little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第56部分

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an　immovable　countenance；　he　was；　and　resolved　to　remain；　one　of　these
little　old　men　in　a　grove　of　little　old　men　with　a　munity　of　flavour。

But　no　poverty　in　him；　and　no　coat　on　him　that　never　was　the　mode；　and
no　Old　Men's　Ward　for　his　dwelling…place；　could　quench　his　daughter's
admiration。　Mrs　Plornish　was　as　proud　of　her　father's　talents　as　she
could　possibly　have　been　if　they　had　made　him　Lord　Chancellor。　She　had
as　firm　a　belief　in　the　sweetness　and　propriety　of　his　manners　as　she
could　possibly　have　had　if　he　had　been　Lord　Chamberlain。　The　poor　little
old　man　knew　some　pale　and　vapid　little　songs；　long　out　of　date；　about
Chloe；　and　Phyllis；　and　Strephon　being　wounded　by　the　son　of　Venus；
and　for　Mrs　Plornish　there　was　no　such　music　at　the　Opera　as　the　small
internal　flutterings　and　chirpings　wherein　he　would　discharge　himself
of　these　ditties；　like　a　weak；　little；　broken　barrel…organ；　ground　by
a　baby。　On　his　'days　out；'　those　flecks　of　light　in　his　flat　vista　of
pollard　old　men；'　it　was　at　once　Mrs　Plornish's　delight　and　sorrow；
when　he　was　strong　with　meat；　and　had　taken　his　full　halfpenny…worth　of
porter；　to　say；　'Sing　us　a　song；　Father。'　Then　he　would　give　them　Chloe；
and　if　he　were　in　pretty　good　spirits；　Phyllis　also……Strephon　he　had
hardly　been　up　to　since　he　went　into　retirement……and　then　would　Mrs
Plornish　declare　she　did　believe　there　never　was　such　a　singer　as
Father；　and　wipe　her　eyes。

If　he　had　e　from　Court　on　these　occasions；　nay；　if　he　had　been　the
noble　Refrigerator　e　home　triumphantly　from　a　foreign　court　to　be
presented　and　promoted　on　his　last　tremendous　failure；　Mrs　Plornish
could　not　have　handed　him　with　greater　elevation　about　Bleeding　Heart
Yard。　'Here's　Father；'　she　would　say；　presenting　him　to　a　neighbour。
'Father　will　soon　be　home　with　us　for　good；　now。　Ain't　Father　looking
well？　Father's　a　sweeter　singer　than　ever；　you'd　never　have　forgotten
it；　if　you'd　aheard　him　just　now。'

As　to　Mr　Plornish；　he　had　married　these　articles　of　belief　in　marrying
Mr　Nandy's　daughter；　and　only　wondered　how　it　was　that　so　gifted　an
old　gentleman　had　not　made　a　fortune。　This　he　attributed；　after　much
reflection；　to　his　musical　genius　not　having　been　scientifically
developed　in　his　youth。　'For　why；'　argued　Mr　Plornish；　'why　go　a…binding
music　when　you've　got　it　in　yourself？　That's　where　it　is；　I　consider。'

Old　Nandy　had　a　patron：　one　patron。　He　had　a　patron　who　in　a　certain
sumptuous　way……an　apologetic　way；　as　if　he　constantly　took　an　admiring
audience　to　witness　that　he　really　could　not　help　being　more　free
with　this　old　fellow　than　they　might　have　expected；　on　account　of　his
simplicity　and　poverty……was　mightily　good　to　him。　Old　Nandy　had
been　several　times　to　the　Marshalsea　College；　municating　with　his
son…in…law　during　his　short　durance　there；　and　had　happily　acquired　to
himself；　and　had　by　degrees　and　in　course　of　time　much　improved；　the
patronage　of　the　Father　of　that　national　institution。

Mr　Dorrit　was　in　the　habit　of　receiving　this　old　man　as　if　the　old　man
held　of　him　in　vassalage　under　some　feudal　tenure。　He　made　little　treats
and　teas　for　him；　as　if　he　came　in　with　his　homage　from　some　outlying
district　where　the　tenantry　were　in　a　primitive　state。

It　seemed　as　if　there　were　moments　when　he　could　by　no　means　have
sworn　but　that　the　old　man　was　an　ancient　retainer　of　his；　who　had　been
meritoriously　faithful。　When　he　mentioned　him；　he　spoke　of　him　casually
as　his　old　pensioner。　He　had　a　wonderful　satisfaction　in　seeing　him；　and
in　menting　on　his　decayed　condition　after　he　was　gone。　It　appeared
to　him　amazing　that　he　could　hold　up　his　head　at　all；　poor　creature。　'In
the　Workhouse；　sir；　the　Union；　no　privacy；　no　visitors；　no　station；　no
respect；　no　speciality。　Most　deplorable！'

It　was　Old　Nandy's　birthday；　and　they　let　him　out。　He　said　nothing　about
its　being　his　birthday；　or　they　might　have　kept　him　in；　for　such　old
men　should　not　be　born。　He　passed　along　the　streets　as　usual　to　Bleeding
Heart　Yard；　and　had　his　dinner　with　his　daughter　and　son…in…law；　and
gave　them　Phyllis。　He　had　hardly　concluded；　when　Little　Dorrit　looked　in
to　see　how　they　all　were。

'Miss　Dorrit；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'here's　Father！　Ain't　he　looking　nice？
And　such　voice　he's　in！'

Little　Dorrit　gave　him　her　hand；　and　smilingly　said　she　had　not　seen　him
this　long　time。

'No；　they're　rather　hard　on　poor　Father；'　said　Mrs　Plornish　with　a
lengthening　face；　'and　don't　let　him　have　half　as　much　change　and　fresh
air　as　would　benefit　him。　But　he'll　soon　be　home　for　good；　now。　Won't
you；　Father？'

'Yes；　my　dear；　I　hope　so。　In　good　time；　please　God。'

Here　Mr　Plornish　delivered　himself　of　an　oration　which　he　invariably
made；　word　for　word　the　same；　on　all　such　opportunities。

It　was　couched　in　the　following　terms：

'John　Edward　Nandy。　Sir。　While　there's　a　ounce　of　wittles　or　drink　of
any　sort　in　this　present　roof；　you're　fully　wele　to　your　share　on
it。　While　there's　a　handful　of　fire　or　a　mouthful　of　bed　in　this　present
roof；　you're　fully　wele　to　your　share　on　it。

If　so　be　as　there　should　be　nothing　in　this　present　roof；　you　should　be
as　wele　to　your　share　on　it　as　if　it　was　something；　much　or　little。
And　this　is　what　I　mean　and　so　I　don't　deceive　you；　and　consequently
which　is　to　stand　out　is　to　entreat　of　you；　and　therefore　why　not　do
it？'

To　this　lucid　address；　which　Mr　Plornish　always　delivered　as　if　he　had
posed　it　（as　no　doubt　he　had）　with　enormous　labour；　Mrs　Plornish's
father　pipingly　replied：

'I　thank　you　kindly；　Thomas；　and　I　know　your　intentions　well；　which　is
the　same　I　thank　you　kindly　for。　But　no；　Thomas。　Until　such　times　as
it's　not　to　take　it　out　of　your　children's　mouths；　which　take　it　is；　and
call　it　by　what　name　you　will　it　do　remain　and　equally　deprive；　though
may　they　e；　and　too　soon　they　can　not　e；　no　Thomas；　no！'

Mrs　Plornish；　who　had　been　turning　her　face　a　little　away　with　a　corner
of　her　apron　in　her　hand；　brought　herself　back　to　the　conversation　again
by　telling　Miss　Dorrit　that　Father　was　going　over　the　water　to　pay　his
respects；　unless　she　knew　of　any　reason　why　it　might　not　be　agreeable。

Her　answer　was；　'I　am　going　straight　home；　and　if　he　will　e　with　me
I　shall　be　so　glad　to　take　care　of　him……so　glad；'　said　Little　Dorrit；
always　thoughtful　of　the　feelings　of　the　weak；　'of　his　pany。'

'There；　Father！'　cried　Mrs　Plornish。　'Ain't　you　a　gay　young　man　to
be　going　for　a　walk　along　with　Miss　Dorrit！　Let　me　tie　your
neck…handkerchief　into　a　regular　good　bow；　for　you're　a　regular　beau
yourself；　Father；　if　ever　there　was　one。'

With　this　filial　joke　his　daughter　smartened　him　up；　and　gave　him　a
loving　hug；　and　stood　at　the　door　with　her　weak　child　in　her　arms；　and
her　strong　child　tumbling　down　the　steps；　looking　after　her　little　old
father　as　he　toddled　away　with　his　arm　under　Little　Dorrit's。

They　walked　at　a　slow　pace；　and　Little　Dorrit　took　him　by　the　Iron
Bridge　and　sat　him　down　there　for　a　rest；　and　they　looked　over　at　the
water　and　talked　about　the　shipping；　and　the　old　man　mentioned　what　he
would　do　if　he　had　a　ship　full　of　gold　ing　home　to　him　（his　plan　was
to　take　a　noble　lodging　for　the　Plornishes　and　himself　at　a　Tea　Gardens；
and　live　there　all　the　rest　of　their　lives；　attended　on　by　the　waiter）；
and　it　was　a　special　birthday　of　the　old　man。　They　were　within　five
minutes　of　their　destination；　when；　at　the　corner　of　her　own　street；
they　came　upon　Fanny　in　her　new　bon　bound　for　the　same　port。

'Why；　good　gracious　me；　Amy！'　cried　that　young　lady　starting。　'You　never
mean　it！'

'Mean　what；　Fanny　dear？'

'Well！　I　could　have　believed　a　great　deal　of　you；'　returned　the　young
lady　with　burning　indignation；　'but　I　don't　think　even　I　could　have
believed　this；　of　even　you！'

'Fanny！'　cried　Little　Dorrit；　wounded　and　astonished。

'Oh！　Don't　Fanny　me；　you　mean　little　thing；　don't！　The　idea　of　ing
along　the　open　streets；　in　the　broad　light　of　day；　with　a　Pauper！'
（firing　off　the　last　word　as　if　it　were　a　ball　from　an　air…gun）。　'O
Fanny！'

'I　tell　you　not　to　Fanny　me；　for　I'll　not　submit　to　it！　I　never　knew
such　a　thing。　The　way　in　which　you　are　resolved　and　determined　to
disgrace　us　on　all　occasions；　is　really　infamous。　You　bad　little　thing！'

'Does　it　disgrace　anybody；'　said　Little　Dorrit；　very　gently；　'to　take
care　of　this　poor　old　man？'

'Yes；　miss；'　returned　her　sister；　'and　you　ought　to　know　it　does。
And　you　do　know　it　does；　and　you　do　it　because　you　know　it　does。　The
principal　pleasure　of　your　life　is　to　remind　your　family　of　their
misfortunes。　And　the　next　great　pleasure　of　your　existence　is　to　keep
low　pany。　But；　however；　if　you　have　no　sense　of　decency；　I
have。　You'll　please　to　allow　me　to　go　on　the　other　side　of　the　way；
unmolested。'

With　this；　she　bounced　across　to　the　opposite　pavement。　The　old
disgrace；　who　had　been　deferentially　bowing　a　pace　or　two　off　（for
Little　Dorrit　had　let　his　arm　go　in　her　wonder；　when　Fanny　began）；　and
who　had　been　hustled　and　cursed　by　impatient　passengers　for　stopping　the
way；　rejoined　his　panion；　rather　giddy；　and　said；　'I　hope　nothing's
wrong　with　your　honoured　father；　Miss？　I　hope　there's　nothing　the　matter
in　the　honoured　family？'

'No；　no；'　returned　Little　Dorrit。　'No；　thank　you。　Give　me　your　arm
again；　Mr　Nandy。　We　shall　soon　be　there　now。'

So　she　talked　to　him　as　she　had　talked　before；　and　they　came　to　the
Lodge　and　found　Mr　Chivery　on　the　lock；　and　went　in。　Now；　it　happened
that　the　Father　of　the　Marshalsea　was　sauntering　towards　the　Lodge　at
the　moment　when　they　were　ing　out　of　it；　entering　the　prison　arm　in
arm。　As　the　spectacle　of　their　approach　met　his　view；　he　displayed　the
utmost　agitation　and　despondency　of　mind；　and……altogether　regardless　of
Old　Nandy；　who；　making　his　reverence；　stood　with　his　hat　in　his　hand；　as
he　always　did　in　that　gracious　presence……turned　about；　and　hurried　in　at
his　own　doorway　and　up　the　staircase。

Leaving　the　old　unfortunate；　whom　in　an　evil　hour　she　had　taken　under
her　protection；　with　a　hurried　promise　to　return　to　him　directly；　Little
Dorrit　hastened　after　her　father；　and；　on　the　staircase；　found　Fanny
following　her；　and　flouncing　up　with　offended　dignity。　The　three　came
into　the　room　almost　together；　and　the　Father　sat　down　in　his　chair；
buried　his　face　in　his　hands；　and　uttered　a　groan。

'Of　course；'　said　Fanny。　'Very　proper。　Poor；　afflicted　Pa！　Now；　I　hope
you　believe　me；　Miss？'

'What　is　it；　father？'　cried　Little　Dorrit；　bending　over　him。　'Have　I
made　you　unhappy；　father？　Not　I；　I　hope！'

'You　hope；　indeed！　I　dare　say！　Oh；　you'……Fanny　paused　for　a　sufficiently
strong　expression……'you　mon…minded　little　Amy！　You　plete
prison…child！'

He　stopped　these　angry　reproaches　with　a　wave　of　his　hand；　and　sobbed
out；　raising　his　face　and　shaking　his　melancholy　head　at　his　younger
daughter；　'Amy；　I　know　that　you　are　innocent　in　intention。　But　you
have　cut　me　to　the　soul。'　'Innocent　in　intention！'　the　implacable　Fanny
struck　in。　'Stuff　in　intention！　Low　in　intention！　Lowering　of　the　family
in　intention！'

'Father！'　cried　Little　Dorrit；　pale　and　trembling。　'I　am　very　sorry。
Pray　forgive　me。　Tell　me　how　it　is；　that　I　may　not　do　it　again！'

'How　it　is；　you　prevaricating　little　piece　of　goods！'　cried　Fanny。　'You
know　how　it　is。　I　have　told　you　already；　so　don't　fly　in　the　face　of
Providence　by　attempting　to　deny　it！'

'Hush！　Amy；'　said　the　father；　passing　his　pocket…handkerchief　several
times　across　his　face；　and　then　grasping　it　convulsively　in　the　hand
that　dropped　across　his　knee；　'I　have　done　what　I　could　to　keep　you
select　here；　I　have　done　what　I　could　to　retain　you　a　position　here。　I
may　have　succeeded；　I　may　not。　You　may　know　it；　you　may　not。　I　give　no
opinion。　I　have　endured　everything　here　but　humiliation。　That　I　have
happily　been　spared……until　this　day。'

Here　his　convulsive　grasp　unclosed　itself；　and　he　put　his
pocket…handkerchief　to　his　eyes　again。　Little　Dorrit；　on　the　ground
beside　him；　with　her　imploring　hand　upon　his　arm；　watched　him
remorsefully。　ing　out　of　his　fit　of　grief；　he　clenched　his
pocket…handkerchief　once　more。

'Humiliation　I　have　happily　been　spared　until　this　day。　Through　all
my　troubles　there　has　been　that……Spirit　in　myself；　and　that……that
submission　to　it；　if　I　may　use　the　term；　in　those　about　me；　which　has
spared　me……ha……humiliation。　But　this　day；　this　minute；　I　have　keenly
felt　it。'

'Of　course！　How　could　it　be　otherwise？'　exclaimed　the　irrepressible
Fanny。　'Careering　and　prancing　about　with　a　Pauper！'　（air…gun　again）。

'But；　dear　father；'　cried　Little　Dorrit；　'I　don't　justify　myself　for
having　wounded　your　dear　heart……no！　Heaven　knows　I　don't！'　She　clasped
her　hands　in　quite　an　agony　of　distress。　'I　do　nothing　but　beg　and　pray
you　to　be　forted　and　overlook　it。　But　if　I　had　not　known　that　you
were　kind　to　the　old　man　yourself；　and　took　much　notice　of　him；　and　were
always　glad　to　see　him；　I　would　not　have　e　here　with　him；　father；　I
would　not；　indeed。　What　I　have　been　so　unhappy　as　to　do；　I　have　done
in　mistake。　I　would　not　wilfully　bring　a　tear　to　your　eyes；　dear　love！'
said　Little　Dorrit；　her　heart　well…nigh　broken；　'for　anything　the　world
could　give　me；　or　anything　it　could　take　away。'

Fanny；　with　a　partly　angry　and　partly　repentant　sob；　began　to　cry
herself；　and　to　say……as　this　young　lady　always　said　when　she　was　half　in
passion　and　half　out　of　it；　half　spiteful　with　herself　and　half　spiteful
with　everybody　else……that　she　wished　she　were　dead。

The　Father　of　the　Marshalsea　in　the　meantime　took　his　younger　daughter
to　his　breast；　and　patted　her　head。　'There；　there！　Say　no　more；　Amy；
say　no　more；　my　child。　I　will　forget　it　as　soon　as　I　can。　I；'　with
hysterical　cheerfulness；　'I……shall　soon　be　able　to　dismiss　it。　It
is　perfectly　true；　my　dear；　that　I　am　always　glad　to　see　my　old
pensioner……as　such；　as　such……and　that　I　do……ha……extend　as　much
protection　and　kindness　to　the……hum……the　bruised　reed……I　trust　I　may　so
call　him　without　impropriety……as　in　my　circumstances；　I　can。　It　is　quite
true　that　this　is　the　case；　my　dear　child。　At　the　same　time；　I　preserve
in　doing　this；　if　I　may……ha……if　I　may　use　the　expression……Spirit。
Being　Spirit。　And　there　are　some　things　which　are；'　he　stopped　to
sob；　'irreconcilable　with　that；　and　wound　that……wound　it　deeply。

It　is　not　that　I　have　seen　my　good　Amy　attentive；　and……ha……condescending
to　my　old　pensioner……it　is　not　that　that　hurts　me。　It　is；　if　I　am　to
close　the　painful　subject　by　being　explicit；　that　I　have　seen　my　child；
my　own　child；　my　own　daughter；　ing　into　this　College　out　of　the
public　streets……smiling！　smiling！……arm　in　arm　with……O　my　God；　a　livery！'

This　reference　to　the　coat　of　no　cut　and　no　time；　the　unfortunate
gentleman　gasped　forth；　in　a　scarcely　audible　voice；　and　with　his
clenched　pocket…handkerchief　raised　in　the　air。　His　excited　feelings
might　have　found　some　further　painful　utterance；　but　for　a　knock　at　the
door；　which　had　been　already　twice　repeated；　and　to　which　Fanny　（still
wishing　herself　dead；　and　indeed　now　going　so　far　as　to　add；　buried）
cried　'e　in！'

'Ah；　Young　John！'　said　the　Father；　in　an　altered　and　calmed　voice。　'What
is　it；　Young　John？'

'A　letter　for　you；　sir；　being　left　in　the　Lodge　just　this