暗的大陆。他们拉升出奇的快 - 布鲁日！然后在通过水平的黑暗，隐约可见睡眠农场和薄杨树和冷清highroads的。她坐在惊惶，手与手的Birkin。他脸色苍白，像亡灵自己不动，有时看着窗外，有时闭上了眼睛。然后，他再次睁开眼睛，外面的黑暗的黑暗。
几个灯在黑暗中一闪而过 - 根特站！几个幽灵外面的平台上 - 钟 - 运动再通过水平的黑暗。乌苏拉看见一名男子提着灯走出农场，铁路，穿越黑暗农场建筑。她想到的沼泽，老，亲密的农场生活Cossethay。我的上帝，她预计，从她的童年多远，走多远，她还是去了！在一个生命的一次穿越劫。内存从她的童年是在亲切的乡村环境的Cossethay和草滩农场的巨大鸿沟 - 她想起了仆人蒂利，谁给她的面包和奶油，撒上红糖，在老的客厅里的祖父时钟以上的数字在脸上涂在一个篮子里，有两个粉红色的玫瑰 - 现在，当她行驶到未知的Birkin，一个彻头彻尾的陌生人 - 是如此之大，似乎她没有身份证的孩子，她有一直玩在Cossethay境内，是一个历史的小家伙，不是真的自己。
他们在布鲁塞尔 - 半小时的早餐。他们得到了下来。在大钟说六时。在广袤的沙漠茶点室，他们的咖啡和面包卷和蜂蜜，如此沉闷，总是那么沉闷，肮脏的，所以宽敞，这种苍凉的空间。但她用她的脸和手在热水里，梳理她的头发 - 这是一个祝福。
不久，他们再次在火车和移动。黎明开始greyness。有几个人在车厢里，大花语比利时业务长长的棕色胡须的男人，一个丑陋的法国人唠叨她太累了遵循。
它似乎火车跑成微弱的光线的黑暗度，然后打节拍后的每一天。啊，这是多么疲倦！依稀，树木表明，像阴影。随后的房子，白色，有一个奇怪的特异性。怎么样？然后，她看到了一个村庄 - 有房子总是通过。
这是一个旧世界，她还在痴痴地通过，冬季的沉重和沉闷。有犁土地和草场，灌木丛光秃秃的树木，灌木，灌木丛和宅裸体和裸工作。没有新的地球已经应验。
她看着Birkin的脸。它仍然是白色的，永恒的，太永恒。她与她的手指在他的哀求下，她的地毯盖。回应他的手指，他的眼睛望着她。如何黑暗，想了一晚上，他的眼睛，就像另一个世界的超越！呵呵，如果他的世界，如果世界是他！如果只有他可以称之为世界应运而生，这应该是他们自己的世界！
比利时人离开，火车跑，通过卢森堡，通过阿尔萨斯 - 洛林，通过梅斯。但她是个瞎子，她实在看不出更多。她的灵魂没有看出来了。
在去年的巴塞尔，他们来到酒店。这完全是一个漂流精神恍惚，她从来没有来到。他们在早上出门之前，火车离去。她看到街道，河流，她站在桥上。但是这一切都意味着什么。她想起一些商店 - 一个完整的图片，一个橙色天鹅绒貂皮。但这些意味着什么？ - 一无所获。
她不放心，直到他们再次在火车。然后，她才松了口气。只要他们动起，她很满意。他们来到苏黎世，那么，之前很长，跑山，下深的积雪。最后，她花前月下。这是另一个世界。
因斯布鲁克是美好的，深的积雪，和晚上。他们开车在一个开放的雪橇在雪：列车已经这么热，令人窒息。和酒店，在门廊下泛着金色的光芒，看起来像一个家。
他们高兴地笑了，当他们在大厅里。地方似乎充满又忙碌。
“你知道，如果先生和夫人克里奇 - 英语 - 来自巴黎，已经来了吗？” Birkin的德语问。
搬运工反映了一会儿，正要回答时，乌苏拉戈珍下楼闲逛，看见她穿着黑色光泽的大衣，灰色毛皮。
“戈珍！戈珍！“ 她叫，挥舞着的楼梯井。`Shuhu！
戈珍看着导轨上，并立即失去了她的闲逛，心虚的空气。她的眼睛里闪过。
`真的 - 厄休拉！“ 她哭着说。她开始移动楼下乌苏拉跑上。他们会见了在转弯和亲吻的口齿不清和搅拌笑声与惊叹声。
“可是！戈珍哭了，羞愧。`我们认为这是明天你要来！我就想来车站。“
“不，我们已经走到了今天！” 厄秀拉叫道。`是不是很可爱！“
“可爱！” 戈珍说。杰拉德刚出去，得到的东西。厄休拉，不是你害怕累吗？“
“不，不是那么很。但我期待一个肮脏的景象，不要我！“
“不，你不这样做。你几乎完全新鲜的。我喜欢那顶毛皮帽极大！“ 她瞥了一眼乌苏拉，谁穿深，软，金发碧眼的毛皮领子柔软的大外套，柔软的金发碧眼的毛皮帽。
“”你！“ 厄秀拉叫道。`你以为你是什么样子！“
戈珍假设一个无动于衷，面无表情的脸。
“你喜欢吗？” 她说。
`这是非常正常的！“ 厄秀拉叫道，也许淡淡的讽刺。
` - 或降下来，“伯金说。对于那里的姐妹们站在戈珍Ursula的手臂她的手，在楼梯一半的方式首次登陆反过来，阻塞的方式和整个下面的大厅，得到充分的娱乐，从丰满的犹太人门搬运工在黑色衣服。
两名年轻妇女慢慢装，其次是Birkin和服务员。
`一楼？“ 戈珍在她的肩膀，回头问道。
`第二女士 - 电梯！“ 服务员回答。他飞奔到电梯，以防止这两个女人。但是，他们忽略了他，因为没有听从，热热闹闹，他们安装的第二次飞行。颇为懊恼，服务员紧随其后。
很好奇，在对方的姐妹们，在这次会议上的喜悦。如果他们遇见了在流亡，团结孤对世界上所有的力量。Birkin的脸上有一些不信任和奇迹。
当他们洗澡和改变，杰拉德走了进来，他看上去像闪耀的太阳霜。
`去与杰拉德和烟雾，“厄秀拉说Birkin的。戈珍和我想谈谈。“
然后姐妹们坐在戈珍的卧室，并谈到了衣服，和经验。戈珍告诉乌苏拉的Birkin信在网吧的经验。乌苏拉感到震惊和害怕。
`信？“ “她问道。”
`我一直是，“戈珍说。”
`你给我的，不是吗？“ 她说。
但戈珍沉默了一会儿，然后她回答：
你真的想，乌苏拉？
`我想读它，“乌苏拉说。”
“”当然，“戈珍说。”
即使是现在，她不能承认，乌苏拉说，她想保持它，作为纪念，或者一个符号。但是乌苏拉知道，并且很不高兴。因此，主体已关机。
`你做了什么在巴黎吗？“ 问乌苏拉。
“哦，”戈珍说简洁 - `平常的事情。我们有一个细方一晚的范妮·巴斯的工作室。“
`你吗？你和杰拉德在那里！还有谁？告诉我吧。“
“嗯，”戈珍说。“ `有没有什么特别要告诉。你知道芬妮是可怕的爱与画家，比利·麦克法兰。他在那里 - 范妮什么也没有幸免，她花了很自由。这真是了不起！当然，大家都害怕了醉了 - 但在一个有趣的方式，不喜欢那个肮脏的伦敦人群。事实是，这些都是所有的人说事，这使所有的差异。有一个Roumanian，罚款第一章。他得到了完全喝醉了，爬到高工作室阶梯的顶部，并给了最奇妙的地址 - 真的，乌苏拉，它是美好的！他开始在法国 - LA VIE，就是UNE AFFAIRE艾姆斯imperiales的 - 在一个最美丽的声音 - 他是一个美貌的第一章 - 但他钻进Roumanian之前，他已经完成了，而不是一个灵魂的理解。但唐纳德·吉尔克里斯特工作的狂热。他飞跑着他的玻璃地面，并宣布，由神，他很高兴他已经诞生，上帝，这是一个奇迹，是活着的。你知道吗，乌苏拉，所以它是 - “戈珍笑了，而空洞。
`但如何杰拉尔德其中？问乌苏拉。
“杰拉德！哦，我的话，他出来在阳光下像蒲公英！他在自己的农神节是一个整体，一旦他被惊醒。我不喜欢说的腰部，他的手臂并没有去圆。真的，乌苏拉，他似乎像一个收获收获妇女。有没有一个会抵制他。这太惊人了！你能理解吗？“
“乌苏拉反映，和，跳舞灯走进她的眼睛。
是的，“她说。`我可以。他就是这样一个全碎木。
`碎木全！我觉得应该是这样的！“ “戈珍惊呼。“但是这是真的，乌苏拉，每个女人都在房间里给他准备投降。殿堂是不是在它 - 甚至范妮巴斯，谁是真正的爱与比利·麦克法兰！我从来没有在我的生活更惊讶！而且你知道，后来 - 我觉得我是一个整个屋子的妇女。我是自己没有给他，比我是维多利亚女王。我是一个妇女在整个屋子。这是最令人震惊的！但我的眼睛，我抓到了苏丹，时间 -
戈珍的眼中闪烁时，她的脸是热的，她看着陌生的，充满异国情调，讽刺。乌苏拉一次着迷 - 尚未不安的。
他们不得不准备吃晚饭。戈珍来到了一个大胆生动的绿色丝绸礼服和组织黄金，绿色天鹅绒胸衣和一个奇怪的黑色和白色带圆她的头发。她真的很出色的美丽，每个人都注意到了她。杰拉尔德是，全血，闪闪发光的状态时，他是最英俊的。Birkin的看着他们，乌苏拉相当快，笑，眼睛半险恶失去了她的头。似乎有一个魔咒，几乎是一个眩目的法术，施放圆他们的桌子，仿佛被点燃了更强烈的比剩下的餐室。
`难道你不爱在这个地方吗？“ 戈珍哭了。`是不是雪精彩！你有没有注意到它是如何高举一切吗？这简直是奇妙的。人们确实感到iibermenschlich - 超过人类。“
`，“厄秀拉叫道。`但是，部分被淘汰的英格兰吗？'
“哦，当然，”戈珍哭。`不可能像这样在英格兰的感觉，原因很简单，阻尼器从未升空一，有。在英国，这是很不可能真正放手，我很放心。“
她又转向她正在吃的食物。她飘飘与生动的强度。
`这是相当正确的，“杰拉德说，”它永远不会是完全一样的英格兰。但或许我们不希望它是 - 也许它就像把光线有点太附近的粉末杂志，完全放手，在英格兰。一是害怕会发生什么事情，如果大家都放手。
`我的上帝！“ 戈珍哭了。`但不会是美好的，如果所有的英格兰却突然熄灭像燃放烟火。“
`不能“乌苏拉说。” `他们都是太潮湿，潮湿粉末在其中。“
`我不那么肯定，“杰拉尔德说。
`我也不清楚，“伯金说。当真正开始熄灭，集体，它会闭上你的耳朵和运行时间。
'他们永远不会“乌苏拉说。”
“我们所看到的，”他回答说。“
`是不是很奇妙，“戈珍说，'，多么感激就可以了，要出一个人的国家。我简直不敢相信我自己，我运输，那一刻我踏上外国岸边。我对自己说，“这里几步之融入生活的一个新的生物。”
`不要太硬，说：“可怜的老英格兰杰拉德。`虽然我们诅咒它，我们喜欢它，真的。“
乌苏拉，这些话似乎有一个基金的冷嘲热讽。
`我们，“伯金说。`但它是一个卑鄙不舒服的爱：像爱一个年老的父母患有可怕的疾病，并发症，是没有希望的。“
戈珍看着他的黑眼睛扩张。
你认为是没有希望了吗？“ 她问，在她的时尚相关。
但Birkin的退堂鼓。他不会回答这样的问题。
`任何英格兰成为真正的希望吗？天晓得。这是一个伟大的实际不真实，聚集成虚幻。它可能是真实的，如果没有英国人。“
你认为英语会消失吗？“ 戈珍坚持。这很奇怪，她指出在他的答案的兴趣。这可能是她自己的命运，她询问后。她暗，瞳孔散目光落在Birkin的，仿佛她可以召唤未来的真相，他占卜的一些仪器。
他面色苍白。然后，恋恋不舍，他回答说：
“嗯 - 还有什么是在他们面前，但消失？他们从自己的特殊的英国品牌已经消失了，进不去。“
戈珍看着他，仿佛在催眠状态中，她的眼睛睁得大大的，他固定。
`但以什么样的方式，你的意思是，消失了？ - “她坚持着。
“是的，你的意思改变的心？” 把杰拉尔德。
`我不意味着什么，我为什么要？“ 伯金说。`我是英国人，我已经付出了代价的。我不能谈论英格兰 - 我只能说我自己。“
是的，“说，戈珍慢慢地，你爱英格兰巨大，巨大，鲁珀特。
“离开她，”他回答说。
“不，不为好。你会回来的，“杰拉德说，一本正经地点头。
“”他们说的虱子爬一个垂死的身体，“伯金说，一个刺眼的苦涩。“”所以，我离开英国。“
“啊，但你会回来的，”戈珍说，一个嘲讽的笑容。
桑特活塞倒内政部，“他回答说。”
`他是不是生气与他的祖国！“ 杰拉德笑着说，逗乐了。
“嗯，一个爱国者！” 戈珍说，像冷笑。
Birkin的拒绝回答任何。
戈珍看了他几秒钟。然后，她转身走了。完成后，他占卜她的法术。她觉得自己已经纯粹的玩世不恭。她看着杰拉德。他是美妙的镭她像一块。她觉得她可以消耗自己都知道，通过这种致命的，活生生的金属。她微笑着对自己在她的想象。她做什么会自己摧毁了，当她自己吗？如果精神，如果整体被破坏，物质是坚不可摧的。
他一直在寻找光明的，抽象的，困惑的时刻。她伸出她那美丽的手臂，其绒毛绿色薄纱，她的含蓄，艺术家的手指摸了摸下巴。
`它们是什么呢？“ 她问，一个陌生的，会心的微笑。
“”什么？“ 他回答说，他的眼睛突然扩张的奇迹。
“你的想法。”
杰拉德看着就像一个人清醒。
“我觉得我身上没有，”他说。
“真的！” 她说，与严重的笑声在她的声音。
的Birkin仿佛她杀了杰拉德，与触摸。
“啊，但是，”戈珍哭了，让我们喝大不列颠 - 让我们喝大不列颠。“
似乎野生绝望中她的声音。杰拉德笑了，充满了眼镜。
`我认为鲁珀特表示，“他说，”全国所有的英国人一定会死，使他们能够单独存在 - '
`超级国家 - “戈珍，有轻微的具有讽刺意味的鬼脸，提高她的玻璃。
第二天，他们在微小的火车站Hohenhausen的下降，在年底的小山谷铁路。这是到处都是雪，雪白色，完美的摇篮，新的和冷冻的，扫地的一左一右，黑色的峭壁，银白色扫描对蓝色苍白的天空。
当他们走出赤裸裸的平台上，只有雪的周围和上面，戈珍萎缩的，就好像它冷冻了她的心脏。
`我的上帝，杰里，“她说，转向杰拉德突然亲密，你已经这样做了。”
“”什么？“
她做了一个淡淡的姿态，表明世界上任何一只手。
`看看吧！“
她似乎害怕去。他笑了。
他们在山上的心脏。从高高在上，对任何一方，扫倒雪白色倍，所以，一个似乎小和微小的纯混凝土天堂的一个山谷中，所有奇怪的辐射和不变的沉默。
“这让人感到那么渺小和孤独，”厄秀拉说，把Birkin和奠定她的手放在他的胳膊。
“”你没有对不起你来，是你吗？“ 杰拉尔德·戈珍说。
她看着呆账。他们走出银行的雪站之间。
`啊，“杰拉德说，嗅着空气中的兴高采烈，这是完美的。这就是我们的雪橇。我们会走位 - 我们运行了道路。“
在爬犁上，戈珍总是怀疑，下跌了她厚重的大衣，他做了他，他们掀起。突然，她把她的头和刮面沿道路积雪掀起了她的耳朵，她的帽子拉下来。她的蓝色，明亮的衣服在风中飘扬，她厚厚的猩红色丝袜辉煌以上的白度。杰拉德看着她，她似乎被冲到了她的命运，并留下他的背后。他让她一段距离，然后，松开他的四肢，他去后，她的。
到处都是雪深和沉默。大的雪檐拖累的Tyrolese广泛屋顶的房子，被击沉窗扇的窗口中雪。全裙边，农民，妇女，穿着每一个交叉的披肩，和厚厚的雪地靴，转身看软，确定女孩的人，谁是超越了她沉重的快速运行的方式，但不在她获得任何权力。
他们通过客栈画百叶窗和阳台，有几个小屋，半埋在雪地里，然后被雪埋无声锯木厂屋顶的桥，越过隐流，对他们跑进非常深入不变张雪。这是一个沉默，一个纯粹的白，令人振奋的疯狂。但完美的沉默是最可怕的，隔离的灵魂，心脏周围的空气冷冻。
“”这是一个奇妙的地方，对于这一切，“戈珍说，看着他的眼睛，意思是一个奇怪的看看。他的灵魂升腾。
`好，“他说。
一场激烈的电能似乎流过他的四肢被征收附加费，他的肌肉，他的手觉得很难有实力。他们迅速地沿着雪路，被打上了树木的枯枝每隔卡住。他和她分开，像一个激烈的能源两极。但他们觉得足够强大的跨越生命的局限进入禁地的地方，然后再返回。
Birkin和乌苏拉运行，在雪地里。他出售的行李，他们有一个小雪橇开始。厄休拉是激动和高兴，但她不停地转动，突然来抓住的Birkin的手臂，确保他。
`这是我从来没有想到的东西，“她说。`这是一个不同的世界，在这里。“
他们去到雪草甸。在那里，他们被追上爬犁，传来叮叮当当的沉默。这是前一英里后，他们来到戈珍和杰拉德在陡峭的向上攀登，旁边的粉红色，半埋的神社。
然后，他们通过到一个深沟，在那里有黑色的岩石和河流堆满了雪，仍然蓝天之上的墙壁。通过有盖桥，他们去，击鼓板大致在，翻越白雪床，一次，然后慢慢涨涨，马匹行走迅速，司机打击他，因为他身旁走过长长的鞭子，并呼吁他的野怪的色调色调，石壁缓缓掠过，直到他们再次出现斜坡和群众之间的雪。最多，他们逐渐去，通过寒影四射的下午，沉默的紧迫山，发光，夺目双方升逾雪下跌了下方。
他们出来，最后在一个小高桌土地的雪，站在山峰的雪像一个开放的玫瑰花瓣的心脏。在天上的最后荒芜的山谷中间站着一个孤独的棕色木制的墙壁和白色沉重的屋顶建设，浪费雪深，冷清，像一个梦。它站在那儿，就象从陡峭的山坡上，采取的形式的房子的岩石滚落下来的岩石，现在是半埋。这简直令人难以置信，人们可以生活在那里未经压碎的沉默和白度和清晰，上，振铃冷的这一切可怕的浪费。
但跑起来的优良作风的雪橇，人们来到门口笑和兴奋，宿舍楼响起空心的，的段落是湿的雪，这是一个真正的，温暖的室内。
新加入践踏了裸木楼梯，继服的女人。戈珍和杰拉德了第一间卧室。在某一时刻，他们发现自己独自一人在一个光秃秃的，小巧的，靠近关房间，这是所有的金色木材，地板，墙壁，天花板，门，所有相同的暖金色镶板的油松树。门对面有一个窗口，但低下来，因为屋顶倾斜。天花板的斜坡下表洗手碗和壶，跨越，与另一个表镜。对任何一方两张床堆满了一个巨大的蓝色检查overbolster，巨大的门。
这是 - 没有柜子里，没有生活设施。在这里，他们被关起来金色木材在这个小区，与两个蓝色检查床。他们互相看了一眼，笑了起来，吓坏了这种赤裸裸的亲近隔离。
一名男子撞倒，并与行李走了进来。他是一个坚固的老乡持平颧骨，而苍白，与粗公平小胡子。戈珍看着他放下袋子，在沉默中，然后出巨资流浪汉。
`这是不是太粗糙，是吗？“ 杰拉尔德问。
卧室是不是很热情，和她微微颤抖。
`这是美妙的，“她含糊其辞。`看的颜色，这镶板它的美妙，就像置身一个螺母。
他注视着她，感觉他短切小胡子，稍微靠在椅背上，并与他敏锐的，大无畏的眼睛看着她，不变的激情为主，像他的厄运后。
她去的窗口前，蹲了下来，好奇。
`呵呵，不过这一点 - ！“ 她不由自主地哭了，几乎是在痛苦中。
在前面关在一个山谷的天空下，最后的积雪和黑色的岩石，巨大的斜坡，并在年底像肚脐的大地，白色折叠墙，在后期的灯光下闪闪发光的两峰。直在前面跑雪无声的摇篮，伟大的斜坡之间一点点粗糙的松树树，流苏，像头发，圆基地。但雪的摇篮跑永恒收盘，雪和岩石墙壁坚不可摧的上涨，以上的山峰，立即在天上。这是中心，打结，世界的肚脐，属于地球的天空，纯净的，难以接近的，不可逾越的。
戈珍充满了一个奇怪的狂喜。她蹲在窗前，握紧她的脸在她的手中，在迷迷糊糊的。最后她到达了，她已经达到了她的位置。在这里，最后她折了她的创业安家像肚脐雪晶体，就消失了。
杰拉尔德弯曲她的上面，并期待在她的肩膀。他已经感觉到，他独自一人。她已经走了。她完全消失了，冰冷的蒸气搂住他的心。他看到了伟大的小路囊雪和山峰，盲谷，天上下。是没有出路的。可怕的寂静与寒冷和迷人的白度黄昏他裹圆，她依然蹲在窗口前，在一个祠堂，一个黑影。
“你喜欢吗？” 他问，在一个分离和外国的声音响起。至少她会承认他是她。但她只是避免她的柔软，静音的脸从他的目光一点点。他知道有泪水在她的眼里，自己的眼泪，眼泪她奇怪的宗教，使他前功尽弃。
突然，他把他的手在她的下巴，他抬起她的脸。她深蓝色的眼睛，在他们的眼泪湿润，扩张，如果在她的灵魂，她吃了一惊。他们看着他通过自己的眼泪，在恐怖和有点恐怖。他淡蓝色的眼睛为激烈，小pupilled的和不自然的在他们的视野。她的嘴唇微张，因为她呼吸困难。
激情在他想出了中风，中风后，像的青铜钟响起，如此强烈，无缺陷和不屈不挠的。他的膝盖收紧铜牌，因为他上面挂着她柔软的脸，嘴唇微张，眼睛散瞳在一个陌生的违规行为。在抓他的手，她的下巴是说不出的柔软，丝绸。他随着冬季震感强烈，他的双手被居住金属，立于不败之地，而不是被搁置。他的心他里面像铃叮当响了起来。
他带着她在他的怀里。她柔软和惰性，一动不动。所有的扩张，而她的眼睛，眼泪还没有干燥，如果在一种迷恋和无助的昏厥。他是superhumanly强，无缺陷的，如果投资与超自然的力量。
他抬起她的亲密，她对他和折叠。她的柔软，她的惰性重量，轻松躺在对他自己的一个沉重的可取性，会破坏他的附加费征收，青铜般的四肢，如果他没有履行。“她痉挛移动，反冲离他而去。他的心里去了冰像火焰，他收了她的如钢。他会毁了她，而不是被拒绝。
但唯我独尊的权力，他的身体是她太多。她再次放松，躺在松软，气喘吁吁在一个小谵妄。给他，她是那么的甜美，她是这样幸福的释放，他会遭受酷刑，而不是放弃一秒的这一阵无法超越的幸福着整个永恒。
“”我的上帝，“他说给她，他的脸上画和奇怪，变形，下一步是什么？”
她躺在完全静止，静止，孩子般的脸，漆黑的眼睛，看着他。她丢了，马上下降。
“我将永远爱你，”他说，看着她。
但她没有听到。她躺在那儿，看着他，她可能永远也不会明白，从来没有的东西：作为一个孩子看着长大了的人，不希望理解，只有提交。
他吻她，吻她的眼睛闭上，这样她就可以不看任何。他现在想要的东西，有些承认，一些迹象，一些入场。但她只是静静地躺着，孩子般的和远程的，就像一个孩子克服和无法理解的，只感觉丧失。他再次亲吻了她，放弃。
“我们应走下来，有咖啡和库亨？他问道。
黄昏下降石板蓝色窗口。她闭上了眼睛，收走了单调死难怪水平，并再次打开他们的每一天世界。
是的，“她简单地说，恢复她的意志的点击。她再次去到窗口。晚上蓝雪的摇篮，已经下跌了伟大的苍白斜坡。但是在天堂峰雪红润，晶莹像超然，辐射开花高峰在天上的世界上，如此可爱和超越。
戈珍看到他们所有的可爱，她知道他们是多么不朽的美丽，伟大的雌蕊蓝色黄昏的天堂玫瑰色，雪美联储火灾。她能看到它，她知道，但她不是。她离婚了，取消资格，灵魂拒之门外。
随着一上一下的悔恨，她转过头去，和正在做她的头发。他unstrapped的行李，等待，看着她。她知道他在注视着她。这让她有点草率和狂热在她的沉淀。
他们跑到楼下，与其他一个陌生的世界看看他们的脸，在他们眼里辉光。他们看到Birkin和乌苏拉坐在长条桌的一个角落里，等待他们的。
`他们一起来看一下如何好和简单，“戈珍认为，嫉妒。她羡慕他们一些自发性，幼稚的自给自足她自己永远无法接近。他们似乎这样的孩子给她。
`这样的好的Kranzkuchen！' 厄秀拉叫道贪婪。`那么好！“
`，“戈珍说。” “我们能有咖啡厅，麻省理工学院”Kranzkuchen“？她补充说，服务员。
她坐在自己旁边杰拉德在板凳上。的Birkin，看着他们，为他们感到了疼痛，压痛。
`我觉得这个地方真的很美妙，杰拉德，“他说，`prachtvoll和犀利wunderschon和unbeschreiblich的和所有其他德国的形容词。”
杰拉德突入微微一笑。
“我喜欢它，”他说。
表，白色的洗涤过的木材，放置圆形房间的三面，在一个的Gasthaus。Birkin和乌苏拉坐在他们的背上在墙上，这是上油的木材，和杰拉德和戈珍明年他们坐在角落里，靠近炉子。这是一个相当大的地方，一个小酒吧，就像一个乡村旅馆，但很简单，裸，上油的木材，天花板和墙壁和地板，唯一的家具是兜兜三面的桌子和长凳伟大的绿色灶具，和第四侧栏和门。窗户是双层的，相当无帘。这是傍晚。
咖啡来了 - 和良好的热 - 一整圈饼。
`A全库亨！“ 厄秀拉叫道。他们给你比我们多！我想你。“
还有其他人的地方，共有10，这样的Birkin发现：两位艺术家，三个学生，一个男人和妻子，和一个教授和两个女儿 - 德国。英语四级的人，作为新人，坐在一个多么华帝观看。德国偷看在门口，叫一个字的服务员，又去。这不是吃饭时间，所以他们没有进入这个饭厅，，但betook自己，当他们的靴子被改变，Reunionsaal。
英语游客可以偶尔听到古筝，钢琴弹奏，防抢的笑声和呼喊和歌唱，一个微弱的声音振动绷。整个建筑的木材，它似乎携带每一个声音，如鼓，但每个特定的噪音，而不是增加，减少它，使古筝的声音似乎很小，仿佛一个身材矮小的古筝演奏某处，它似乎钢琴必须是一个小的，就像一个小的尖晶石。
主机来完成咖啡。他的Tyrolese广泛，而平颊，脸色苍白，皮肤和胡须茂盛麻脸。
`你想去Reunionsaal，被介绍给其他女士们，先生们？“ 他问，向前弯腰，面带微笑，显示出他的大，坚固牙齿。他的蓝眼睛又迅速从一个到另一个与这些英语国家的人，他不太确定自己的立场。他也很不高兴，因为他不会说英语，他不能确定是否尝试他的法语。
“我们应去Reunionsaal，并介绍给其他的人呢？” 杰拉尔德反复，笑了起来。
有片刻的犹豫。
`我想我们最好 - 更好地破冰，“伯金说。
妇女上涨，而满脸通红。维特的黑色甲虫象，宽肩膀的身影又可耻在前面，对噪音。他打开门，迎来了4个陌生人进入播放室。
瞬间一片寂静，略有尴尬来到了该公司。的新人感有许多金发碧眼的面孔，看着自己的方式。然后，主机短，精力充沛的大胡子男人低头，用低沉的声音说：
教授先生，ICH DARF的vorstellen -
教授先生是迅速和充满活力的。他深鞠一躬英语的人，面带微笑，并开始同志。
的`Nehmen死TEIL Herrschaften一个unserer Unterhaltung？“ 一场轰轰烈烈的文诌诌的，他说，他的声音在卷曲的问题。
英语四级的人笑了，闲逛在中间的房间，周到的不安。杰拉德，谁是发言人表示，他们愿意在娱乐的一部分。戈珍和厄休拉，笑着，兴奋，觉得所有男人的目光在他们身上，他们抬起头，看着无处，觉得王室。
教授宣布那些目前无ceremonie的名字。有一个错误的人，并给正确的人低头。每个人都在那里，除了男人和妻子。两个高大，clearskinned，稳重的女儿的教授，纯切，深蓝色的上衣和罗登呢裙，相当长的，强的脖子，他们清澈的蓝眼睛，仔细带状头发，脸红，鞠躬，站回;三个学生鞠躬非常低的印象是极端好的育种卑下的希冀，再有就是薄，皮肤黝黑的男子全眼睛，一个奇怪的生物，就像一个孩子，和巨魔一样，快速，分离;他微微鞠了一躬，他的同伴，一个大的公平的年轻人，穿着时髦，脸涨得通红的眼睛，鞠躬非常低。
这是结束。
`杜林Loerke，让我们在科隆方言朗诵，“教授说。”
他必须原谅我们打断他，“杰拉德说，”我们应该非常喜欢听到它。“
立刻有一个鞠躬和席位发售。戈珍和厄休拉，杰拉德和Birkin坐在靠墙的沙发深处。房间里裸体上油的镶板，像其余的房子。它有一架钢琴，沙发和椅子，书籍和杂志的表和一对夫妇。在其完全没有多余的装饰，保存，蓝色的大火炉，舒适而宜人。
杜林Loerke是小个子与孩子气的数字，全面，充分，敏感的头部，快速，全面的眼睛，像一个鼠标。他迅速扫了一眼，从一个到另一个陌生人，并举行自己的孤傲。
`请与背诵，教授说，suavely，他轻微的权威。“ Loerke，弓着背坐在钢琴凳子上，眨了眨眼睛，没有回答。
“”这将是一大乐事，“厄秀拉说，已准备好句子，在德国，一些分钟。
然后，突然，小中，不能响应的人摆一边，对他以前的观众爆发出来，正是因为他打破了在控制，嘲讽的声音，给人一种模仿一个古老的科隆女人和一个铁路后卫之间的争吵。
他的身体轻微的，不成熟的，像一个男孩的，但他的声音是成熟的，嘲讽的，其运动的灵活性，重要的能源，一个嘲讽的穿透了解。戈珍无法理解一个词，他的独白，但她咒语束缚，看着他。他必须成为一个艺术家，没有其他人能有这样的微调和单一。德国增加了一倍，带着笑声，听到他滑稽的怪字，他的滑稽的方言短语。在他们的发作中，他们扫了一眼与四个英文陌生人，选民尊重。戈珍和厄休拉不得不笑。屋子里的笑声与欢呼。蓝眼睛教授的女儿的笑声泪游泳，他们清晰的脸颊通红深红色的欢乐，他们的父亲爆发出最惊人的响亮的欢闹，学生低头，他们的膝盖上多余的喜悦。乌苏拉环顾四周惊奇，笑声，她不由自主地汩汩流出。她看着戈珍。戈珍看着她，两姐妹突然大笑起来，忘乎所以。Loerke迅速瞟了一眼他们，用他的眼睛。柏金不由自主地窃笑。杰拉德·克里奇坐在直立，在他的脸上闪耀的看看娱乐。笑声再次应声而出，在野生发作，减少晃动无奈教授的女儿，教授的脖子上的静脉肿胀，他的脸是紫色的，他被勒死的笑声最终，沉默痉挛。学生们喊半铰接式的话，在尾随无奈爆炸。然后突然快速拍打的艺术家不再，很少有哎呦消退欢笑，Ursula和戈珍擦着自己的眼睛，和教授大声地哭了。
`达斯战争ausgezeichnet，DAS战争FAMOS -
的`Wirklich FAMOS，“呼应他的疲惫的女儿，依稀。
我们无法理解它，“厄秀拉叫道。
哦`leider leider！教授叫道。
你可能不明白吗？“ 哭的同学们，让松在最后的讲话与新人。`JA DAS IST DAS IST wirklich沙德，沙德，gnadige弗劳。WISSEN SIE -
混合物，搅拌到党内新人，像新的成分，整个房间还活着。杰拉德在他的元素，他谈到自由和兴奋，他的脸上闪烁着一种奇怪的游乐。也许甚至Birkin的，在年底，将打破等等。他很害羞，隐瞒，虽然充满了关注。
乌苏拉说服唱`安妮劳里，“教授把它称为。有一个嘘的极端尊重。她从来没有在她的生活一直如此受宠若惊。戈珍陪同她在钢琴上，从内存中播放。
乌苏拉有一个美丽的振铃声音，但通常没有信心，她宠坏了一切。这个晚上，她感到自负，不受束缚。的Birkin的背景下，她几乎照反应，德国人让她觉得罚款和万无一失，她解放到唯我独尊的自信。她觉得自己像鸟一样在空中飞来飞去，为她的声音飙出来，享受自己非常的平衡和飞行的歌曲，像鸟的翅膀起来在风中运动，滑动和打空气，她演奏与多愁善感，由欢天喜地注意支持。她高兴极了，由她自己唱的那首歌，充满情感和权力的自负，工作后，所有的人，并呼吁自己，发挥自己的满足感，给德国不可估量满足。
在结束时，德国人都慕名而来，美味的惆怅与感动，他们称赞她在柔软的，虔诚的声音，他们不能说太多。
`魏某舍恩魏某ruhrend！唉，模具Schottischen艺术歌曲，SIE它们所以维斯Stimmung的的！阿伯模具gnadige弗劳的帽子EINE wunderbare之声;模具gnadige弗劳IST wirklich EINE Kunstlerin，阿伯wirklich！'
她是扩张和辉煌，在早晨的阳光像花一样。她感到Birkin的看着她，仿佛他是嫉妒她，激动和她的乳房，她的血管都是金色的。她很高兴，因为云层之上的太阳刚刚开业。，每个人都显得那么的欣赏和辐射，它是完美的。
晚饭后，她想出去一分钟，看世界。该公司试图劝阻她 - 它是如此冷得要命。但只是为了看看，她说。
他们所有四个包裹起来热烈，发现自己在一个模糊的，薄弱的室外昏暗的雪和鬼的世界上，奇怪的阴影前的星星。这的确是冷，bruisingly得吓人，不自然冷。乌苏拉简直不敢相信在她的鼻孔的空气。这似乎是有意识的，恶毒的，立意在其强烈的杀气寒光。
然而，这是美妙的，中毒，昏暗一片寂静，未变现雪，干预和她之间的可见的无形之间，她和闪烁的星星。她可以看到猎户座倾斜。他是多么美妙，美好的，足以使一个哭出声。
和所有周围这个摇篮，雪，并有坚定的雪在脚下，通过她的引导鞋底袭击重感冒。这是晚上，和沉默。她想到她能听到的星星。她想象中的明显，她能听到天体运动的明星，音乐，相当近在咫尺。她似乎像鸟儿一样飞之间的和谐运动。
但她紧紧搂住接近的Birkin。她突然意识到，她不知道他在想什么。她不知道他在那里不等。
`我的爱人！“ 她说，停下来看着他。
他的脸色苍白，他的眼前一片漆黑，他们有一个微弱的星光火花。他看到她的脸软，他上翘，非常靠近。他轻轻地吻了她。
`什么呢？“ 他问道。
“你爱我吗？“她问道。”
`太多了，“他平静地回答。
她抱着一点点接近。
`不要太多，“她承认。
`远东太多，“他说，几乎是可悲的。
`它让你伤心，我是你的一切吗？“ 她问，怅惘。他握着她靠近他，亲吻她，并且说，几乎没有声响：
“没有，但我觉得自己像一个乞丐 - 我觉得可怜。”
她沉默了，看着现在的明星。然后，她吻了他。
`不要成为一个乞丐，“她承认，若有所思。`这是不可耻的，你爱我。“
`这是可耻的手感不佳，是不是？“ 他回答说。
“为什么？” 为什么应该是什么？“ “她问道。” 他站定，在可怕的冷空气移动在山顶无形，她的一轮，他的手臂折叠。
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