little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第34章

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'Ay！'

John　Baptist　seemed　to　desire　to　evade　the　question　without　knowing　how。
'By　Bacchus！'　he　said　at　last；　as　if　he　were　forced　to　the　admission；　'I
have　sometimes　had　a　thought　of　going　to　Paris；　and　perhaps　to　England。'

'Cavalletto。　This　is　in　confidence。　I　also　am　going　to　Paris　and　perhaps
to　England。　We'll　go　together。'

The　little　man　nodded　his　head；　and　showed　his　teeth；　and　yet　seemed　not
quite　convinced　that　it　was　a　surpassingly　desirable　arrangement。

'We'll　go　together；'　repeated　Lagnier。　'You　shall　see　how　soon　I　will
force　myself　to　be　recognised　as　a　gentleman；　and　you　shall　profit　by
it。　It　is　agreed？　Are　we　one？'

'Oh；　surely；　surely！'　said　the　little　man。

'Then　you　shall　hear　before　I　sleep……and　in　six　words；　for　I　want
sleep……how　I　appear　before　you；　I；　Lagnier。　Remember　that。　Not　the
other。'

'Altro；　altro！　Not　Ri……'　Before　John　Baptist　could　finish　the　name；　his
rade　had　got　his　hand　under　his　chin　and　fiercely　shut　up　his　mouth。

'Death！　what　are　you　doing？　Do　you　want　me　to　be　trampled　upon　and
stoned？　Do　YOU　want　to　be　trampled　upon　and　stoned？　You　would　be。　You
don't　imagine　that　they　would　set　upon　me；　and　let　my　prison　chum　go？
Don't　think　it！'　There　was　an　expression　in　his　face　as　he　released　his
grip　of　his　friend's　jaw；　from　which　his　friend　inferred　that　if　the
course　of　events　really　came　to　any　stoning　and　trampling；　Monsieur
Lagnier　would　so　distinguish　him　with　his　notice　as　to　ensure　his
having　his　full　share　of　it。　He　remembered　what　a　cosmopolitan　gentleman
Monsieur　Lagnier　was；　and　how　few　weak　distinctions　he　made。

'I　am　a　man；'　said　Monsieur　Lagnier；　'whom　society　has　deeply　wronged
since　you　last　saw　me。　You　know　that　I　am　sensitive　and　brave；　and　that
it　is　my　character　to　govern。　How　has　society　respected　those　qualities
in　me？　I　have　been　shrieked　at　through　the　streets。　I　have　been　guarded
through　the　streets　against　men；　and　especially　women；　running　at　me
armed　with　any　weapons　they　could　lay　their　hands　on。　I　have　lain　in
prison　for　security；　with　the　place　of　my　confinement　kept　a　secret；
lest　I　should　be　torn　out　of　it　and　felled　by　a　hundred　blows。　I　have
been　carted　out　of　Marseilles　in　the　dead　of　night；　and　carried　leagues
away　from　it　packed　in　straw。　It　has　not　been　safe　for　me　to　go　near　my
house；　and；　with　a　beggar's　pittance　in　my　pocket；　I　have　walked　through
vile　mud　and　weather　ever　since；　until　my　feet　are　crippled……look　at
them！　Such　are　the　humiliations　that　society　has　inflicted　upon　me；
possessing　the　qualities　I　have　mentioned；　and　which　you　know　me　to
possess。　But　society　shall　pay　for　it。'

All　this　he　said　in　his　panion's　ear；　and　with　his　hand　before　his
lips。

'Even　here；'　he　went　on　in　the　same　way；　'even　in　this　mean
drinking…shop；　society　pursues　me。　Madame　defames　me；　and　her　guests
defame　me。　I；　too；　a　gentleman　with　manners　and　acplishments
to　strike　them　dead！　But　the　wrongs　society　has　heaped　upon　me　are
treasured　in　this　breast。'

To　all　of　which　John　Baptist；　listening　attentively　to　the　suppressed
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