little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第31部分

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hoarse　voice；　said　from　time　to　time；　'Surely；　surely！'　tossing　his
head　and　shutting　his　eyes；　as　if　there　were　the　clearest　case　against
society　that　perfect　candour　could　make　out。

'Put　my　shoes　there；'　continued　Lagnier。　'Hang　my　cloak　to　dry　there
by　the　door。　Take　my　hat。'　He　obeyed　each　instruction；　as　it　was　given。
'And　this　is　the　bed　to　which　society　consigns　me；　is　it？　Hah。　Very
well！'

As　he　stretched　out　his　length　upon　it；　with　a　ragged　handkerchief
bound　round　his　wicked　head；　and　only　his　wicked　head　showing　above　the
bedclothes；　John　Baptist　was　rather　strongly　reminded　of　what　had　so
very　nearly　happened　to　prevent　the　moustache　from　any　more　going　up　as
it　did；　and　the　nose　from　any　more　ing　down　as　it　did。

'Shaken　out　of　destiny's　dice…box　again　into　your　pany；　eh？　By
Heaven！　So　much　the　better　for　you。　You'll　profit　by　it。　I　shall　need　a
long　rest。　Let　me　sleep　in　the　morning。'

John　Baptist　replied　that　he　should　sleep　as　long　as　he　would；　and
wishing　him　a　happy　night；　put　out　the　candle。　One　might　have　Supposed
that　the　next　proceeding　of　the　Italian　would　have　been　to　undress；
but　he　did　exactly　the　reverse；　and　dressed　himself　from　head　to　foot；
saving　his　shoes。　When　he　had　so　done；　he　lay　down　upon　his　bed　with
some　of　its　coverings　over　him；　and　his　coat　still　tied　round　his　neck；
to　get　through　the　night。

When　he　started　up；　the　Godfather　Break　of　Day　was　peeping　at　its
namesake。　He　rose；　took　his　shoes　in　his　hand；　turned　the　key　in　the
door　with　great　caution；　and　crept　downstairs。　Nothing　was　astir　there
but　the　smell　of　coffee；　wine；　tobacco；　and　syrups；　and　madame's　little
counter　looked　ghastly　enough。　But　he　had　paid　madame　his　little　note
at　it　over　night；　and　wanted　to　see　nobody……wanted　nothing　but　to　get　on
his　shoes　and　his　knapsack；　open　the　door；　and　run　away。

He　prospered　in　his　object。　No　movement　or　voice　was　heard　when　he
opened　the　door；　no　wicked　head　tied　up　in　a　ragged　handkerchief　looked
out　of　the　upper　window。　When　the　sun　had　raised　his　full　disc　above　the
flat　line　of　the　horizon；　and　was　striking　fire　out　of　the　long　muddy
vista　of　paved　road　with　its　weary　avenue　of　little　trees；　a　black　speck
moved　along　the　road　and　splashed　among　the　flaming　pools　of　rain…water；
which　black　speck　was　John　Baptist　Cavalletto　running　away　from　his
patron。




CHAPTER　12。　Bleeding　Heart　Yard


In　London　itself；　though　in　the　old　rustic　road　towards　a　suburb　of　note
where　in　the　days　of　William　Shakespeare；　author　and　stage…player；　there
were　Royal　hunting…seats……howbeit　no　sport　is　left　there　now　but　for
hunters　of　men……Bleeding　Heart　Yard　was　to　be　found；　a　place　much
changed　in　feature　and　in　fortune；　yet　with　some　relish　of　ancient
greatness　about　it。　Two　or　three　mighty　stacks　of　chimneys；　and　a　few
large　dark　rooms　which　had　escaped　being　walled　and　subdivided　out　of
the　recognition　of　their　old　proportions；　gave　the　Yard　a　character。
It　was　inhabited　by　poor　people；　who　set　up　their　rest　among　its　faded
glories；　as　Arabs　of　the　desert　pitch　their　tents　among　the　fallen
stones　of　the　Pyramids；　but　there　was　a　family　sentimental　feeling
prevalent　in　the　Yard；　that　it　had　a　character。

As　if　the　aspiring　city　had　bee　puffed　up　in　the　very　ground　on　which
it　stood；　the　ground　had　so　risen　about　Bleeding　Heart　Yard　that　you
got　into　it　down　a　flight　of　steps　which　formed　no　part　of　the　original
approach；　and　got　out　of　it　by　a　low　gateway　into　a　maze　of　shabby
streets；　which　went　about　and　about；　tortuously　ascending　to　the　level
again。　At　this　end　of　the　Yard　and　over　the　gateway；　was　the　factory　of
Daniel　Doyce；　often　heavily　beating　like　a　bleeding　heart　of　iron；
with　the　clink　of　metal　upon　metal。　The　opinion　of　the　Yard　was　divided
respecting　the　derivation　of　its　name。　The　more　practical　of　its　inmates
abided　by　the　tradition　of　a　murder；　the　gentler　and　more　imaginative
inhabitants；　including　the　whole　of　the　tender　sex；　were　loyal　to　the
legend　of　a　young　lady　of　former　times　closely　imprisoned　in　her　chamber
by　a　cruel　father　for　remaining　true　to　her　own　true　love；　and　refusing
to　marry　the　suitor　he　chose　for　her。　The　legend　related　how　that　the
young　lady　used　to　be　seen　up　at　her　window　behind　the　bars；　murmuring　a
love…lorn　song　of　which　the　burden　was；　'Bleeding　Heart；　Bleeding　Heart；
bleeding　away；'　until　she　died。　It　was　objected　by　the　murderous　party
that　this　Refrain　was　notoriously　the　invention　of　a　tambour…worker；　a
spinster　and　romantic；　still　lodging　in　the　Yard。　But；　forasmuch　as　all
favourite　legends　must　be　associated　with　the　affections；　and　as　many
more　people　fall　in　love　than　mit　murder……which　it　may　be　hoped；
howsoever　bad　we　are；　will　continue　until　the　end　of　the　world　to　be
the　dispensation　under　which　we　shall　live……the　Bleeding　Heart；　Bleeding
Heart；　bleeding　away　story；　carried　the　day　by　a　great　majority。　Neither
party　would　listen　to　the　antiquaries　who　delivered　learned　lectures　in
the　neighbourhood；　showing　the　Bleeding　Heart　to　have　been　the　heraldic
cognisance　of　the　old　family　to　whom　the　property　had　once　belonged。
And；　considering　that　the　hour…glass　they　turned　from　year　to　year　was
filled　with　the　earthiest　and　coarsest　sand；　the　Bleeding　Heart　Yarders
had　reason　enough　for　objecting　to　be　despoiled　of　the　one　little　golden
grain　of　poetry　that　sparkled　in　it。

Down　in　to　the　Yard；　by　way　of　the　steps；　came　Daniel　Doyce；　Mr　Meagles；
and　Clennam。　Passing　along　the　Yard；　and　between　the　open　doors　on
either　hand；　all　abundantly　garnished　with　light　children　nursing　heavy
ones；　they　arrived　at　its　opposite　boundary；　the　gateway。　Here　Arthur
Clennam　stopped　to　look　about　him　for　the　domicile　of　Plornish；
plasterer；　whose　name；　according　to　the　custom　of　Londoners；　Daniel
Doyce　had　never　seen　or　heard　of　to　that　hour。

It　was　plain　enough；　nevertheless；　as　Little　Dorrit　had　said；　over　a
lime…splashed　gateway　in　the　corner；　within　which　Plornish　kept　a　ladder
and　a　barrel　or　two。　The　last　house　in　Bleeding　Heart　Yard　which　she
had　described　as　his　place　of　habitation；　was　a　large　house；　let　off　to
various　tenants；　but　Plornish　ingeniously　hinted　that　he　lived　in　the
parlour；　by　means　of　a　painted　hand　under　his　name；　the　forefinger　of
which　hand　（on　which　the　artist　had　depicted　a　ring　and　a　most　elaborate
nail　of　the　genteelest　form）　referred　all　inquirers　to　that　apartment。

Parting　from　his　panions；　after　arranging　another　meeting　with
Mr　Meagles；　Clennam　went　alone　into　the　entry；　and　knocked　with　his
knuckles　at　the　parlour…door。　It　was　opened　presently　by　a　woman　with
a　child　in　her　arms；　whose　unoccupied　hand　was　hastily　rearranging　the
upper　part　of　her　dress。　This　was　Mrs　Plornish；　and　this　maternal
action　was　the　action　of　Mrs　Plornish　during　a　large　part　of　her　waking
existence。

Was　Mr　Plornish　at　home？　'Well；　sir；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　a　civil　woman；
'not　to　deceive　you；　he's　gone　to　look　for　a　job。'

'Not　to　deceive　you'　was　a　method　of　speech　with　Mrs　Plornish。　She　would
deceive　you；　under　any　circumstances；　as　little　as　might　be；　but　she　had
a　trick　of　answering　in　this　provisional　form。

'Do　you　think　he　will　be　back　soon；　if　I　wait　for　him？'

'I　have　been　expecting　him；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'this　half　an　hour；　at
any　minute　of　time。　Walk　in；　sir。'　Arthur　entered　the　rather　dark　and
close　parlour　（though　it　was　lofty　too）；　and　sat　down　in　the　chair　she
placed　for　him。

'Not　to　deceive　you；　sir；　I　notice　it；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'and　I　take
it　kind　of　you。'

He　was　at　a　loss　to　understand　what　she　meant；　and　by　expressing　as　much
in　his　looks；　elicited　her　explanation。

'It　ain't　many　that　es　into　a　poor　place；　that　deems　it　worth　their
while　to　move　their　hats；'　said　Mrs　Plornish。　'But　people　think　more　of
it　than　people　think。'

Clennam　returned；　with　an　unfortable　feeling　in　so　very　slight　a
courtesy　being　unusual；　Was　that　all！　And　stooping　down　to　pinch　the
cheek　of　another　young　child　who　was　sitting　on　the　floor；　staring　at
him；　asked　Mrs　Plornish　how　old　that　fine　boy　was？

'Four　year　just　turned；　sir；'　said　Mrs　Plornish。　'He　IS　a　fine　little
fellow；　ain't　he；　sir？　But　this　one　is　rather　sickly。'　She　tenderly
hushed　the　baby　in　her　arms；　as　she　said　it。　'You　wouldn't　mind　my
asking　if　it　happened　to　be　a　job　as　you　was　e　about；　sir；　would
you？'　asked　Mrs　Plornish　wistfully。

She　asked　it　so　anxiously；　that　if　he　had　been　in　possession　of　any
kind　of　tenement；　he　would　have　had　it　plastered　a　foot　deep　rather
than　answer　No。　But　he　was　obliged　to　answer　No；　and　he　saw　a　shade　of
disappointment　on　her　face；　as　she　checked　a　sigh；　and　looked　at　the
low　fire。　Then　he　saw；　also；　that　Mrs　Plornish　was　a　young　woman；　made
somewhat　slatternly　in　herself　and　her　belongings　by　poverty；　and　so
dragged　at　by　poverty　and　the　children　together；　that　their　united
forces　had　already　dragged　her　face　into　wrinkles。

'All　such　things　as　jobs；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'seems　to　me　to　have　gone
underground；　they　do　indeed。'　（Herein　Mrs　Plornish　limited　her　remark　to
the　plastering　trade；　and　spoke　without　reference　to　the　Circumlocution
Office　and　the　Barnacle　Family。）

'Is　it　so　difficult　to　get　work？'　asked　Arthur　Clennam。

'Plornish　finds　it　so；'　she　returned。　'He　is　quite　unfortunate。　Really
he　is。'　Really　he　was。　He　was　one　of　those　many　wayfarers　on　the　road
of　life；　who　seem　to　be　afflicted　with　supernatural　corns；　rendering　it
impossible　for　them　to　keep　up　even　with　their　lame　petitors。

A　willing；　working；　soft　hearted；　not　hard…headed　fellow；　Plornish　took
his　fortune　as　smoothly　as　could　be　expected；　but　it　was　a　rough　one。
It　so　rarely　happened　that　anybody　seemed　to　want　him；　it　was　such　an
exceptional　case　when　his　poisty
mind　could　not　make　out　how　it　happened。　He　took　it　as　it　came；
therefore；　he　tumbled　into　all　kinds　of　difficulties；　and　tumbled　out　of
them；　and；　by　tumbling　through　life；　got　himself　considerably　bruised。

'It's　not　for　want　of　looking　after　jobs；　I　am　sure；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；
lifting　up　her　eyebrows；　and　searching　for　a　solution　of　the　problem
between　the　bars　of　the　grate；　'nor　yet　for　want　of　working　at　them　when
they　are　to　be　got。　No