little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第160章

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a　careless　wave　of　his　hand。　'Ha……brought　by……hum……little　offering
from……ha……son　of　old　tenant　of　mine。'

Next　morning's　sun　saw　Mr　Dorrit's　equipage　upon　the　Dover　road；　where
every　red…jacketed　postilion　was　the　sign　of　a　cruel　house；　established
for　the　unmerciful　plundering　of　travellers。　The　whole　business　of　the
human　race；　between　London　and　Dover；　being　spoliation；　Mr　Dorrit　was
waylaid　at　Dartford；　pillaged　at　Gravesend；　rifled　at　Rochester；　fleeced
at　Sittingbourne；　and　sacked　at　Canterbury。　However；　it　being　the
Courier's　business　to　get　him　out　of　the　hands　of　the　banditti；　the
Courier　brought　him　off　at　every　stage；　and　so　the　red…jackets　went
gleaming　merrily　along　the　spring　landscape；　rising　and　falling　to
a　regular　measure；　between　Mr　Dorrit　in　his　snug　corner　and　the　next
chalky　rise　in　the　dusty　highway。

Another　day's　sun　saw　him　at　Calais。　And　having　now　got　the　Channel
between　himself　and　John　Chivery；　he　began　to　feel　safe；　and　to　find
that　the　foreign　air　was　lighter　to　breathe　than　the　air　of　England。

On　again　by　the　heavy　French　roads　for　Paris。　Having　now　quite　recovered
his　equanimity；　Mr　Dorrit；　in　his　snug　corner；　fell　to　castle…building
as　he　rode　along。　It　was　evident　that　he　had　a　very　large　castle　in
hand。　All　day　long　he　was　running　towers　up；　taking　towers　down；　adding
a　wing　here；　putting　on　a　battlement　there；　looking　to　the　walls；
strengthening　the　defences；　giving　ornamental　touches　to　the　interior；
making　in　all　respects　a　superb　castle　of　it。　His　preoccupied　face　so
clearly　denoted　the　pursuit　in　which　he　was　engaged；　that　every　cripple
at　the　post…houses；　not　blind；　who　shoved　his　little　battered　tin…box　in
at　the　carriage　window　for　Charity　in　the　name　of　Heaven；　Charity　in　the
name　of　our　Lady；　Charity　in　the　name　of　all　the　Saints；　knew　as　well
what　work　he　was　at；　as　their　countryman　Le　Brun　could　have　known　it
himself；　though　he　had　made　that　English　traveller　the　subject　of　a
special　physiognomical　treatise。

Arrived　at　Paris；　and　resting　there　three　days；　Mr　Dorrit　strolled
much　about　the　streets　alone；　looking　in　at　the　shop…windows；　and
particularly　the　jewellers'　windows。　Ultimately；　he　went　into　the　most
famous　jeweller's；　and　said　he　wanted　to　buy　a　little　gift　for　a　lady。

It　was　a　charming　little　woman　to　whom　he　said　it……a　sprightly　little
woman；　dressed　in　perfect　taste；　who　came　out　of　a　green　velvet　bower
to　attend　upon　him；　from　posting　up　some　dainty　little　books　of　account
which　one　could　hardly　suppose　to　be　ruled　for　the　entry　of　any　articles
more　mercial　than　kisses；　at　a　dainty　little　shining　desk　which
looked　in　itself　like　a　sweetmeat。

For　example；　then；　said　the　little　woman；　what　species　of　gift　did
Monsieur　desire？　A　love…gift？


Mr　Dorrit　smiled；　and　said；　Eh；　well！　Perhaps。　What　did　he　know？　It　was
always　possible；　the　sex　being　so　charming。　Would　she　show　him　some？

Most　willingly；　said　the　little　woman。　Flattered　and　enchanted　to　show
him　many。　But　pardon！　To　begin　with；　he　would　have　the　great　goodness
to　observe　that　there　were　love…gifts；　and　there　were　nuptial　gifts。
For　example；　these　ravishing　ear…rings　and　this　necklace　so　superb　to
correspond；　were　what　one　called　a　love…gift。　These　brooches　and　these
rings；　of　a　beauty　so　gracious　and　celestial；　were　what　one　called；　with
the　permission　of　Monsieur；　nuptial　gifts。

Perhaps　it　would　be　a　good　arrangement；　Mr　Dorrit　hinted；　smiling；　to
purchase　both；　and　to　present　the　love…gift　first；　and　to　finish　with
the　nuptial　offering？

Ah　Heaven！　said　the　little　woman；　laying　the　tips　of　the　fingers　of　her
two　little　hands　against　each　other；　that　would　be　generous　indeed；　that
would　be　a　special　gallantry！　And　without　doubt　the　lady　so　crushed　with
gifts　would　find　them　irresistible。

Mr　Dorrit　was　not　sure　of　that。　But；　for　example；　the　sprightly　little
woman　was　very　sure　of　it；　she　said。　So　Mr　Dorrit　bought　a　gift　of
each　sort；　and　paid　handsomely　for　it。　As　he　strolled　back　to　his　hotel
afterwards；　he　carried　his　head　high：　having　plainly　got　up　his　castle
now　to　a　much　loftier　altitude　than　the　two　square　towers　of　Notre　Dame。

Building　away　with　all　his　might；　but　reserving　the　plans　of　his　castle
exclusively　for　his　own　eye；　Mr　Dorrit　posted　away　for　Marseilles。
Building　on；　building　on；　busily；　busily；　from　morning　to　night。　Falling
asleep；　and　leaving　great　blocks　of　building　materials　dangling　in　the
air；　waking　again；　to　resume　work　and　get　them　into　their　places。　What
time　the　Courier　in　the　rumble；　smoking　Young　john's　best　cigars；　left
a　little　thread　of　thin　light　smoke　behind……perhaps　as　he　built　a　castle
or　two　with　stray　pieces　of　Mr　Dorrit's　money。

Not　a　fortified　town　that　they　passed　in　all　their　journey　was　as
strong；　not　a　Cathedral　summit　was　as　high；　as　Mr　Dorrit's　castle。
Neither　the　Saone　nor　the　Rhone　sped　with　the　swiftness　of　that　peerless
building；　nor　was　the　Mediterranean　deeper　than　its　foundations；　nor
were　the　distant　landscapes　on　the　Cornice　road；　nor　the　hills　and　bay
of　Genoa　the　Superb；　more　beautiful。　Mr　Dorrit　and　his　matchless　castle
were　disembarked　among　the　dirty　white　houses　and　dirtier　felons　of
Civita　Vecchia；　and　thence　scrambled　on　to　Rome　as　they　could；　through
the　filth　that　festered　on　the　way。




CHAPTER　19。　The　Storming　of　the　Castle　in　the　Air

The　sun　had　gone　down　full　four　hours；　and　it　was　later　than　most
travellers　would　like　it　to　be　for　finding　themselves　outside　the　walls
of　Rome；　when　Mr　Dorrit's　carriage；　still　on　its　last　wearisome
stage；　rattled　over　the　solitary　Campagna。　The　savage　herdsmen　and
the　fierce…looking　peasants　who　had　chequered　the　way　while　the　light
lasted；　had　all　gone　down　with　the　sun；　and　left　the　wilderness
blank。　At　some　turns　of　the　road；　a　pale　flare　on　the　horizon；　like　an
exhalation　from　the　ruin…sown　land；　showed　that　the　city　was　yet　far
off；　but　this　poor　relief　was　rare　and　short…lived。　The　carriage　dipped
down　again　into　a　hollow　of　the　black　dry　sea；　and　for　a　long　time　there
was　nothing　visible　save　its　petrified　swell　and　the　gloomy　sky。

Mr　Dorrit；　though　he　had　his　castle…building　to　engage　his　mind；　could
not　be　quite　easy　in　that　desolate　place。　He　was　far　more　curious；　in
every　swerve　of　the　carriage；　and　every　cry　of　the　postilions；　than　he
had　been　since　he　quitted　London。　The　valet　on　the　box　evidently　quaked。
The　Courier　in　the　rumble　was　not　altogether　fortable　in　his　mind。　As
often　as　Mr　Dorrit　let　down　the　glass　and　looked　back　at　him　（which　was
very　often）；　he　saw　him　smoking　John　Chivery　out；　it　is　true；　but　still
generally　standing　up　the　while　and　looking　about　him；　like　a　man　who
had　his　suspicions；　and　kept　upon　his　guard。　Then　would　Mr　Dorrit；
pulling　up　the　glass　again；　reflect　that　those　postilions　were
cut…throat　looking　fellows；　and　that　he　would　have　done　better　to　have
slept　at　Civita　Vecchia；　and　have　started　betimes　in　the　morning。　But；
for　all　this；　he　worked　at　his　castle　in　the　intervals。

And　now；　fragments　of　ruinous　enclosure；　yawning　window…gap　and　crazy
wall；　deserted　houses；　leaking　wells；　broken　water…tanks；　spectral
cypress…trees；　patches　of　tangled　vine；　and　the　changing　of　the　track　to
a　long；　irregular；　disordered　lane　where　everything　was　crumbling　away；
from　the　unsightly　buildings　to　the　jolting　road……now；　these　objects
showed　that　they　were　nearing　Rome。　And　now；　a　sudden　twist　and　stoppage
of　the　carriage　inspired　Mr　Dorrit　with　the　mistrust　that　the　brigand
moment　was　e　for　twisting　him　into　a　ditch　and　robbing　him；　until；
letting　down　the　glass　again　and　looking　out；　he　perceived　himself
assailed　by　nothing　worse　than　a　funeral　procession；　which　came
mechanically　chaunting　by；　with　an　indistinct　show　of　dirty　vestments；
lurid　torches；　swinging　censers；　and　a　great　cross　borne　before　a
priest。　He　was　an　ugly　priest　by　torchlight；　of　a　lowering　aspect；　with
an　overhanging　brow；　and　as　his　eyes　met　those　of　Mr　Dorrit；　looking
bareheaded　out　of　the　carriage；　his　lips；　moving　as　they　chaunted；
seemed　to　threaten　that　important　traveller；　likewise　the　action　of
his　hand；　which　was　in　fact　his　manner　of　returning　the　traveller's
salutation；　seemed　to　e　in　aid　of　that　menace。　So　thought　Mr　Dorrit；
made　fanciful　by　the　weariness　of　building　and　travelling；　as　the　priest
drifted　past　him；　and　the　procession　straggled　away；　taking　its　dead
along　with　it。　Upon　their　so…different　way　went　Mr　Dorrit's　pany　too；
and　soon；　with　their　coach　load　of　luxuries　from　the　two　great　capitals
of　Europe；　they　were　（like　the　Goths　reversed）　beating　at　the　gates　of
Rome。

Mr　Dorrit　was　not　expected　by　his　own　people　that　night。　He　had　been；
but　they　had　given　him　up　until　to…morrow；　not　doubting　that　it　was
later　than　he　would　care；　in　those　parts；　to　be　out。　Thus；　when　his
equipage　stopped　at　his　own　gate；　no　one　but　the　porter　appeared　to
receive　him。　Was　Miss　Dorrit　from　home？　he　asked。　No。　She　was　within。
Good；　said　Mr　Dorrit　to　the　assembling　servants；　let　them　keep　where
they　were；　let　them　help　to　unload　the　carriage；　he　would　find　Miss
Dorrit　for　himself。　So　he　went　up　his　grand　staircase；　slowly；　and
tired；　and　looked　into