Chapter 3 3

Gudrun questioned, "Are we going to stay here?"

Ursula stood up and retorted, "I was only resting for a minute." We'll stand on the fives court corner, where we'll have a good view of everything.

For the time being, the sun shone brightly into the churchyard. A faint aroma of sap and of spring, possibly of violets from the tombs, could be detected. There were several angelic-looking white daisies in bloom. The copper-beech tree's expanding leaves were blood-red in the air.

The carriages started to arrive promptly at eleven o'clock. Wedding guests were descending the steps and walking along the red carpet to the church when there was a commotion in the crowd at the entrance and a moment of focus as a carriage pulled up. The fact that the sun was shining made them all gay and happy.

Gudrun kept a careful eye on them out of pure curiosity. Each one was seen by her as a fully realized individual, similar to a character in a novel, a subject in a painting, or a puppet in a theater. She enjoyed identifying their varied traits, putting them in their proper context, providing them with their own surroundings, and setting them down for good as they passed in front of her on the walk to the church. She was aware that they had been completed for her, sealed, stamped, and done. Before the Criches started to show up, there was nothing that was unsettled or unknown. Then she became intrigued. This was something that wasn't quite so predetermined.

Gerald Crich, the mother's eldest son, and Mrs. Crich arrived. Despite the obvious attempts to bring her into line for the day, she cut a strange, untidy figure. She leaned slightly forward and had a pale, yellowish face with clear, transparent skin. Her features were well-defined and attractive, and she had a tense, predatory expression. She had unruly colorless hair that was falling out from behind her blue silk bonnet and onto her dark blue silk satchel coat. She had a monomaniacal appearance that was somewhat furtive but overwhelmingly proud.

Her son was of the fair, tanned kind, slightly taller than average, well-built, and almost excessively well-dressed. But he also had a peculiar, guarded look and an unconscious glimmer about him, as if he were not a part of the same creation as those around him. Gudrun immediately lighted on him. She was drawn to him because of something about him that was northern. His fair hair and clear northern skin had a sheen to them that resembled sunlight reflecting off of ice crystals. He also appeared to be as fresh, untainted, and arctic in nature. He might have been thirty years old or older. She could see through his sparkling beauty and manliness, which made him seem like a young, jovial, smiling wolf, the menacing stillness in his bearing and the looming threat of his uncontrollable temper. She kept saying to herself, "His totem is the wolf." His mother is a wolf that is elderly and unbroken. She then felt a sharp paroxysm, a transfer, as if she had found some tremendous revelation that no one else on planet was aware of. Her entire body was taken over by a strange conveyance, and her veins began to throb violently. She muttered to herself, "Good God, what is this?" Following that, she confidently declared, "I shall know more of that man." She was tormented by a need to see him again, a nostalgia, and a desire to do so in order to confirm that she had not imagined everything, that she was not actually experiencing this strange and overwhelming sensation on his account, this knowledge of him in her core, and this strong apprehension of him. Is there truly a pale gold, arctic light that surrounds only the two of us? she questioned to herself. "Am I REALLY singled out for him in some way?" she questioned. She remained in a trance, barely aware of what was going on around her, since she could not believe it.

The bridegroom was absent, but the bridesmaids were present. Ursula questioned whether anything was wrong and whether the wedding would ultimately fail. She experienced distress, as though it were her fault. The lead bridesmaids had shown up. Ursula observed them ascend the stairs. One of them, a tall, sluggish, reticent woman with weighty fair hair and a pale, long face, was someone she was familiar with. It was the Criches' pal Hermione Roddice. Now she came up, holding her head high and carrying a huge flat hat made of pale yellow velvet with streaks of natural and gray ostrich feathers on it. Her long, white face was raised up so she wouldn't have to look out at the world as she slid ahead as though hardly conscious. She had money. She carried a large number of tiny rose-colored cyclamens and wore a garment made of soft, fragile velvet in a pale yellow color. Her hair was heavy, her shoes and stockings were brownish gray, just like the feathers on her hat, and she walked with an odd fixation of the hips and an odd hesitant motion. She was striking with her exquisite pale yellow and brownish rose coloring, but she also had a ghastly, unappealing quality. When she passed, people were stunned, aroused, and ready to jeer but were kept mute for some reason. Her long, pale face, which she carried high up in a Rossetti-esque manner, appeared almost intoxicated, as though she were trapped inside a bizarre mass of thoughts from which she was unable to free herself.

Ursula was enthralled as she observed her. She knew her to some extent. She was the Midlands' most extraordinary woman. She was a woman of the new school, full of knowledge and heavy on the nerves from consciousness, unlike her father, a Derbyshire Baronet of the old school. She had a deep desire for change, and she gave her soul to the greater good. But the world of men gripped her because she was a man's lady.

She engaged in a variety of mind- and soul-intimate relationships with strong guys. Only Rupert Birkin, one of the county's school inspectors, was one of these guys that Ursula knew. Gudrun, though, had met others in London. Gudrun had already made a good number of acquaintances who were well-known and respected from all spheres of society as she moved around with her artist buddies. Hermione had twice met her, but the two had never clicked. After getting to know one other on equal terms in the homes of various acquaintances in the town, it would be strange for them to cross paths again here in the Midlands, where their social standing was so distinct. Gudrun had acquaintances among the lax aristocracy who are interested in the arts since she had been a social success.

Hermione was aware of her impeccable appearance and that she was socially superior to everyone she would likely encounter in Willey Green, if not on a par with them. She was aware of her acceptance in the intellectual and cultural worlds. She served as a KULTURTRAGER-a conduit for ideas culture. She was at one with everything that was best, whether it be in society, thought, public action, or even art. She moved among the elite and felt at home with them. Because she was among the first and those who opposed her were inferior to her in terms of position, riches, or elevated associations of thinking, growth, and understanding, no one could denigrate her or mock her. This made her immune to harm. She had spent her entire life trying to become untouchable, untouchable, and immune to the criticism of others.