little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第35部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


It……hem！……it's　a　little　thing；　but　it　puts　me　out；　my　love。　It's
impossible　to　forget；'　turning　his　hands　over　and　over　and　looking
closely　at　them；　'that……hem！……that　in　such　a　life　as　mine；　I　am
unfortunately　dependent　on　these　men　for　something　every　hour　in　the
day。'

Her　arm　was　on　his　shoulder；　but　she　did　not　look　in　his　face　while　he
spoke。　Bending　her　head　she　looked　another　way。

'I……hem！……I　can't　think；　Amy；　what　has　given　Chivery　offence。　He　is
generally　so……so　very　attentive　and　respectful。　And　to…night　he　was
quite……quite　short　with　me。　Other　people　there　too！　Why；　good　Heaven！
if　I　was　to　lose　the　support　and　recognition　of　Chivery　and　his　brother
officers；　I　might　starve　to　death　here。'　While　he　spoke；　he　was　opening
and　shutting　his　hands　like　valves；　so　conscious　all　the　time　of　that
touch　of　shame；　that　he　shrunk　before　his　own　knowledge　of　his　meaning。

'I……ha！……I　can't　think　what　it's　owing　to。　I　am　sure　I　cannot　imagine
what　the　cause　of　it　is。　There　was　a　certain　Jackson　here　once；　a
turnkey　of　the　name　of　Jackson　（I　don't　think　you　can　remember　him；
my　dear；　you　were　very　young）；　and……hem！……and　he　had　a……brother；　and
this……young　brother　paid　his　addresses　to……at　least；　did　not　go　so　far
as　to　pay　his　addresses　to……but　admired……respectfully　admired……the……not
daughter；　the　sister……of　one　of　us；　a　rather　distinguished　Collegian；　I
may　say；　very　much　so。　His　name　was　Captain　Martin；　and　he
consulted　me　on　the　question　whether　It　was　necessary　that　his
daughter……sister……should　hazard　offending　the　turnkey　brother　by
being　too……ha！……too　plain　with　the　other　brother。　Captain　Martin　was
a　gentleman　and　a　man　of　honour；　and　I　put　it　to　him　first　to　give　me
his……his　own　opinion。　Captain　Martin　（highly　respected　in　the　army）　then
unhesitatingly　said　that　it　appeared　to　him　that　his……hem！……sister　was
not　called　upon　to　understand　the　young　man　too　distinctly；　and　that
she　might　lead　him　on……I　am　doubtful　whether　〃lead　him　on〃　was　Captain
Martin's　exact　expression：　indeed　I　think　he　said　tolerate　him……on　her
father's……I　should　say；　brother's……account。　I　hardly　know　how　I　have
strayed　into　this　story。　I　suppose　it　has　been　through　being　unable　to
account　for　Chivery；　but　as　to　the　connection　between　the　two；　I　don't
see……'

His　voice　died　away；　as　if　she　could　not　bear　the　pain　of　hearing　him；
and　her　hand　had　gradually　crept　to　his　lips。　For　a　little　while　there
was　a　dead　silence　and　stillness；　and　he　remained　shrunk　in　his　chair；
and　she　remained　with　her　arm　round　his　neck　and　her　head　bowed　down
upon　his　shoulder。

His　supper　was　cooking　in　a　saucepan　on　the　fire；　and；　when　she　moved；
it　was　to　make　it　ready　for　him　on　the　table。　He　took　his　usual　seat；
she　took　hers；　and　he　began　his　meal。　They　did　not；　as　yet；　look　at　one
another。　By　little　and　little　he　began；　laying　down　his　knife　and　fork
with　a　noise；　taking　things　up　sharply；　biting　at　his　bread　as　if　he
were　offended　with　it；　and　in　other　similar　ways　showing　that　he　was　out
of　sorts。　At　length　he　pushed　his　plate　from　him；　and　spoke　aloud；　with
the　strangest　inconsistency。

'What　does　it　matter　whether　I　eat　or　starve？　What　does　it　matter
whether　such　a　blighted　life　as　mine　es　to　an　end；　now；　next　week；　or
next　year？　What　am　I　worth　to　anyone？　A　poor　prisoner；　fed　on　alms　and
broken　victuals；　a　squalid；　disgraced　wretch！'

'Father；　father！'　As　he　rose　she　went　on　her　knees　to　him；　and　held　up
her　hands　to　him。

'Amy；'　he　went　on　in　a　suppressed　voice；　trembling　violently；　and
looking　at　her　as　wildly　as　if　he　had　gone　mad。　'I　tell　you；　if　you
could　see　me　as　your　mother　saw　me；　you　wouldn't　believe　it　to　be　the
creature　you　have　only　looked　at　through　the　bars　of　this　cage。　I　was
young；　I　was　acplished；　I　was　good…looking；　I　was　independent……by　God
I　was；　child！……and　people　sought　me　out；　and　envied　me。　Envied　me！'

'Dear　father！'　She　tried　to　take　down　the　shaking　arm　that　he　flourished
in　the　air；　but　he　resisted；　and　put　her　hand　away。

'If　I　had　but　a　picture　of　myself　in　those　days；　though　it　was　ever　so
ill　done；　you　would　be　proud　of　it；　you　would　be　proud　of　it。　But　I　have
no　such　thing。　Now；　let　me　be　a　warning！　Let　no　man；'　he　cried；　looking
haggardly　about；　'fail　to　preserve　at　least　that　little　of　the　times　of
his　prosperity　and　respect。　Let　his　children　have　that　clue　to　what　he
was。　Unless　my　face；　when　I　am　dead；　subsides　into　the　long　departed
look……they　say　such　things　happen；　I　don't　know……my　children　will　have
never　seen　me。'

'Father；　father！'

'O　despise　me；　despise　me！　Look　away　from　me；　don't　listen　to　me；　stop
me；　blush　for　me；　cry　for　me……even　you；　Amy！　Do　it；　do　it！　I　do　it　to
myself！　I　am　hardened　now；　I　have　sunk　too　low　to　care　long　even　for
that。'

'Dear　father；　loved　father；　darling　of　my　heart！'　She　was　clinging　to
him　with　her　arms；　and　she　got　him　to　drop　into　his　chair　again；　and
caught　at　the　raised　arm；　and　tried　to　put　it　round　her　neck。

'Let　it　lie　there；　father。　Look　at　me；　father；　kiss　me；　father！　Only
think　of　me；　father；　for　one　little　moment！'

Still　he　went　on　in　the　same　wild　way；　though　it　was　gradually　breaking
down　into　a　miserable　whining。

'And　yet　I　have　some　respect　here。　I　have　made　some　stand　against　it。　I
am　not　quite　trodden　down。　Go　out　and　ask　who　is　the　chief　person　in　the
place。　They'll　tell　you　it's　your　father。　Go　out　and　ask　who　is　never
trifled　with；　and　who　is　always　treated　with　some　delicacy。　They'll　say；
your　father。　Go　out　and　ask　what　funeral　here　（it　must　be　here；　I　know
it　can　be　nowhere　else）　will　make　more　talk；　and　perhaps　more　grief；
than　any　that　has　ever　gone　out　at　the　gate。　They'll　say　your　father's。
Well　then。　Amy！　Amy！　Is　your　father　so　universally　despised？　Is　there
nothing　to　redeem　him？　Will　you　have　nothing　to　remember　him　by　but　his
ruin　and　decay？　Will　you　be　able　to　have　no　affection　for　him　when　he　is
gone；　poor　castaway；　gone？'

He　burst　into　tears　of　maudlin　pity　for　himself；　and　at　length　suffering
her　to　embrace　him　and　take　charge　of　him；　let　his　grey　head　rest
against　her　cheek；　and　bewailed　his　wretchedness。　Presently　he　changed
the　subject　of　his　lamentations；　and　clasping　his　hands　about　her　as　she
embraced　him；　cried；　O　Amy；　his　motherless；　forlorn　child！　O　the　days
that　he　had　seen　her　careful　and　laborious　for　him！　Then　he　reverted　to
himself；　and　weakly　told　her　how　much　better　she　would　have　loved　him
if　she　had　known　him　in　his　vanished　character；　and　how　he　would　have
married　her　to　a　gentleman　who　should　have　been　proud　of　her　as　his
daughter；　and　how　（at　which　he　cried　again）　she　should　first　have　ridden
at　his　fatherly　side　on　her　own　horse；　and　how　the　crowd　（by　which　he
meant　in　effect　the　people　who　had　given　him　the　twelve　shillings
he　then　had　in　his　pocket）　should　have　trudged　the　dusty　roads
respectfully。

Thus；　now　boasting；　now　despairing；　in　either　fit　a　captive　with　the
jail…rot　upon　him；　and　the　impurity　of　his　prison　worn　into　the　grain　of
his　soul；　he　revealed　his　degenerate　state　to　his　affectionate　child。
No　one　else　ever　beheld　him　in　the　details　of　his　humiliation。　Little
recked　the　Collegians　who　were　laughing　in　their　rooms　over　his　late
address　in　the　Lodge；　what　a　serious　picture　they　had　in　their　obscure
gallery　of　the　Marshalsea　that　Sunday　night。

There　was　a　classical　daughter　once……perhaps……who　ministered　to　her
father　in　his　prison　as　her　mother　had　ministered　to　her。　Little　Dorrit；
though　of　the　unheroic　modern　stock　and　mere　English；　did　much　more；
in　forting　her　father's　wasted　heart　upon　her　innocent　breast；　and
turning　to　it　a　fountain　of　love　and　fidelity　that　never　ran　dry　or
waned　through　all　his　years　of　famine。

She　soothed　him；　asked　him　for　his　forgiveness　if　she　had　been；　or
seemed　to　have　been；　undutiful；　told　him；　Heaven　knows　truly；　that　she
could　not　honour　him　more　if　he　were　the　favourite　of　Fortune　and　the
whole　world　acknowledged　him。　When　his　tears　were　dried；　and　he　sobbed
in　his　weakness　no　longer；　and　was　free　from　that　touch　of　shame；　and
had　recovered　his　usual　bearing；　she　prepared　the　remains　of　his　supper
afresh；　and；　sitting　by　his　side；　rejoiced　to　see　him　eat　and　drink。　For
now　he　sat　in　his　black　velvet　cap　and　old　grey　gown；　magnanimous　again；
and　would　have　ported　himself　towards　any　Collegian　who　might　have
looked　in　to　ask　his　advice；　like　a　great　moral　Lord　Chesterfield；　or
Master　of　the　ethical　ceremonies　of　the　Marshalsea。

To　keep　his　attention　engaged；　she　talked　with　him　about　his　wardrobe；
when　he　was　pleased　to　say；　that　Yes；　indeed；　those　shirts　she　proposed
would　be　exceedingly　acceptable；　for　those　he　had　were　worn　out；　and；
being　ready…made；　had　never　fitted　him。　Being　conversational；　and　in　a
reasonable　flow　of　spirits；　he　then　invited　her　attention　to　his　coat
as　it　hung　behind　the　door：　remarking　that　the　Father　of　the　place
would　set　an　indifferent　example　to　his　children；　already　disposed　to　be
slovenly；　if　he　went　among　them　out　at　elbows。　He　was　jocular；　too；
as　to　the　heeling　of　his　shoes；　but　became　grave　on　the　subject　of　his
cravat；　and　promised　her　that；　when　she　could　afford　it；　she　should　buy
him　a　new　one。

While　he　smoked　out　his　cigar　in　peace；　she　made　his　bed；　and　put　the
small　room　in　order　for　his　repose。　Being　weary　then；　owing　to　the
advanced　hour　and　his　emotions；　he　came　out　of　his　chair　to　bless　her
and　wish　her　Good　night。　All　this　time　he　had　never　once　thought　of　HER
dress；　her　shoes；　her　need　of　anything。　No　other　person　upon　earth；　save
herself；　could　have　been　so　unmindful　of　her　wants。


He　kissed　her　many　times　with　'Bless　you；　my　love。　Good　night；　MY　dear！'

But　her　gentle　breast　had　been　so　deeply　wounded　by　what　she　had　seen　of
him　that　she　was　unwilling　to　leave　him　alone；　lest　he　should　lament
and　despair　again。　'Father；　dear；　I　am　not　tired；　let　me　e　back
presently；　when　you　are　in　bed；　and　sit　by　you。'

He　asked　her；　with　an　air　of　protection；　if　she　felt　solitary？

'Yes；　father。'

'Then　e　back　by　all　means；　my　love。'

'I　shall　be　very　quiet；　father。'


'Don't　think　of　me；　my　dear；'　he　said；　giving　her　his　kind　permission
fully。　'e　back　by　all　means。'

He　seemed　to　be　dozing　when　she　returned；　and　she　put　the　low　fire
together　very　softly　lest　she　should　awake　him。　But　he　overheard　her；
and　called　out　who　was　that？

'Only　Amy；　father。'

'Amy；　my　child；　e　here。　I　want　to　say　a　word　to　you。'　He　raised
himself　a　little　in　his　low　bed；　as　she　kneeled　beside　it　to　bring　her
face　near　him；　and　put　his　hand　between　hers。　O！　Both　the　private　father
and　the　Father　of　the　Marshalsea　were　strong　within　him　then。

'My　love；　you　have　had　a　life　of　hardship　here。　No　panions；　no
recreations；　many　cares　I　am　afraid？'

'Don't　think　of　that；　dear。　I　never　do。'

'You　know　my　position；　Amy。　I　have　not　been　able　to　do　much　for　you；　but
all　I　have　been　able　to　do；　I　have　done。'

'Yes；　my　dear　father；'　she　rejoined；　kissing　him。　'I　know；　I　know。'

'I　am　in　the　twenty…third　year　of　my　life　here；'　he　said；　with　a　catch
in　his　breath　that　was　not　so　much　a　sob　as　an　irrepressible　sound　of
self…approval；　the　momentary　outburst　of　a　noble　consciousness。　'It　is
all　I　could　do　for　my　children……I　have　done　it。　Amy；　my　love；　you　are
by　far　the　best　loved　of　the　three；　I　have　had　you　principally　in　my
mind……whatever　I　have　done　for　your　sake；　my　dear　child；　I　have　done
freely　and　without　murmuring。'

Only　the　wisdom　that　holds　the　clue　to　all　hearts　and　all　mysteries；　can
surely　know　to　what　extent　a　man；　especially　a　man　brought　down　as　this
man　had　been；　can　impose　upon　himself。　Enough；　for　the　present　place；
that　he　lay　down　with　wet　eyelashes；　serene；　in　a　manner　majestic；　after
bestowing　his　life　of　degradation　as　a　sort　of　portion　on　the　devoted
child　upon　whom　its　miseries　had　fallen　so　heavily；　and　whose　love　alone
had　saved　him　to　be　even　what　he　was。

That　child　had　no　doubts；　asked　herself　no　question；　for　she　was　but　too
content　to　see　him　with　a　lustre　round　his　head。　Poor　dear；　good　dear；
truest；　kindest；　dearest；　were　the　only　words　she　had　for　him；　as　she
hushed　him　to　rest。

She　never　left　him　all　that　night。　As　if　she　had　done　him　a　wrong　which
her　tenderness　could　hardly　repair；　she　sat　by　him　in　his　sleep；　at
times　softly　kissing　him　with　suspended　breath；　and　calling　him　in　a
whisper　by　some　endearing　name。　At　times　she　stood　aside　so　as　not　to
intercept　the　low　fire…light；　and；　watching　him　when　it　fell　upon　his
sleeping　face；　wondered　did　he　look　now　at　all　as　he　had　looked　when　he
was　prosperous　and　happy；　as　he　had　so　touched　her　by　imagining　that　he
might　look　once　more　in　that　awful　time。　At　the　thought　of　that　time；
she　kneeled　beside　his　bed　again；　and　prayed；　'O　spare　his　life！　O
save　him　to　me！　O　look　down　upon　my　dear；　long…suffering；　unfortunate；
much…changed；　dear　dear　father！'

Not　until　the　morning　came　to　protect　him　and　encourage　him；　did　she
give　him　a　last　kiss　and　leave　the　small　room。　When　she　had　stolen
down…stairs；　and　along　the　empty　yard；　and　had　crept　up　to　her　own
high　garret；　the　smokeless　housetops　and　the　distant　country　hills　were
discernible　over　the　wall　in　the　clear　morning。　As　she　gently　opened　the
window；　and　looked　eastward　down　the　prison　yard；　the　spikes　upon　the
wall　were　tipped　with　red；　then　made　a　sullen　purple　pattern　on　the　sun
as　it　came　flaming　up　into　the　heavens。　The　spikes　had　never　looked　so
sharp　and　cruel；　nor　the　bars　so　heavy；　nor　the　prison　space　so　gloomy
and　contracted。　She　thought　of　the　sunrise　on　rolling　rivers；　of　the
sunrise　on　wide　seas；　of　the　sunrise　on　rich　landscapes；　of　the
sunrise　on　great　forests　where　the　birds　were　waking　and　the　trees　were
rustling；　and　she　looked　down　into　the　living　grave　on　which　the　sun
had　risen；　with　her　father　in　it　three…and…twenty　years；　and　said；　in
a　burst　of　sorrow　and　passion；　'No；　no；　I　have　never　seen　him　in　my
life！'




CHAPTER　20。　Moving　in　Society

If　Young　John　Chivery　had　had　the　inclination　and　the　power　to　write　a
satire　on　family　pride；　he　would　have　had　no　need　to　go　for　an　avenging
illustration　out　of　the　family　of　his　beloved。　He　would　have　found　it
amply　in　that　gallant　brother　and　that　dainty　sister；　so　steeped　in　mean
experiences；　and　so　loftily　conscious　of　the　family　name；　so　ready
to　beg　or　borrow　from　the　poorest；　to　eat　of　anybody's　bread；　spend
anybody's　money；　drink　from　anybody's　cup　and　break　it　afterwards。
To　have　painted　the　sordid　facts　of　their　lives；　and　they　throughout
invoking　the　death's　head　apparition　of　the　family　gentility　to　e　and
scare　their　benefactors；　would　have　made　Young　John　a　satirist　of　the
first　water。

Tip　had　turned　his　liberty　to　hopeful　account　by　being　a
billiard…marker。　He　had　troubled　himself　so　little　as　to　the　means　of
his　release；　that　Clennam　scarcely　needed　to　have　been　at　the　pains　of
impressing　the　mind　of　Mr　Plornish　on　that　subject。　Whoever　had　paid
him　the　pliment；　he　very　readily　accepted　the　pliment　with　HIS
pliments；　and　there　was　an　end　of　it。　Issuing　forth　from　the　gate
on　these　easy　terms；　he　became　a　billiard…marker；　and　now　occasionally
looked　in　at　the　little　skittle…ground　in　a　green　Newmarket　coat
（second…hand）；　wit