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Alas； that so soon the drama is over； that life is ended at
thirtythree； that the half of the year of the soul is cold and
historiless！ Alas； that a risen Christ has no place with us！
Alas； that the memory of the passion of Sorrow and Death and the
Grave holds triumph over the pale fact of Resurrection！
But why？ Why shall I not rise with my body whole and perfect；
shining with strong life？ Why； when Mary says： Rabboni； shall I
not take her in my arms and kiss her and hold her to my breast？
Why is the risen body deadly； and abhorrent with wounds？
The Resurrection is to life； not to death。 Shall I not see
those who have risen again walk here among men perfect in body
and spirit； whole and glad in the flesh； living in the flesh；
loving in the flesh； begetting children in the flesh； arrived at
last to wholeness； perfect without scar or blemish； healthy
without fear of ill health？ Is this not the period of manhood
and of joy and fulfilment； after the Resurrection？ Who shall be
shadowed by Death and the Cross； being risen； and who shall fear
the mystic； perfect flesh that belongs to heaven？
Can I not； then； walk this earth in gladness； being risen
from sorrow？ Can I not eat with my brother happily； and with joy
kiss my beloved； after my resurrection； celebrate my marriage in
the flesh with feastings； go about my business eagerly； in the
joy of my fellows？ Is heaven impatient for me； and bitter
against this earth； that I should hurry off； or that I should
linger pale and untouched？ Is the flesh which was crucified
bee as poison to the crowds in the street； or is it as a
strong gladness and hope to them； as the first flower blossoming
out of the earth's humus？
CHAPTER XII
FIRST LOVE
As Ursula passed from girlhood towards womanhood； gradually
the cloud of selfresponsibility gathered upon her。 She became
aware of herself； that she was a separate entity in the midst of
an unseparated obscurity； that she must go somewhere； she must
bee something。 And she was afraid； troubled。 Why； oh why must
one grow up； why must one inherit this heavy； numbing
responsibility of living an undiscovered life？ Out of the
nothingness and the undifferentiated mass； to make something of
herself！ But what？ In the obscurity and pathlessness to take a
direction！ But whither？ How take even one step？ And yet； how
stand still？ This was torment indeed； to inherit the
responsibility of one's own life。
The religion which had been another world for her； a glorious
sort of playworld； where she lived； climbing the tree with the
shortstatured man； walking shakily on the sea like the
disciple； breaking the bread into five thousand portions； like
the Lord； giving a great picnic to five thousand people； now
fell away from reality； and became a tale； a myth； an illusion；
which； however much one might assert it to be true an historical
fact； one knew was not trueat least； for this
presentday life of ours。 There could； within the limits
of this life we know； be no Feeding of the Five Thousand。 And
the girl had e to the point where she held that that which
one cannot experience in daily life is not true for oneself。
So； the old duality of life； wherein there had been a weekday
world of people and trains and duties and reports； and besides
that a Sunday world of absolute truth and living mystery； of
walking upon the waters and being blinded by the face of the
Lord； of following the pillar of cloud across the desert and
watching the bush that crackled yet did not burn away； this old；
unquestioned duality suddenly was found to be broken apart。 The
weekday world had triumphed over the Sunday world。 The Sunday
world was not real； or at least； not actual。 And one lived by
action。
Only the weekday world mattered。 She herself； Ursula
Brangwen； must know how to take the weekday life。 Her body must
be a weekday body； held in the world's estimate。 Her soul must
have a weekday value； known according to the world's
knowledge。
Well； then； there was a weekday life to live； of action and
deeds。 And so there was a necessity to choose one's action and
one's deeds。 One was responsible to the world for what one
did。
Nay； one was more than responsible to the world。 One was
responsible to oneself。 There was some puzzling； tormenting
residue of the Sunday world within her； some persistent Sunday
self； which insisted upon a relationship with the now shedaway
vision world。 How could one keep up a relationship with that
which one denied？ Her task was now to learn the weekday
life。
How to act； that was the question？ Whither to go； how to
bee oneself？ One was not oneself； one was merely a
halfstated question。 How to bee oneself； how to know the
question and the answer of oneself； when one was merely an
unfixed somethingnothing； blowing about like the winds of
heaven； undefined； unstated。
She turned to the visions； which had spoken faroff words
that ran along the blood like ripples of an unseen wind； she
heard the words again； she denied the vision； for she must be a
weekday person； to whom visions were not true； and she demanded
only the weekday meaning of the words。
There were words spoken by the vision： and words must
have a weekday meaning； since words were weekday stuff。 Let them
speak now： let them bespeak themselves in weekday terms。 The
vision should translate itself into weekday terms。
〃Sell all thou hast； and give to the poor；〃 she heard on
Sunday morning。 That was plain enough； plain enough for Monday
morning too。 As she went down the hill to the station； going to
school； she took the saying with her。
〃Sell all thou hast； and give to the poor。〃
Did she want to do that？ Did she want to sell her
pearlbacked brush and mirror； her silver candlestick； her
pendant； her lovely little necklace； and go dressed in drab like
the Wherrys： the unlovely unbed Wherrys； who were the 〃poor〃
to her？ She did not。
She walked this Monday morning on the verge of misery。 For
she did want to do what was right。 And she didn't want to do
what the gospels said。 She didn't want to be poorreally
poor。 The thought was a horror to her： to live like the Wherrys；
so ugly； to be at the mercy of everybody。
〃Sell that thou hast； and give to the poor。〃
One could not do it in real life。 How dreary and hopeless it
made her！
Nor could one turn the other cheek。 Theresa slapped Ursula on
the face。 Ursula； in a mood of Christian humility； silently
presented the other side of her face。 Which Theresa； in
exasperation at the challenge； also hit。 Whereupon Ursula； with
boiling heart； went meekly away。
But anger； and deep； writhing shame tortured her； so she was
not easy till she had again quarrelled with Theresa and had
almost shaken her sister's head off。
〃That'll teach you；〃 she said； grimly。
And she went away； unchristian but clean。
There was something unclean and degrading about this humble
side of Christianity。 Ursula suddenly revolted to the other
extreme。
〃I hate the Wherrys； and I wish they were dead。 Why does my
father leave us in the lurch like this； making us be poor and
insignificant？ Why is he not more？ If we had a father as he
ought to be； he would be Earl William Brangwen； and I should be
the Lady Ursula？ What right have I to be poor？ crawling
along the lane like vermin？ If I had my rights I should be
seated on horseback in a green ridinghabit； and my groom would
be behind me。 And I should stop at the gates of the cottages；
and enquire of the cottage woman who came out with a child in
her arms； how did her husband； who had hurt his foot。 And I
would pat the flaxen head of the child； stooping from my horse；
and I would give her a shilling from my purse； and order
nourishing food to be sent from the hall to the cottage。〃
So she rode in her pride。 And sometimes； she dashed into
flames to rescue a fotten child； or she dived into the canal
locks and supported a boy who was seized with cramp； or she
swept up a toddling infant from the feet of a runaway horse：
always imaginatively； of course。
But in the end there returned the poignant yearning from the
Sunday world。 As she went down in the morning from Cossethay and
saw Ilkeston smoking bl