little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第2章

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coarse　brown　coat。

'Get　up；　pig！'　growled　the　first。　'Don't　sleep　when　I　am　hungry。'

'It's　all　one；　master；'　said　the　pig；　in　a　submissive　manner；　and　not
without　cheerfulness；　'I　can　wake　when　I　will；　I　can　sleep　when　I　will。
It's　all　the　same。'

As　he　said　it；　he　rose；　shook　himself；　scratched　himself；　tied　his　brown
coat　loosely　round　his　neck　by　the　sleeves　（he　had　previously　used　it
as　a　coverlet）；　and　sat　down　upon　the　pavement　yawning；　with　his　back
against　the　wall　opposite　to　the　grating。

'Say　what　the　hour　is；'　grumbled　the　first　man。

'The　mid…day　bells　will　ring……in　forty　minutes。'　When　he　made　the
little　pause；　he　had　looked　round　the　prison…room；　as　if　for　certain
information。

'You　are　a　clock。　How　is　it　that　you　always　know？'

'How　can　I　say？　I　always　know　what　the　hour　is；　and　where　I　am。　I　was
brought　in　here　at　night；　and　out　of　a　boat；　but　I　know　where　I　am。　See
here！　Marseilles　harbour；'　on　his　knees　on　the　pavement；　mapping　it　all
out　with　a　swarthy　forefinger；　'Toulon　（where　the　galleys　are）；　Spain
over　there；　Algiers　over　there。　Creeping　away　to　the　left　here；　Nice。
Round　by　the　Cornice　to　Genoa。　Genoa　Mole　and　Harbour。　Quarantine
Ground。　City　there；　terrace　gardens　blushing　with　the　bella　donna。　Here；
Porto　Fino。　Stand　out　for　Leghorn。　Out　again　for　Civita　Vecchia；　so　away
to……hey！　there's　no　room　for　Naples；'　he　had　got　to　the　wall　by　this
time；　'but　it's　all　one；　it's　in　there！'

He　remained　on　his　knees；　looking　up　at　his　fellow…prisoner　with　a
lively　look　for　a　prison。　A　sunburnt；　quick；　lithe；　little　man；　though
rather　thickset。　Earrings　in　his　brown　ears；　white　teeth　lighting　up　his
grotesque　brown　face；　intensely　black　hair　clustering　about　his　brown
throat；　a　ragged　red　shirt　open　at　his　brown　breast。　Loose；　seaman…like
trousers；　decent　shoes；　a　long　red　cap；　a　red　sash　round　his　waist；　and
a　knife　in　it。

'Judge　if　I　e　back　from　Naples　as　I　went！　See　here；　my　master！　Civita
Vecchia；　Leghorn；　Porto　Fino；　Genoa；　Cornice；　Off　Nice　（which　is　in
there）；　Marseilles；　you　and　me。　The　apartment　of　the　jailer　and　his　keys
is　where　I　put　this　thumb；　and　here　at　my　wrist　they　keep　the　national
razor　in　its　case……the　guillotine　locked　up。'

The　other　man　spat　suddenly　on　the　pavement；　and　gurgled　in　his　throat。

Some　lock　below　gurgled　in　its　throat　immediately　afterwards；　and　then
a　door　crashed。　Slow　steps　began　ascending　the　stairs；　the　prattle　of
a　sweet　little　voice　mingled　with　the　noise　they　made；　and　the
prison…keeper　appeared　carrying　his　daughter；　three　or　four　years　old；
and　a　basket。

'How　goes　the　world　this　forenoon；　gentlemen？　My　little　one；　you　see；
going　round　with　me　to　have　a　peep　at　her　father's　birds。　Fie；　then！
Look　at　the　birds；　my　pretty；　look　at　the　birds。'

He　looked　sharply　at　the　birds　himself；　as　he　held　the　child　up　at
the　grate；　especially　at　the　little　bird；　whose　activity　he　seemed　to
mistrust。　'I　have　brought　your　bread；　Signor　John　Baptist；'　said　he
（they　all　spoke　in　French；　but　the　little　man　was　an　Italian）；　'and　if　I
might　remend　you　not　to　game……'

'You　don't　remend　the　master！'　said　John　Baptist；　showing　his　teeth
as　he　smiled。

'Oh！　but　the　master　wins；'　returned　the　jailer；　with　a　passing　look　of
no　particular　liking　at　the　other　man；　'and　you　lose。　It's　quite　another
thing。　You　get　husky　bread　and　sour　drink　by　it；　and　he　gets　sausage　of
Lyons；　veal　in　savoury　jelly；　white　bread；　strachino　cheese；　and　good
wine　by　it。　Look　at　the　birds；　my　pretty！'

'Poor　birds！'　said　the　child。

The　fair　little　face；　touched　with　divine　passion；　as　it　peeped
shrinkingly　through　the　grate；　was　like　an　angel's　in　the　prison。　John
Baptist　rose　and　moved　towards　it；　as　if　it　had　a　good　attraction　for
him。　The　other　bird　remained　as　before；　except　for　an　impatient　glance
at　the　basket。

'Stay！'　said　the　jailer；　putting　his　little　daughter　on　the　outer　ledge
of　the　grate；　'she　shall　feed　the　birds。　This　big　loaf　is　for　Signor
John　Baptist。　We　must　break　it　to　get　it　through　into　the　cage。　So；
there's　a　tame　bird　to　kiss　the　little　hand！　This　sausage　in　a　vine
leaf　is　for　Monsieur　Rigaud。　Again……this　veal　in　savoury　jelly　is　for
Monsieur　Rigaud。　Again……these　three　white　little　loaves　are　for　Monsieur
Rigaud。　Again；　this　cheese……again；　this　wine……again；　this　tobacco……all
for　Monsieur　Rigaud。　Lucky　bird！'

The　child　put　all　these　things　between　the　bars　into　the　soft；　Smooth；
well…shaped　hand；　with　evident　dread……more　than　once　drawing　back
her　own　and　looking　at　the　man　with　her　fair　brow　roughened　into　an
expression　half　of　fright　and　half　of　anger。　Whereas　she　had　put　the
lump　of　coarse　bread　into　the　swart；　scaled；　knotted　hands　of　John
Baptist　（who　had　scarcely　as　much　nail　on　his　eight　fingers　and　two
thumbs　as　would　have　made　out　one　for　Monsieur　Rigaud）；　with　ready
confidence；　and；　when　he　kissed　her　hand；　had　herself　passed　it
caressingly　over　his　face。　Monsieur　Rigaud；　indifferent　to　this
distinction；　propitiated　the　father　by　laughing　and　nodding　at　the
daughter　as　often　as　she　gave　him　anything；　and；　so　soon　as　he　had
all　his　viands　about　him　in　convenient　nooks　of　the　ledge　on　which　he
rested；　began　to　eat　with　an　appetite。

When　Monsieur　Rigaud　laughed；　a　change　took　place　in　his　face；　that
was　more　remarkable　than　prepossessing。　His　moustache　went　up　under　his
nose；　and　his　nose　came　down　over　his　moustache；　in　a　very　sinister　and
cruel　manner。

'There！'　said　the　jailer；　turning　his　basket　upside　down　to　beat　the
crumbs　out；　'I　have　expended　all　the　money　I　received；　here　is　the　note
of　it；　and　that's　a　thing　acplished。　Monsieur　Rigaud；　as　I　expected
yesterday；　the　President　will　look　for　the　pleasure　of　your　society　at
an　hour　after　mid…day；　to…day。'


'To　try　me；　eh？'　said　Rigaud；　pausing；　knife　in　hand　and　morsel　in
mouth。

'You　have　said　it。　To　try　you。'

'There　is　no　news　for　me？'　asked　John　Baptist；　who　had　begun；
contentedly；　to　munch　his　bread。

The　jailer　shrugged　his　shoulders。

'Lady　of　mine！　Am　I　to　lie　here　all　my　life；　my　father？'

'What　do　I　know！'　cried　the　jailer；　turning　upon　him　with　southern
quickness；　and　gesticulating　with　both　his　hands　and　all　his　fingers；
as　if　he　were　threatening　to　tear　him　to　pieces。　'My　friend；　how　is　it
possible　for　me　to　tell　how　long　you　are　to　lie　here？　What　do　I　know；
John　Baptist　Cavalletto？　Death　of　my　life！　There　are　prisoners　here
sometimes；　who　are　not　in　such　a　devil　of　a　hurry　to　be　tried。'　He
seemed　to　glance　obliquely　at　Monsieur　Rigaud　in　this　remark；　but
Monsieur　Rigaud　had　already　resumed　his　meal；　though　not　with　quite　so
quick　an　appetite　as　before。

'Adieu；　my　birds！'　said　the　keeper　of　the　prison；　taking　his　pretty
child　in　his　arms；　and　dictating　the　words　with　a　kiss。

'Adieu；　my　birds！'　the　pretty　child　repeated。

Her　innocent　face　looked　back　so　brightly　over　his　shoulder；　as　he
walked　away　with　her；　singing　her　the　song　of　the　child's　game：

　　　　　'Who　passes　by　this　road　so　late？
　　　　　　　　　　pagnon　de　la　Majolaine！
　　　　　Who　passes　by　this　road　so　late？
　　　　　　　　　　Always　gay！'

that　John　Baptist　felt　it　a　point　of　honour　to　reply　at　the　grate；　and
in　good　time　and　tune；　though　a　little　hoarsely：

　　　　　'Of　all　the　king's　knights　'tis　the　flower；
　　　　　　　　　　pagnon　de　la　Majolaine！
　　　　　Of　all　the　king's　knights　'tis　the　flower；
　　　　　　　　　　Always　gay！'

which　acpanied　them　so　far　down　the　few　steep　stairs；　that　the
prison…keeper　had　to　stop　at　last　for　his　little　daughter　to　hear　the
song　out；　and　repeat　the　Refrain　while　they　were　yet　in　sight。　Then　the
child's　head　disappeared；　and　the　prison…keeper's　head　disappeared；　but
the　little　voice　prolonged　the　strain　until　the　door　clashed。

Monsieur　Rigaud；　finding　the　listening　John　Baptist　in　his　way　before
the　echoes　had　ceased　（even　the　echoes　were　the　weaker　for　imprisonment；
and　seemed　to　lag）；　reminded　him　with　a　push　of　his　foot　that　he　had
better　resume　his　own　darker　place。　The　little　man　sat　down　again
upon　the　pavement　with　the　negligent　ease　of　one　who　was　thoroughly
accustomed　to　pavements；　and　placing　three　hunks　of　coarse　bread　before
himself；　and　falling　to　upon　a　fourth；　began　contentedly　to　work　his　way
through　them　as　if　to　clear　them　off　were　a　sort　of　game。

Perhaps　he　glanced　at　the　Lyons　sausage；　and　perhaps　he　glanced　at　the
veal　in　savoury　jelly；　but　they　were　not　there　long；　to　make　his　mouth
water；　Monsieur　Rigaud　soon　dispatched　them；　in　spite　of　the　president
and　tribunal；　and　proceeded　to　suck　his　fingers　as　clean　as　he　could；
and　to　wipe　them　on　his　vine　leaves。　Then；　as　he　paused　in　his　drink
to　contemplate　his　fellow…prisoner；　his　moustache　went　up；　and　his　nose
came　down。

'How　do　you　find　the　bread？'

'A　little　dry；　but　I　have　my　old　sauce　here；'　returned　John　Baptist；
holding　up　his　knife。　'How　sauce？'

'I　can　cut　my　bread　so……like　a　melon。　Or　so……like　an　omelette。　Or
so……like　a　fried　fish。　Or　so……like　Lyons　sausage；'　said　John　Baptist；
demonstrating　the　various　cuts　on　the　bread　he　held；　and　soberly　chewing
what　he　had　in　his　mouth。

'Here！'　cried　Monsieur　Rigaud。　'You　may　drink。　You　may　finish　this。'

It　was　no　great　gift；　for　there　was　mighty　little　wine　left；　but　Signor
Cavalletto；　jumping　to　his　feet；　received　the　bottle　gratefully；　turned
it　upside　down　at　his　mouth；　and　smacked　his　lips。

'Put　the　bottle　by　with　the　rest；'　said　Rigaud。

The　little　man　obeyed　his　orders；　and　stood　ready　to　give　him　a　lighted
match；　for　he　was　now　rolling　his　tobacco　into　cigarettes　by　the　aid　of
little　squares　of　paper　which　had　been　brought　in　with　it。

'Here！　You　may　have　one。'

'A　thousand　thanks；　my　master！'　John　Baptist　said　in　his　own　language；
and　anner　of　his　own　countrymen。

Monsieur　Rigaud　arose；　lighted　a　cigarette；　put　the　rest　of　his　stock
into　a　breast…pocket；　and　stretched　himself　out　at　full　length　upon　the
bench。　Cavalletto　sat　down　on　the　pavement；　holding　one　of　his　ankles　in
each　hand；　and　smoking　peacefully。　There　seemed　to　be　some　unfortable
attraction　of　Monsieur　Rigaud's　eyes　to　the　immediate　neighbourhood　of
that　part　of　the　pavement　where　the　thumb　had　been　in　the　plan。　They
were　so　drawn　in　that　direction；　that　the　Italian　more　than　once
followed　them　to　and　back　from　the　pavement　in　some　surprise。

'What　an　infernal　hole　this　is！'　said　Monsieur　Rigaud；　breaking　a　long
pause。　'Look　at　the　light　of　day。　Day？　the　light　of　yesterday　week；　the
light　of　six　months　ago；　the　light　of　six　years　ago。　So　slack　and　dead！'

It　came　languishing　down　a　square　funnel　that　blinded　a　window　in　the
staircase　wall；　through　which　the　sky　was　never　seen……nor　anything　else。

'Cavalletto；'　said　Monsieur　Rigaud；　suddenly　withdrawing　his　gaze　from
this　funnel　to　which　they　had　both　involuntarily　turned　their　eyes；　'you
know　me　for　a　gentleman？'

'Surely；　surely！'

'How　long　have　we　been　here？'　'I；　eleven　weeks；　to…morrow　night　at
midnight。　You；　nine　weeks　and　three　days；　at　five　this　afternoon。'

'Have　I　ever　done　anything　here？　Ever　touched　the　broom；　or　spread
the　mats；　or　rolled　them　up；　or　found　the　draughts；　or　collected　the
dominoes；　or　put　my　hand　to　any　kind　of　work？'

'Never！'

'Have　you　ever　thought　of　looking　to　me　to　do　any　kind　of　work？'

John　Baptist　answered　with　that　peculiar　back…handed　shake　of　the
right　forefinger　which　is　the　most　expressive　negative　in　the　Italian
language。

'No！　You　knew　from　the　first　moment　when　you　saw　me　here；　that　I　was　a
gentleman？'

'ALTRO！'　returned　John　Baptist；　closing　his　eyes　and　giving　his　head　a
most　vehement　toss。　The　word　being；　according　to　its　Genoese　emphasis；
a　confirmation；　a　contradiction；　an　assertion；　a　denial；　a　taunt；
a　pliment；　a　joke；　and　fifty　other　things；　became　in　the　present
instance；　with　a　significance　beyond　all　power　of　written　expression；
our　familiar　English　'I　believe　you！'

'Haha！　You　are　right！　A　gentleman　I　am！　And　a　gentleman　I'll　live；　and
a　gentleman　I'll　die！　It's　my　intent　to　be　a　gentleman。　It's　my　game。
Death　of　my　soul；　I　play　it　out　wherever　I　go！'

He　changed　his　posture　to　a　sitting　one；　crying　with　a　triumphant　air：

'Here　I　am！　See　me！　Shaken　out　of　destiny's　dice…box　into　the　pany
of　a　mere　smuggler；……shut　up　with　a　poor　little　contraband　trader；　whose
papers　are　wrong；　and　whom　the　police　lay　hold　of　besides；　for　placing
his　boat　（as　a　means　of　getting　beyond　the　frontier）　at　the　disposition
of　other　little　people　whose　papers　are　wrong；　and　he　instinctively
recognises　my　position；　even　by　this　light　and　in　this　place。　It's　well
done！　By　Heaven！　I　win；　however　the　game　goes。'

Again　his　moustache　went　up；　and　his　nose　came　down。

'What's　the　hour　now？'　he　asked；　with　a　dry　hot　pallor　upon　him；　rather
difficult　of　association　with　merriment。

'A　little　half…hour　after　mid…day。'

'Good！　The　President　will　have　a　gentleman　before　him　soon。　e！

Shall　I　tell　you　on　what　accusation？　It　must　be　now；　or　never；　for　I
shall　not　return　here。　Either　I　shall　go　free；　or　I　shall　go　to　be　made
ready　for　shaving。　You　know　where　they　keep　the　razor。'

Signor　Cavalletto　took　his　cigarette　from　between　his　parted　lips；　and
showed　more　momentary　disfiture　than　might　have　been　expected。

'I　am　a'……Monsieur