little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第34部分

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I　have！　I　believe　I　am　not　mistaken　in　supposing　that　I　am　acquainted
with　those　features？　I　think　I　address　a　gentleman　of　whose　return　to
this　country　I　was　informed　by　Mr　Flintwinch？'

'That　is　your　present　visitor。'

'Really！　Mr　Clennam？'

'No　other；　Mr　Casby。'

'Mr　Clennam；　I　am　glad　to　see　you。　How　have　you　been　since　we　met？'

Without　thinking　it　worth　while　to　explain　that　in　the　course　of　some
quarter　of　a　century　he　had　experienced　occasional　slight　fluctuations
in　his　health　and　spirits；　Clennam　answered　generally　that　he　had　never
been　better；　or　something　equally　to　the　purpose；　and　shook　hands　with
the　possessor　of　'that　head'　as　it　shed　its　patriarchal　light　upon　him。

'We　are　older；　Mr　Clennam；'　said　Christopher　Casby。

'We　are……not　younger；'　said　Clennam。　After　this　wise　remark　he　felt　that
he　was　scarcely　shining　with　brilliancy；　and　became　aware　that　he　was
nervous。

'And　your　respected　father；'　said　Mr　Casby；　'is　no　more！　I　was　grieved
to　hear　it；　Mr　Clennam；　I　was　grieved。'

Arthur　replied　in　the　usual　way　that　he　felt　infinitely　obliged　to　him。

'There　was　a　time；'　said　Mr　Casby；　'when　your　parents　and　myself　were
not　on　friendly　terms。　There　was　a　little　family　misunderstanding　among
us。　Your　respected　mother　was　rather　jealous　of　her　son；　maybe；　when　I
say　her　son；　I　mean　your　worthy　self；　your　worthy　self。'

His　smooth　face　had　a　bloom　upon　it　like　ripe　wall…fruit。　What　with
his　blooming　face；　and　that　head；　and　his　blue　eyes；　he　seemed　to　be
delivering　sentiments　of　rare　wisdom　and　virtue。　In　like　manner；　his
physiognomical　expression　seemed　to　teem　with　benignity。　Nobody　could
have　said　where　the　wisdom　was；　or　where　the　virtue　was；　or　where　the
benignity　was；　but　they　all　seemed　to　be　somewhere　about　him。　'Those
times；　however；'　pursued　Mr　Casby；　'are　past　and　gone；　past　and　gone。
I　do　myself　the　pleasure　of　making　a　visit　to　your　respected　mother
occasionally；　and　of　admiring　the　fortitude　and　strength　of　mind　with
which　she　bears　her　trials；　bears　her　trials。'　When　he　made　one　of　these
little　repetitions；　sitting　with　his　hands　crossed　before　him；　he　did　it
with　his　head　on　one　side；　and　a　gentle　smile；　as　if　he　had　something　in
his　thoughts　too　sweetly　profound　to　be　put　into　words。　As　if　he　denied
himself　the　pleasure　of　uttering　it；　lest　he　should　soar　too　high；　and
his　meekness　therefore　preferred　to　be　unmeaning。

'I　have　heard　that　you　were　kind　enough　on　one　of　those　occasions；'　said
Arthur；　catching　at　the　opportunity　as　it　drifted　past　him；　'to　mention
Little　Dorrit　to　my　mother。'

'Little……Dorrit？　That's　the　seamstress　who　was　mentioned　to　me　by　a
small　tenant　of　mine？　Yes；　yes。　Dorrit？　That's　the　name。　Ah；　yes；　yes！
You　call　her　Little　Dorrit？'

No　road　in　that　direction。　Nothing　came　of　the　cross…cut。　It　led　no
further。

'My　daughter　Flora；'　said　Mr　Casby；　'as　you　may　have　heard　probably；　Mr
Clennam；　was　married　and　established　in　life；　several　years　ago。　She
had　the　misfortune　to　lose　her　husband　when　she　had　been　married　a　few
months。　She　resides　with　me　again。　She　will　be　glad　to　see　you；　if　you
will　permit　me　to　let　her　know　that　you　are　here。'

'By　all　means；'　returned　Clennam。　'I　should　have　preferred　the　request；
if　your　kindness　had　not　anticipated　me。'

Upon　this　Mr　Casby　rose　up　in　his　list　shoes；　and　with　a　slow；　heavy
step　（he　was　of　an　elephantine　build）；　made　for　the　door。　He　had　a　long
wide…skirted　bottle…green　coat　on；　and　a　bottle…green　pair　of　trousers；
and　a　bottle…green　waistcoat。　The　Patriarchs　were　not　dressed　in
bottle…green　broadcloth；　and　yet　his　clothes　looked　patriarchal。

He　had　scarcely　left　the　room；　and　allowed　the　ticking　to　bee　audible
again；　when　a　quick　hand　turned　a　latchkey　in　the　house…door；　opened　it；
and　shut　it。　Immediately　afterwards；　a　quick　and　eager　short　dark　man
came　into　the　room　with　so　much　way　upon　him　that　he　was　within　a　foot
of　Clennam　before　he　could　stop。

'Halloa！'　he　said。

Clennam　saw　no　reason　why　he　should　not　say　'Halloa！'　too。

'What's　the　matter？'　said　the　short　dark　man。

'I　have　not　heard　that　anything　is　the　matter；'　returned　Clennam。

'Where's　Mr　Casby？'　asked　the　short　dark　man；　looking　about。　'He　will　be
here　directly；　if　you　want　him。'

'_I_　want　him？'　said　the　short　dark　man。　'Don't　you？'　This　elicited　a
word　or　two　of　explanation　from　Clennam；　during　the　delivery　of　which
the　short　dark　man　held　his　breath　and　looked　at　him。　He　was　dressed　in
black　and　rusty　iron　grey；　had　jet　black　beads　of　eyes；　a　scrubby　little
black　chin；　wiry　black　hair　striking　out　from　his　head　in　prongs；　like
forks　or　hair…pins；　and　a　plexion　that　was　very　dingy　by　nature；　or
very　dirty　by　art；　or　a　pound　of　nature　and　art。　He　had　dirty　hands
and　dirty　broken　nails；　and　looked　as　if　he　had　been　in　the　coals；　he
was　in　a　perspiration；　and　snorted　and　sniffed　and　puffed　and　blew；　like
a　little　labouring　steam…engine。

'Oh！'　said　he；　when　Arthur　told　him　how　he　came　to　be　there。　'Very　well。
That's　right。　If　he　should　ask　for　Pancks；　will　you　be　so　good　as　to　say
that　Pancks　is　e　in？'　And　so；　with　a　snort　and　a　puff；　he　worked　out
by　another　door。

Now；　in　the　old　days　at　home；　certain　audacious　doubts　respecting　the
last　of　the　Patriarchs；　which　were　afloat　in　the　air；　had；　by　some
forgotten　means；　e　in　contact　with　Arthur's　sensorium。　He　was　aware
of　motes　and　specks　of　suspicion　in　the　atmosphere　of　that　time；　seen
through　which　medium；　Christopher　Casby　was　a　mere　Inn　signpost；　without
any　Inn……an　invitation　to　rest　and　be　thankful；　when　there　was　no　place
to　put　up　at；　and　nothing　whatever　to　be　thankful　for。　He　knew　that　some
of　these　specks　even　represented　Christopher　as　capable　of　harbouring
designs　in　'that　head；'　and　as　being　a　crafty　impostor。　Other　motes
there　were　which　showed　him　as　a　heavy；　selfish；　drifting　Booby；　who；
having　stumbled；　in　the　course　of　his　unwieldy　jostlings　against　other
men；　on　the　discovery　that　to　get　through　life　with　ease　and　credit；
he　had　but　to　hold　his　tongue；　keep　the　bald　part　of　his　head　well
polished；　and　leave　his　hair　alone；　had　had　just　cunning　enough　to　seize
the　idea　and　stick　to　it。　It　was　said　that　his　being　town…agent　to
Lord　Decimus　Tite　Barnacle　was　referable；　not　to　his　having　the　least
business　capacity；　but　to　his　looking　so　supremely　benignant　that　nobody
could　suppose　the　property　screwed　or　jobbed　under　such　a　man；　also；
that　for　similar　reasons　he　now　got　more　money　out　of　his　own　wretched
lettings；　unquestioned；　than　anybody　with　a　less　nobby　and　less　shining
crown　could　possibly　have　done。　In　a　word；　it　was　represented　（Clennam
called　to　mind；　alone　in　the　ticking　parlour）　that　many　people　select
their　models；　much　as　the　painters；　just　now　mentioned；　select　theirs；
and　that；　whereas　in　the　Royal　Academy　some　evil　old　ruffian　of　a
Dog…stealer　will　annually　be　found　embodying　all　the　cardinal　virtues；
on　account　of　his　eyelashes；　or　his　chin；　or　his　legs　（thereby　planting
thorns　of　confusion　in　the　breasts　of　the　more　observant　students　of
nature）；　so；　in　the　great　social　Exhibition；　accessories　are　often
accepted　in　lieu　of　the　internal　character。

Calling　these　things　to　mind；　and　ranging　Mr　Pancks　in　a　row　with　them；
Arthur　Clennam　leaned　this　day　to　the　opinion；　without　quite　deciding
on　it；　that　the　last　of　the　Patriarchs　was　the　drifting　Booby　aforesaid；
with　the　one　idea　of　keeping　the　bald　part　of　his　head　highly　polished：
and　that；　much　as　an　unwieldy　ship　in　the　Thames　river　may　sometimes　be
seen　heavily　driving　with　the　tide；　broadside　on；　stern　first；　in　its
own　way　and　in　the　way　of　everything　else；　though　making　a　great　show
of　navigation；　when　all　of　a　sudden；　a　little　coaly　steam…tug　will　bear
down　upon　it；　take　it　in　tow；　and　bustle　off　with　it；　similarly　the
cumbrous　Patriarch　had　been　taken　in　tow　by　the　snorting　Pancks；　and　was
now　following　in　the　wake　of　that　dingy　little　craft。

The　return　of　Mr　Casby　with　his　daughter　Flora；　put　an　end　to　these
meditations。　Clennam's　eyes　no　sooner　fell　upon　the　subject　of　his　old
passion　than　it　shivered　and　broke　to　pieces。

Most　men　will　be　found　sufficiently　true　to　themselves　to　be　true　to
an　old　idea。　It　is　no　proof　of　an　inconstant　mind；　but　exactly　the
opposite；　when　the　idea　will　not　bear　close　parison　with　the　reality；
and　the　contrast　is　a　fatal　shock　to　it。　Such　was　Clennam's　case。　In　his
youth　he　had　ardently　loved　this　woman；　and　had　heaped　upon　her　all　the
locked…up　wealth　of　his　affection　and　imagination。　That　wealth　had　been；
in　his　desert　home；　like　Robinson　Crusoe's　money；　exchangeable　with　no
one；　lying　idle　in　the　dark　to　rust；　until　he　poured　it　out　for　her。
Ever　since　that　memorable　time；　though　he　had；　until　the　night　of　his
arrival；　as　pletely　dismissed　her　from　any　association　with　his
Present　or　Future　as　if　she　had　been　dead　（which　she　might　easily
have　been　for　anything　he　knew）；　he　had　kept　the　old　fancy　of　the　Past
unchanged；　in　its　old　sacred　place。　And　now；　after　all；　the　last　of　the
Patriarchs　coolly　walked　into　the　parlour；　saying　in　effect；　'Be　good
enough　to　throw　it　down　and　dance　upon　it。　This　is　Flora。'

Flora；　always　tall；　had　grown　to　be　very　broad　too；　and　short　of　breath；
but　that　was　not　much。　Flora；　whom　he　had　left　a　lily；　had　bee　a
peony；　but　that　was　not　much。　Flora；　who　had　seemed　enchanting　in　all
she　said　and　thought；　was　diffuse　and　silly。　That　was　much。　Flora；　who
had　been　spoiled　and　artless　long　ago；　was　determined　to　be　spoiled　and
artless　now。　That　was　a　fatal　blow。

This　is　Flora！

'I　am　sure；'　giggled　Flora；　tossing　her　head　with　a　caricature　of
her　girlish　manner；　such　as　a　mummer　might　have　presented　at　her　own
funeral；　if　she　had　lived　and　died　in　classical　antiquity；　'I　am　ashamed
to　see　Mr　Clennam；　I　am　a　mere　fright；　I　know　he'll　find　me　fearfully
changed；　I　am　actually　an　old　woman；　it's　shocking　to　be　found　out；　it's
really　shocking！'

He　assured　her　that　she　was　just　what　he　had　expected　and　that　time　had
not　stood　still　with　himself。

'Oh！　But　with　a　gentleman　it's　so　different　and　really　you　look　so
amazingly　well　that　you　have　no　right　to　say　anything　of　the　kind；
while；　as　to　m