little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第89章

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sixpences。'　These　remarks　were　not　less　favourably　received　by　Mr　Dorrit
than　their　predecessors。　They　were　the　prelude　to　the　first　reception　of
Mr　and　Mrs　Gowan　at　dinner；　and　they　skilfully　placed　Gowan　on　his　usual
ground　in　the　new　family。

His　wife；　too；　they　placed　on　her　usual　ground。　Miss　Fanny　understood；
with　particular　distinctness；　that　Mrs　Gowan's　good　looks　had　cost　her
husband　very　dear；　that　there　had　been　a　great　disturbance　about　her
in　the　Barnacle　family；　and　that　the　Dowager　Mrs　Gowan；　nearly
heart…broken；　had　resolutely　set　her　face　against　the　marriage　until
overpowered　by　her　maternal　feelings。　Mrs　General　likewise　clearly
understood　that　the　attachment　had　occasioned　much　family　grief　and
dissension。　Of　honest　Mr　Meagles　no　mention　was　made；　except　that　it
was　natural　enough　that　a　person　of　that　sort　should　wish　to　raise　his
daughter　out　of　his　own　obscurity；　and　that　no　one　could　blame　him　for
trying　his　best　to　do　so。

Little　Dorrit's　interest　in　the　fair　subject　of　this　easily　accepted
belief　was　too　earnest　and　watchful　to　fail　in　accurate　observation。　She
could　see　that　it　had　its　part　in　throwing　upon　Mrs　Gowan　the　touch　of　a
shadow　under　which　she　lived；　and　she　even　had　an　instinctive　knowledge
that　there　was　not　the　least　truth　in　it。　But　it　had　an　influence　in
placing　obstacles　in　the　way　of　her　association　with　Mrs　Gowan　by　making
the　Prunes　and　Prism　school　excessively　polite　to　her；　but　not　very
intimate　with　her；　and　Little　Dorrit；　as　an　enforced　sizar　of　that
college；　was　obliged　to　submit　herself　humbly　to　its　ordinances。

Nevertheless；　there　was　a　sympathetic　understanding　already
established　between　the　two；　which　would　have　carried　them　over
greater　difficulties；　and　made　a　friendship　out　of　a　more　restricted
intercourse。　As　though　accidents　were　determined　to　be　favourable　to
it；　they　had　a　new　assurance　of　congeniality　in　the　aversion　which　each
perceived　that　the　other　felt　towards　Blandois　of　Paris；　an　aversion
amounting　to　the　repugnance　and　horror　of　a　natural　antipathy　towards　an
odious　creature　of　the　reptile　kind。

And　there　was　a　passive　congeniality　between　them；　besides　this　active
one。　To　both　of　them；　Blandois　behaved　in　exactly　the　same　manner；　and
to　both　of　them　his　manner　had　uniformly　something　in　it；　which
they　both　knew　to　be　different　from　his　bearing　towards　others。　The
difference　was　too　minute　in　its　expression　to　be　perceived　by　others；
but　they　knew　it　to　be　there。　A　mere　trick　of　his　evil　eyes；　a　mere　turn
of　his　smooth　white　hand；　a　mere　hair's…breadth　of　addition　to　the　fall
of　his　nose　and　the　rise　of　the　moustache　in　the　most　frequent　movement
of　his　face；　conveyed　to　both　of　them；　equally；　a　swagger　personal　to
themselves。　It　was　as　if　he　had　said；　'I　have　a　secret　power　in　this
quarter。　I　know　what　I　know。'

This　had　never　been　felt　by　them　both　in　so　great　a　degree；　and　never
by　each　so　perfectly　to　the　knowledge　of　the　other；　as　on　a　day　when　he
came　to　Mr　Dorrit's　to　take　his　leave　before　quitting　Venice。　Mrs
Gowan　was　herself　there　for　the　same　purpose；　and　he　came　upon　the
two　together；　the　rest　of　the　family　being　out。　The　two　had　not　been
together　five　minutes；　and　the　peculiar　manner　seemed　to　convey　to　them；
'You　were　going　to　talk　about　me。　Ha！　Behold　me　here　to　prevent　it！'

'Gowan　is　ing　here？'　said　Blandois；　with　a　smile。

Mrs　Gowan　replied　he　was　not　ing。

'Not　ing！'　said　Blandois。　'Permit　your　devoted　servant；　when　you
leave　here；　to　escort　you　home。'

'Thank　you：　I　am　not　going　home。'

'Not　going　home！'　said　Blandois。　'Then　I　am　forlorn。'

That　he　might　be；　but　he　was　not　so　forlorn　as　to　roam　away　and　leave
them　together。　He　sat　entertaining　them　with　his　finest　pliments；　and
his　choicest　conversation；　but　he　conveyed　to　them；　all　the　time；　'No；
no；　no；　dear　ladies。　Behold　me　here　expressly　to　prevent　it！'

He　conveyed　it　to　them　with　so　much　meaning；　and　he　had　such　a
diabolical　persistency　in　him；　that　at　length；　Mrs　Gowan　rose　to　depart。
On　his　offering　his　hand　to　Mrs　Gowan　to　lead　her　down　the　staircase；
she　retained　Little　Dorrit's　hand　in　hers；　with　a　cautious　pressure；　and
said；　'No；　thank　you。　But；　if　you　will　please　to　see　if　my　boatman　is
there；　I　shall　be　obliged　to　you。'

It　left　him　no　choice　but　to　go　down　before　them。　As　he　did　so；　hat　in
hand；　Mrs　Gowan　whispered：

'He　killed　the　dog。'

'Does　Mr　Gowan　know　it？'　Little　Dorrit　whispered。

'No　one　knows　it。　Don't　look　towards　me；　look　towards　him。　He　will　turn
his　face　in　a　moment。　No　one　knows　it；　but　I　am　sure　he　did。　You　are？'

'I……I　think　so；'　Little　Dorrit　answered。

'Henry　likes　him；　and　he　will　not　think　ill　of　him；　he　is　so　generous
and　open　himself。　But　you　and　I　feel　sure　that　we　think　of　him　as　he
deserves。　He　argued　with　Henry　that　the　dog　had　been　already　poisoned
when　he　changed　so；　and　sprang　at　him。　Henry　believes　it；　but　we　do　not。
I　see　he　is　listening；　but　can't　hear。

Good…bye；　my　love！　Good…bye！'

The　last　words　were　spoken　aloud；　as　the　vigilant　Blandois　stopped；
turned　his　head；　and　looked　at　them　from　the　bottom　of　the　staircase。
Assuredly　he　did　look　then；　though　he　looked　his　politest；　as　if　any
real　philanthropist　could　have　desired　no　better　employment　than　to　lash
a　great　stone　to　his　neck；　and　drop　him　into　the　water　flowing　beyond
the　dark　arched　gateway　in　which　he　stood。　No　such　benefactor　to　mankind
being　on　the　spot；　he　handed　Mrs　Gowan　to　her　boat；　and　stood　there
until　it　had　shot　out　of　the　narrow　view；　when　he　handed　himself　into
his　own　boat　and　followed。

Little　Dorrit　had　sometimes　thought；　and　now　thought　again　as　she
retraced　her　steps　up　the　staircase；　that　he　had　made　his　way　too　easily
into　her　father's　house。　But　so　many　and　such　varieties　of　people　did
the　same；　through　Mr　Dorrit's　participation　in　his　elder　daughter's
society　mania；　that　it　was　hardly　an　exceptional　case。　A　perfect　fury
for　making　acquaintances　on　whom　to　impress　their　riches　and　importance；
had　seized　the　House　of　Dorrit。

It　appeared　on　the　whole；　to　Little　Dorrit　herself；　that　this　same
society　in　which　they　lived；　greatly　resembled　a　superior　sort　of
Marshalsea。　Numbers　of　people　seemed　to　e　abroad；　pretty　much
as　people　had　e　into　the　prison；　through　debt；　through　idleness；
relationship；　curiosity；　and　general　unfitness　for　getting　on　at　home。
They　were　brought　into　these　foreign　towns　in　the　custody　of　couriers
and　local　followers；　just　as　the　debtors　had　been　brought　into　the
prison。　They　prowled　about　the　churches　and　picture…galleries；　much　in
the　old；　dreary；　prison…yard　manner。　They　were　usually　going　away　again
to…morrow　or　next　week；　and　rarely　knew　their　own　minds；　and　seldom　did
what　they　said　they　would　do；　or　went　where　they　said　they　would　go：　in
all　this　again；　very　like　the　prison　debtors。　They　paid　high　for　poor
acmodation；　and　disparaged　a　place　while　they　pretended　to　like　it：
which　was　exactly　the　Marshalsea　custom。　They　were　envied　when　they　went
away　by　people　left　behind；　feigning　not　to　want　to　go：　and　that　again
was　the　Marshalsea　habit　invariably。　A　certain　set　of　words　and　phrases；
as　much　belonging　to　tourists　as　the　College　and　the　Snuggery　belonged
to　the　jail；　was　always　in　their　mouths。　They　had　precisely　the　same
incapacity　for　settling　down　to　anything；　as　the　prisoners　used　to　have；
they　rather　deteriorated　one　another；　as　the　prisoners　used　to　do；　and
they　wore　untidy　dresses；　and　fell　into　a　slouching　way　of　life：　still；
always　like　the　people　in　the　Marshalsea。

The　period　of　the　family's　stay　at　Venice　came；　in　its　course；　to　an
end；　and　they　moved；　with　their　retinue；　to　Rome。　Through　a　repetition
of　the　former　Italian　scenes；　growing　more　dirty　and　more　haggard　as
they　went　on；　and　bringing　them　at　length　to　where　the　very　air　was
diseased；　they　passed　to　their　destination。　A　fine　residence　had　been
taken　for　them　on　the　Corso；　and　there　they　took　up　their　abode；　in　a
city　where　everything　seemed　to　be　trying　to　stand　still　for　ever　on
the　ruins　of　something　else……except　the　water；　which；　following　eternal
laws；　tumbled　and　rolled　from　its　glorious　multitude　of　fountains。

Here　it　seemed　to　Little　Dorrit　that　a　change　came　over　the　Marshalsea
spirit　of　their　society；　and　that　Prunes　and　Prism　got　the　upper　hand。
Everybody　was　walking　about　St　Peter's　and　the　Vatican　on　somebody
else's　cork　legs；　and　straining　every　visible　object　through　somebody
else's　sieve。　Nobody　said　what　anything　was；　but　everybody　said　what　the
Mrs　Generals；　Mr　Eustace；　or　somebody　else　said　it　was。　The　whole　body
of　travellers　seemed　to　be　a　collection　of　voluntary　human　sacrifices；
bound　hand　and　foot；　and　delivered　over　to　Mr　Eustace　and　his
attendants；　to　have　the　entrails　of　their　intellects　arranged　according
to　the　taste　of　that　sacred　priesthood。　Through　the　rugged　remains
of　temples　and　tombs　and　palaces　and　senate　halls　and　theatres　and
amphitheatres　of　ancient　days；　hosts　of　tongue…tied　and　blindfolded
moderns　were　carefully　feeling　their　way；　incessantly　repeating　Prunes
and　Prism　in　the　endeavour　to　set　their　lips　according　to　the　received
form。　Mrs　General　was　in　her　pure　element。　Nobody　had　an　opinion。　There
was　a　formation　of　surface　going　on　around　her　on　an　amazing　scale；　and
it　had　not　a　flaw　of　courage　or　honest　free　speech　in　it。

Another　modification　of　Prunes　and　Prism　insinuated　itself　on　Little
Dorrit's　notice　very　shortly　after　their　arrival。　They　received　an　early
visit　from　Mrs　Merdle；　who　led　that　extensive　department　of　life　in　the
Eternal　City　that　winter；　and　the　skilful　manner　in　which　she　and　Fanny
fenced　with　one　another　on　the　occasion；　almost　made　her　quiet　sister
wink；　like　the　glittering　of　small…swords。

'So　delighted；'　said　Mrs　Merdle；　'to　resume　an　acquaintance　so
inauspiciously　begun　at　Martigny。'

'At　Martigny；　of　course；'　said　Fanny。　'Charmed；　I　am　sure！'

'I　understand；'　said　Mrs　Merdle；　'from　my　son　Edmund　Sparkler；　that
he　has　already　improved　that　chance　occasion。　He　has　returned　quite
transported　with　Venice。'

'Indeed？'　returned　the　careless　Fanny。　'Was　he　there　long？'

'I　might　refer　that　question　to　Mr　Dorrit；'　said　Mrs　Merdle；　turning　the
bosom　towards　that　gentleman；　'Edmund　having　been　so　much　indebted　to
him　for　rendering　his　stay　agreeable。'

'Oh；　pray　don't　speak　of　it；'　returned　Fanny。　'I　believe　Papa　had　the
pleasure　of　inviting　Mr　Sparkler　twice　or　thrice；……but　it　was　nothing。
We　had　so　many　people　about　us；　and　kept　such　open　house；　that　if　he　had
that　pleasure；　it　was　less　than　nothing。'

'Except；　my　dear；'　said　Mr　Dorrit；　'except……ha……as　it　afforded　me
unusual　gratification　to……hum……show　by　any　means；　however　slight　and
worthless；　the……ha；　hum……high　estimation　in　which；　in……ha……mon　with
the　rest　of　the　world；　I　hold　so　distinguished　and　princely　a　character
as　Mr　Merdle's。'

The　bosom　received　this　tribute　in　its　most　engaging　manner。　'Mr
Merdle；'　observed　Fanny；　as　a　means　of　dismissing　Mr　Sparkler　into　the
background；　'is　quite　a　theme　of　Papa's；　you　must　know；　Mrs　Merdle。'

'I　have　been……ha……disappointed；　madam；'　said　Mr　Dorrit；　'to　understand
from　Mr　Sparkler　that　there　is　no　great……hum……probability　of　Mr　Merdle's
ing　abroad。'

'Why；　indeed；'　said　Mrs　Merdle；　'he　is　so　much　engaged　and　in　such
request；　that　I　fear　not。　He　has　not　been　able　to　get　abroad　for　years。
You；　Miss　Dorrit；　I　believe　have　been　almost　continually　abroad　for　a
long　time。'

'Oh　dear　yes；'　drawled　Fanny；　with　the　greatest　hardihood。　'An　immense
number　of　years。'

'So　I　should　have　inferred；'　said　Mrs　Merdle。

'Exactly；'　said　Fanny。

'I　trust；　however；'　resumed　Mr　Dorrit；　'that　if　I　have　not
the……hum……great　advantage　of　being　known　to　Mr　Merdle　on　this　side
of　the　Alps　or　Mediterranean；　I　shall　have　that　honour　on　returning　to
England。　It　is　an　honour　I　particularly　desire　and　shall　particularly
esteem。'　'Mr　Merdle；'　said　Mrs　Merdle；　who　had　been　looking　admiringly
at　Fanny　through　her　eye…glass；　'will　esteem　it；　I　am　sure；　no　less。'

Little　Dorrit；　still　habitually　thoughtful　and　solitary　though　no　longer
alone；　at　first　supposed　this　to　be　mere　Prunes　and　Prism。　But　as　her
father　when　they　had　been　to　a　brilliant　reception　at　Mrs　Merdle's；
harped　at　their　own　family　breakfast…table　on　his　wish　to　know　Mr
Merdle；　with　the　contingent　view　of　benefiting　by　the　advice　of　that
wonderful　man　in　the　disposal　of　his　fortune；　she　began　to　think　it　had
a　real　meaning；　and　to　entertain　a　curiosity　on　her　own　part　to　see　the
shining　light　of　the　time。




CHAPTER　8。　The　Dowager　Mrs　Gowan　is　reminded　that　　　　　'It　Never　Does'


While　the　waters　of　Venice　and　the　ruins　of　Rome　were　sunning　themselves
for　the　pleasure　of　the　Dorrit　family；　and　were　daily　being　sketched
out　of　all　earthly　proportion；　lineament；　and　likeness；　by　travelling
pencils　innumerable；　the　firm　of　Doyce　and　Clennam　hammered　away　in
Bleeding　Heart　Yard；　and　the　vigorous　clink　of　iron　upon　iron　was　heard
there　through　the　working　hours。

The　younger　partner　had；　by　this　time；　brought　the　business　into　sound
trim；　and　the　elder；　left　free　to　follow　his　own　ingenious　devices；　had
done　much　to　enhance　the　character　of　the　f