little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第83部分

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and　said　nothing。　As　often　as　Mr　Blandois　clinked　glasses　（which　was
at　every　replenishment）；　Mr　Flintwinch　stolidly　did　his　part　of　the
clinking；　and　would　have　stolidly　done　his　panion's　part　of　the　wine
as　well　as　his　own：　being；　except　in　the　article　of　palate；　a　mere　cask。

In　short；　Mr　Blandois　found　that　to　pour　port　wine　into　the　reticent
Flintwinch　was；　not　to　open　him　but　to　shut　him　up。　Moreover；　he　had
the　appearance　of　a　perfect　ability　to　go　on　all　night；　or；　if　occasion
were；　all　next　day　and　all　next　night；　whereas　Mr　Blandois　soon　grew
indistinctly　conscious　of　swaggering　too　fiercely　and　boastfully。　He
therefore　terminated　the　entertainment　at　the　end　of　the　third　bottle。

'You　will　draw　upon　us　to…morrow；　sir；'　said　Mr　Flintwinch；　with　a
business…like　face　at　parting。

'My　Cabbage；'　returned　the　other；　taking　him　by　the　collar　with　both
hands；　'I'll　draw　upon　you；　have　no　fear。　Adieu；　my　Flintwinch。　Receive
at　parting；'　here　he　gave　him　a　southern　embrace；　and　kissed　him　soundly
on　both　cheeks；　'the　word　of　a　gentleman！　By　a　thousand　Thunders；　you
shall　see　me　again！'

He　did　not　present　himself　next　day；　though　the　letter　of　advice　came
duly　to　hand。　Inquiring　after　him　at　night；　Mr　Flintwinch　found；　with
surprise；　that　he　had　paid　his　bill　and　gone　back　to　the　Continent　by
way　of　Calais。　Nevertheless；　Jeremiah　scraped　out　of　his　cogitating
face　a　lively　conviction　that　Mr　Blandois　would　keep　his　word　on　this
occasion；　and　would　be　seen　again。




CHAPTER　31。　Spirit


Anybody　may　pass；　any　day；　in　the　thronged　thoroughfares　of　the
metropolis；　some　meagre；　wrinkled；　yellow　old　man　（who　might　be　supposed
to　have　dropped　from　the　stars；　if　there　were　any　star　in　the　Heavens
dull　enough　to　be　suspected　of　casting　off　so　feeble　a　spark）；　creeping
along　with　a　scared　air；　as　though　bewildered　and　a　little　frightened
by　the　noise　and　bustle。　This　old　man　is　always　a　little　old　man。　If　he
were　ever　a　big　old　man；　he　has　shrunk　into　a　little　old　man；　if　he　were
always　a　little　old　man；　he　has　dwindled　into　a　less　old　man。　His　coat
is　a　colour；　and　cut；　that　never　was　the　mode　anywhere；　at　any　period。
Clearly；　it　was　not　made　for　him；　or　for　any　individual　mortal。　Some
wholesale　contractor　measured　Fate　for　five　thousand　coats　of　such
quality；　and　Fate　has　lent　this　old　coat　to　this　old　man；　as　one　of　a
long　unfinished　line　of　many　old　men。　It　has　always　large　dull　metal
buttons；　similar　to　no　other　buttons。　This　old　man　wears　a　hat；　a
thumbed　and　napless　and　yet　an　obdurate　hat；　which　has　never　adapted
itself　to　the　shape　of　his　poor　head。　His　coarse　shirt　and　his　coarse
neckcloth　have　no　more　individuality　than　his　coat　and　hat；　they　have
the　same　character　of　not　being　his……of　not　being　anybody's。　Yet　this
old　man　wears　these　clothes　with　a　certain　unaccustomed　air　of　being
dressed　and　elaborated　for　the　public　ways；　as　though　he　passed　the
greater　part　of　his　time　in　a　nightcap　and　gown。　And　so；　like　the
country　mouse　in　the　second　year　of　a　famine；　e　to　see　the　town
mouse；　and　timidly　threading　his　way　to　the　town…mouse's　lodging　through
a　city　of　cats；　this　old　man　passes　in　the　streets。

Sometimes；　on　holidays　towards　evening；　he　will　be　seen　to　walk　with　a
slightly　increased　infirmity；　and　his　old　eyes　will　glimmer　with　a　moist
and　marshy　light。　Then　the　little　old　man　is　drunk。　A　very　small
measure　will　overset　him；　he　may　be　bowled　off　his　unsteady　legs　with
a　half…pint　pot。　Some　pitying　acquaintance……chance　acquaintance
very　often……has　warmed　up　his　weakness　with　a　treat　of　beer；　and　the
consequence　will　be　the　lapse　of　a　longer　time　than　usual　before　he
shall　pass　again。　For　the　little　old　man　is　going　home　to　the　Workhouse；
and　on　his　good　behaviour　they　do　not　let　him　out　often　（though　methinks
they　might；　considering　the　few　years　he　has　before　him　to　go　out　in；
under　the　sun）；　and　on　his　bad　behaviour　they　shut　him　up　closer　than
ever　in　a　grove　of　two　score　and　nieen　more　old　men；　every　one　of
whom　smells　of　all　the　others。


Mrs　Plornish's　father；……a　poor　little　reedy　piping　old　gentleman；　like
a　worn…out　bird；　who　had　been　in　what　he　called　the　music…binding
business；　and　met　with　great　misfortunes；　and　who　had　seldom　been　able
to　make　his　way；　or　to　see　it　or　to　pay　it；　or　to　do　anything　at　all
with　it　but　find　it　no　thoroughfare；……had　retired　of　his　own　accord　to
the　Workhouse　which　was　appointed　by　law　to　be　the　Good　Samaritan　of　his
district　（without　the　twopence；　which　was　bad　political　economy）；　on
the　settlement　of　that　execution　which　had　carried　Mr　Plornish　to　the
Marshalsea　College。　Previous　to　his　son…in…law's　difficulties　ing　to
that　head；　Old　Nandy　（he　was　always　so　called　in　his　legal　Retreat；　but
he　was　Old　Mr　Nandy　among　the　Bleeding　Hearts）　had　sat　in　a　corner　of
the　Plornish　fireside；　and　taken　his　bite　and　sup　out　of　the　Plornish
cupboard。　He　still　hoped　to　resume　that　domestic　position　when　Fortune
should　smile　upon　his　son…in…law；　in　the　meantime；　while　she　preserved
an　immovable　countenance；　he　was；　and　resolved　to　remain；　one　of　these
little　old　men　in　a　grove　of　little　old　men　with　a　munity　of　flavour。

But　no　poverty　in　him；　and　no　coat　on　him　that　never　was　the　mode；　and
no　Old　Men's　Ward　for　his　dwelling…place；　could　quench　his　daughter's
admiration。　Mrs　Plornish　was　as　proud　of　her　father's　talents　as　she
could　possibly　have　been　if　they　had　made　him　Lord　Chancellor。　She　had
as　firm　a　belief　in　the　sweetness　and　propriety　of　his　manners　as　she
could　possibly　have　had　if　he　had　been　Lord　Chamberlain。　The　poor　little
old　man　knew　some　pale　and　vapid　little　songs；　long　out　of　date；　about
Chloe；　and　Phyllis；　and　Strephon　being　wounded　by　the　son　of　Venus；
and　for　Mrs　Plornish　there　was　no　such　music　at　the　Opera　as　the　small
internal　flutterings　and　chirpings　wherein　he　would　discharge　himself
of　these　ditties；　like　a　weak；　little；　broken　barrel…organ；　ground　by
a　baby。　On　his　'days　out；'　those　flecks　of　light　in　his　flat　vista　of
pollard　old　men；'　it　was　at　once　Mrs　Plornish's　delight　and　sorrow；
when　he　was　strong　with　meat；　and　had　taken　his　full　halfpenny…worth　of
porter；　to　say；　'Sing　us　a　song；　Father。'　Then　he　would　give　them　Chloe；
and　if　he　were　in　pretty　good　spirits；　Phyllis　also……Strephon　he　had
hardly　been　up　to　since　he　went　into　retirement……and　then　would　Mrs
Plornish　declare　she　did　believe　there　never　was　such　a　singer　as
Father；　and　wipe　her　eyes。

If　he　had　e　from　Court　on　these　occasions；　nay；　if　he　had　been　the
noble　Refrigerator　e　home　triumphantly　from　a　foreign　court　to　be
presented　and　promoted　on　his　last　tremendous　failure；　Mrs　Plornish
could　not　have　handed　him　with　greater　elevation　about　Bleeding　Heart
Yard。　'Here's　Father；'　she　would　say；　presenting　him　to　a　neighbour。
'Father　will　soon　be　home　with　us　for　good；　now。　Ain't　Father　looking
well？　Father's　a　sweeter　singer　than　ever；　you'd　never　have　forgotten
it；　if　you'd　aheard　him　just　now。'

As　to　Mr　Plornish；　he　had　married　these　articles　of　belief　in　marrying
Mr　Nandy's　daughter；　and　only　wondered　how　it　was　that　so　gifted　an
old　gentleman　had　not　made　a　fortune。　This　he　attributed；　after　much
reflection；　to　his　musical　genius　not　having　been　scientifically
developed　in　his　youth。　'For　why；'　argued　Mr　Plornish；　'why　go　a…binding
music　when　you've　got　it　in　yourself？　That's　where　it　is；　I　consider。'

Old　Nandy　had　a　patron：　one　patron。　He　had　a　patron　who　in　a　certain
sumptuous　way……an　apologetic　way；　as　if　he　constantly　took　an　admiring
audience　to　witness　that　he　really　could　not　help　being　more　free
with　this　old　fellow　than　they　might　have　expected；　on　account　of　his
simplicity　and　poverty……was　mightily　good　to　him。　Old　Nandy　had
been　several　times　to　the　Marshalsea　College；　municating　with　his
son…in…law　during　his　short　durance　there；　and　had　happily　acquired　to
himself；　and　had　by　degrees　and　in　course　of　time　much　improved；　the
patronage　of　the　Father　of　that　national　institution。

Mr　Dorrit　was　in　the　habit　of　receiving　this　old　man　as　if　the　old　man
held　of　him　in　vassalage　under　some　feudal　tenure。　He　made　little　treats
and　teas　for　him；　as　if　he　came　in　with　his　homage　from　some　outlying
district　where　the　tenantry　were　in　a　primitive　state。

It　seemed　as　if　there　were　moments　when　he　could　by　no　means　have
sworn　but　that　the　old　man　was　an　ancient　retainer　of　his；　who　had　been
meritoriously　faithful。　When　he　mentioned　him；　he　spoke　of　him　casually
as　his　old　pensioner。　He　had　a　wonderful　satisfaction　in　seeing　him；　and
in　menting　on　his　decayed　condition　after　he　was　gone。　It　appeared
to　him　amazing　that　he　could　hold　up　his　head　at　all；　poor　creature。　'In
the　Workhouse；　sir；　the　Union；　no　privacy；　no　visitors；　no　station；　no
respect；　no　speciality。　Most　deplorable！'

It　was　Old　Nandy's　birthday；　and　they　let　him　out。　He　said　nothing　about
its　being　his　birthday；　or　they　might　have　kept　him　in；　for　such　old
men　should　not　be　born。　He　passed　along　the　streets　as　usual　to　Bleeding
Heart　Yard；　and　had　his　dinner　with　his　daughter　and　son…in…law；　and
gave　them　Phyllis。　He　had　hardly　concluded；　when　Little　Dorrit　looked　in
to　see　how　they　all　were。

'Miss　Dorrit；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'here's　Father！　Ain't　he　looking　nice？
And　such　voice　he's　in！'

Little　Dorrit　gave　him　her　hand；　and　smilingly　said　she　had　not　seen　him
this　long　time。

'No；　they're　rather　hard　on　poor　Father；'　said　Mrs　Plornish　with　a
lengthening　face；　'and　don't　let　him　have　half　as　much　change　and　fresh
air　as　would　benefit　him。　But　he'll　soon　be　home　for　good；　now。　Won't
you；　Father？'

'Yes；　my　dear；　I　hope　so。　In　good　time；　please　God。'

Here　Mr　Plornish　delivered　himself　of　an　oration　which　he　invariably
made；　word　for　word　the　same；　on　all　such　opportunities。

It　was　couched　in　the　following　terms：

'John　Edward　Nandy。　Sir。　While　there's　a　ounce　of　wittles　or　drink　of
any　sort　in　this　present　roof；　you're　fully　wele　to　your　share　on
it。　While　there's　a　handful　of　fire　or　a　mouthful　of　bed　in　this　present
roof；　you're　fully　wele　to　your　share　on　it。

If　so　be　as　there　should　be　nothing　in　this　present　roof；　you　should　be
as　wele　to　your　share　on　it　as