little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第19章

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one　so　strangely　assorted；　with　no　knowledge　even　of　the　mon　daily
tone　and　habits　of　the　mon　members　of　the　free　munity　who　are　not
shut　up　in　prisons；　born　and　bred　in　a　social　condition；　false　even　with
a　reference　to　the　falsest　condition　outside　the　walls；　drinking　from
infancy　of　a　well　whose　waters　had　their　own　peculiar　stain；　their　own
unwholesome　and　unnatural　taste；　the　Child　of　the　Marshalsea　began　her
womanly　life。

No　matter　through　what　mistakes　and　discouragements；　what　ridicule　（not
unkindly　meant；　but　deeply　felt）　of　her　youth　and　little　figure；　what
humble　consciousness　of　her　own　babyhood　and　want　of　strength；　even
in　the　matter　of　lifting　and　carrying；　through　how　much　weariness
and　hopelessness；　and　how　many　secret　tears；　she　drudged　on；　until
recognised　as　useful；　even　indispensable。　That　time　came。　She　took　the
place　of　eldest　of　the　three；　in　all　things　but　precedence；　was　the
head　of　the　fallen　family；　and　bore；　in　her　own　heart；　its　anxieties　and
shames。

At　thirteen；　she　could　read　and　keep　accounts；　that　is；　could　put　down
in　words　and　figures　how　much　the　bare　necessaries　that　they　wanted
would　cost；　and　how　much　less　they　had　to　buy　them　with。　She　had　been；
by　snatches　of　a　few　weeks　at　a　time；　to　an　evening　school　outside；
and　got　her　sister　and　brother　sent　to　day…schools　by　desultory　starts；
during　three　or　four　years。　There　was　no　instruction　for　any　of　them　at
home；　but　she　knew　well……no　one　better……that　a　man　so　broken　as　to　be
the　Father　of　the　Marshalsea；　could　be　no　father　to　his　own　children。

To　these　scanty　means　of　improvement；　she　added　another　of　her　own
contriving。　Once；　among　the　heterogeneous　crowd　of　inmates　there
appeared　a　dancing…master。　Her　sister　had　a　great　desire　to　learn　the
dancing…master's　art；　and　seemed　to　have　a　taste　that　way。　At　thirteen
years　old；　the　Child　of　the　Marshalsea　presented　herself　to　the
dancing…master；　with　a　little　bag　in　her　hand；　and　preferred　her　humble
petition。

'If　you　please；　I　was　born　here；　sir。'

'Oh！　You　are　the　young　lady；　are　you？'　said　the　dancing…master；
surveying　the　small　figure　and　uplifted　face。

'Yes；　sir。'

'And　what　can　I　do　for　you？'　said　the　dancing…master。

'Nothing　for　me；　sir；　thank　you；'　anxiously　undrawing　the　strings　of
the　little　bag；　'but　if；　while　you　stay　here；　you　could　be　so　kind　as　to
teach　my　sister　cheap……'

'My　child；　I'll　teach　her　for　nothing；'　said　the　dancing…master；
shutting　up　the　bag。　He　was　as　good…natured　a　dancing…master　as　ever
danced　to　the　Insolvent　Court；　and　he　kept　his　word。　The　sister　was　so
apt　a　pupil；　and　the　dancing…master　had　such　abundant　leisure　to　bestow
upon　her　（for　it　took　him　a　matter　of　ten　weeks　to　set　to　his　creditors；
lead　off；　turn　the　missioners；　and　right　and　left　back　to　his
professional　pursuits）；　that　wonderful　progress　was　made。　Indeed　the
dancing…master　was　so　proud　of　it；　and　so　wishful　to　display　it　before
he　left　to　a　few　select　friends　among　the　collegians；　that　at　six
o'clock　on　a　certain　fine　morning；　a　minuet　de　la　cour　came　off　in
the　yard……the　college…rooms　being　of　too　confined　proportions　for　the
purpose……in　which　so　much　ground　was　covered；　and　the　steps　were　so
conscientiously　executed；　that　the　dancing…master；　having　to　play　the
kit　besides；　was　thoroughly　blown。

The　success　of　this　beginning；　which　led　to　the　dancing…master's
continuing　his　instruction　after　his　release；　emboldened　the　poor　child
to　try　again。　She　watched　and　waited　months　for　a　seamstress。　In　the
fulness　of　time　a　milliner　came　in；　and　to　her　she　repaired　on　her　own
behalf。

'I　beg　your　pardon；　ma'am；'　she　said；　looking　timidly　round　the　door　of
the　milliner；　whom　she　found　in　tears　and　in　bed：　'but　I　was　born　here。'

Everybody　seemed　to　hear　of　her　as　soon　as　they　arrived；　for　the
milliner　sat　up　in　bed；　drying　her　eyes；　and　said；　just　as　the
dancing…master　had　said：

'Oh！　You　are　the　child；　are　you？'

'Yes；　ma'am。'

'I　am　sorry　I　haven't　got　anything　for　you；'　said　the　milliner；　shaking
her　head。

'It's　not　that；　ma'am。　If　you　please　I　want　to　learn　needle…work。'

'Why　should　you　do　that；'　returned　the　milliner；　'with　me　before　you？　It
has　not　done　me　much　good。'

'Nothing……whatever　it　is……seems　to　have　done　anybody　much　good　who　es
here；'　she　returned　in　all　simplicity；　'but　I　want　to　learn　just　the
same。'

'I　am　afraid　you　are　so　weak；　you　see；'　the　milliner　objected。

'I　don't　think　I　am　weak；　ma'am。'

'And　you　are　so　very；　very　little；　you　see；'　the　milliner　objected。

'Yes；　I　am　afraid　I　am　very　little　indeed；'　returned　the　Child　of　the
Marshalsea；　and　so　began　to　sob　over　that　unfortunate　defect　of　hers；
which　came　so　often　in　her　way。　The　milliner……who　was　not　morose　or
hard…hearted；　only　newly　insolvent……was　touched；　took　her　in　hand　with
goodwill；　found　her　the　most　patient　and　earnest　of　pupils；　and　made　her
a　cunning　work…woman　in　course　of　time。

In　course　of　time；　and　in　the　very　self…same　course　of　time；　the　Father
of　the　Marshalsea　gradually　developed　a　new　flower　of　character。　The
more　Fatherly　he　grew　as　to　the　Marshalsea；　and　the　more　dependent　he
became　on　the　contributions　of　his　changing　family；　the　greater　stand
he　made　by　his　forlorn　gentility。　With　the　same　hand　that　he　pocketed
a　collegian's　half…crown　half　an　hour　ago；　he　would　wipe　away　the
tears　that　streamed　over　his　cheeks　if　any　reference　were　made　to　his
daughters'　earning　their　bread。　So；　over　and　above　other　daily　cares；
the　Child　of　the　Marshalsea　had　always　upon　her　the　care　of　preserving
the　genteel　fiction　that　they　were　all　idle　beggars　together。

The　sister　became　a　dancer。　There　was　a　ruined　uncle　in　the　family
group……ruined　by　his　brother；　the　Father　of　the　Marshalsea；　and　knowing
no　more　how　than　his　ruiner　did；　but　accepting　the　fact　as　an　inevitable
certainty……on　whom　her　protection　devolved。　Naturally　a　retired　and
simple　man；　he　had　shown　no　particular　sense　of　being　ruined　at　the　time
when　that　calamity　fell　upon　him；　further　than　that　he　left　off　washing
himself　when　the　shock　was　announced；　and　never　took　to　that　luxury　any
more。　He　had　been　a　very　indifferent　musical　amateur　in　his　better　days；
and　when　he　fell　with　his　brother；　resorted　for　support　to　playing　a
clario　as　dirty　as　himself　in　a　small　Theatre　Orchestra。　It　was　the
theatre　in　which　his　niece　became　a　dancer；　he　had　been　a　fixture　there
a　long　time　when　she　took　her　poor　station　in　it；　and　he　accepted
the　task　of　serving　as　her　escort　and　guardian；　just　as　he　would　have
accepted　an　illness；　a　legacy；　a　feast；　starvation……anything　but　soap。

To　enable　this　girl　to　earn　her　few　weekly　shillings；　it　was　necessary
for　the　Child　of　the　Marshalsea　to　go　through　an　elaborate　form　with　the
Father。

'Fanny　is　not　going　to　live　with　us　just　now；　father。　She　will　be　here　a
good　deal　in　the　day；　but　she　is　going　to　live　outside　with　uncle。'

'You　surprise　me。　Why？'

'I　think　uncle　wants　a　panion；　father。　He　should　be　attended　to；　and
looked　after。'

'A　panion？　He　passes　much　of　his　time　here。　And　you　attend　to　him　and
look　after　him；　Amy；　a　great　deal　more　than　ever　your　sister　will。　You
all　go　out　so　much；　you　all　go　out　so　much。'

This　was　to　keep　up　the　ceremony　and　pretence　of　his　having　no　idea　that
Amy　herself　went　out　by　the　day　to　work。

'But　we　are　always　glad　to　e　home；　father；　now；　are　we　not？　And　as　to
Fanny；　perhaps　besides　keeping　uncle　pany　and　taking　care　of　him；　it
may　be　as　well　for　her　not　quite　to　live　here；　always。　She　was　not　born
here　as　I　was；　you　know；　father。'

'Well；　Amy；　well。　I　don't　quite　follow　you；　but　it's　natural　I　suppose
that　Fanny　should　prefer　to　be　outside；　and　even　that　you　often　should；
too。　So；　you　and　Fanny　and　your　uncle；　my　dear；　shall　have　your　own　way。
Good；　good。　I'll　not　meddle；　don't　mind　me。'

To　get　her　brother　out　of　the　prison；　out　of　the　succession　to　Mrs
Bangham　in　executing　missions；　and　out　of　the　slang　interchange　with
very　doubtful　panions　consequent　upon　both；　was　her　hardest　task。　At
eighteen　he　would　have　dragged　on　from　hand　to　mouth；　from　hour　to　hour；
from　penny　to　penny；　until　eighty。　Nobody　got　into　the　prison　from　whom
he　derived　anything　useful　or　good；　and　she　could　find　no　patron　for　him
but　her　old　friend　and　godfather。

'Dear　Bob；'　said　she；　'what　is　to　bee　of　poor　Tip？'　His　name　was
Edward；　and　Ted　had　been　transformed　into　Tip；　within　the　walls。

The　turnkey　had　strong　private　opinions　as　to　what　would　bee　of
poor　Tip；　and　had　even　gone　so　far　with　the　view　of　averting　their
fulfilment；　as　to　sound　Tip　in　reference　to　the　expediency　of　running
away　and　going　to　serve　his　country。　But　Tip　had　thanked　him；　and　said
he　didn't　seem　to　care　for　his　country。

'Well；　my　dear；'　said　the　turnkey；　'something　ought　to　be　done　with　him。
Suppose　I　try　and　get　him　into　the　law？'

'That　would　be　so　good　of　you；　Bob！'

The　turnkey　had　now　two　points　to　put　to　the　professional　gentlemen　as
they　passed　in　and　out。　He　put　this　second　one　so　perseveringly　that
a　stool　and　twelve　shillings　a　week　were　at　last　found　for　Tip　in　the
office　of　an　attorney　in　a　great　National　Palladium　called　the　Palace
Court；　at