little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第7部分

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temper　ing；　and　I　am　as　much　afraid　of　you。　Go　away　from　me；　and　let
me　pray　and　cry　myself　better！'　The　day　passed　on；　and　again　the　wide
stare　stared　itself　out；　and　the　hot　night　was　on　Marseilles；　and
through　it　the　caravan　of　the　morning；　all　dispersed；　went　their
appointed　ways。　And　thus　ever　by　day　and　night；　under　the　sun　and　under
the　stars；　climbing　the　dusty　hills　and　toiling　along　the　weary　plains；
journeying　by　land　and　journeying　by　sea；　ing　and　going　so　strangely；
to　meet　and　to　act　and　react　on　one　another；　move　all　we　restless
travellers　through　the　pilgrimage　of　life。




CHAPTER　3。　Home


It　was　a　Sunday　evening　in　London；　gloomy；　close；　and　stale。　Maddening
church　bells　of　all　degrees　of　dissonance；　sharp　and　flat；　cracked
and　clear；　fast　and　slow；　made　the　brick…and…mortar　echoes　hideous。
Melancholy　streets；　in　a　penitential　garb　of　soot；　steeped　the　souls　of
the　people　who　were　condemned　to　look　at　them　out　of　windows；　in　dire
despondency。　In　every　thoroughfare；　up　almost　every　alley；　and　down
almost　every　turning；　some　doleful　bell　was　throbbing；　jerking；　tolling；
as　if　the　Plague　were　in　the　city　and　the　dead…carts　were　going　round。
Everything　was　bolted　and　barred　that　could　by　possibility　furnish
relief　to　an　overworked　people。　No　pictures；　no　unfamiliar　animals；　no
rare　plants　or　flowers；　no　natural　or　artificial　wonders　of　the　ancient
world……all　TABOO　with　that　enlightened　strictness；　that　the　ugly　South
Sea　gods　in　the　British　Museum　might　have　supposed　themselves　at　home
again。　Nothing　to　see　but　streets；　streets；　streets。　Nothing　to　breathe
but　streets；　streets；　streets。　Nothing　to　change　the　brooding　mind；
or　raise　it　up。　Nothing　for　the　spent　toiler　to　do；　but　to　pare　the
monotony　of　his　seventh　day　with　the　monotony　of　his　six　days；　think
what　a　weary　life　he　led；　and　make　the　best　of　it……or　the　worst；
according　to　the　probabilities。

At　such　a　happy　time；　so　propitious　to　the　interests　of　religion　and
morality；　Mr　Arthur　Clennam；　newly　arrived　from　Marseilles　by　way　of
Dover；　and　by　Dover　coach　the　Blue…eyed　Maid；　sat　in　the　window　of　a
coffee…house　on　Ludgate　Hill。　Ten　thousand　responsible　houses　surrounded
him；　frowning　as　heavily　on　the　streets　they　posed；　as　if　they　were
every　one　inhabited　by　the　ten　young　men　of　the　Calender's　story；　who
blackened　their　faces　and　bemoaned　their　miseries　every　night。　Fifty
thousand　lairs　surrounded　him　where　people　lived　so　unwholesomely　that
fair　water　put　into　their　crowded　rooms　on　Saturday　night；　would　be
corrupt　on　Sunday　morning；　albeit　my　lord；　their　county　member；　was
amazed　that　they　failed　to　sleep　in　pany　with　their　butcher's　meat。
Miles　of　close　wells　and　pits　of　houses；　where　the　inhabitants　gasped
for　air；　stretched　far　away　towards　every　point　of　the　pass。　Through
the　heart　of　the　town　a　deadly　sewer　ebbed　and　flowed；　in　the　place　of
a　fine　fresh　river。　What　secular　want　could　the　million　or　so　of
human　beings　whose　daily　labour；　six　days　in　the　week；　lay　among　these
Arcadian　objects；　from　the　sweet　sameness　of　which　they　had　no　escape
between　the　cradle　and　the　grave……what　secular　want　could　they　possibly
have　upon　their　seventh　day？　Clearly　they　could　want　nothing　but　a
stringent　policeman。

Mr　Arthur　Clennam　sat　in　the　window　of　the　coffee…house　on　Ludgate　Hill；
counting　one　of　the　neighbouring　bells；　making　sentences　and　burdens　of
songs　out　of　it　in　spite　of　himself；　and　wondering　how　many　sick
people　it　might　be　the　death　of　in　the　course　of　the　year。　As　the　hour
approached；　its　changes　of　measure　made　it　more　and　more　exasperating。
At　the　quarter；　it　went　off　into　a　condition　of　deadly…lively
importunity；　urging　the　populace　in　a　voluble　manner　to　e　to　church；
e　to　church；　e　to　church！　At　the　ten　minutes；　it　became　aware
that　the　congregation　would　be　scanty；　and　slowly　hammered　out　in　low
spirits；　They　WON'T　e；　they　WON'T　e；　they　WON'T　e！　At　the　five
minutes；　it　abandoned　hope；　and　shook　every　house　in　the　neighbourhood
for　three　hundred　seconds；　with　one　dismal　swing　per　second；　as　a　groan
of　despair。

'Thank　Heaven！'　said　Clennam；　when　the　hour　struck；　and　the　bell
stopped。

But　its　sound　had　revived　a　long　train　of　miserable　Sundays；　and　the
procession　would　not　stop　with　the　bell；　but　continued　to　march　on。
'Heaven　forgive　me；'　said　he；　'and　those　who　trained　me。　How　I　have
hated　this　day！'

There　was　the　dreary　Sunday　of　his　childhood；　when　he　sat　with　his　hands
before　him；　scared　out　of　his　senses　by　a　horrible　tract　which　menced
business　with　the　poor　child　by　asking　him　in　its　title；　why　he　was
going　to　Perdition？……a　piece　of　curiosity　that　he　really；　in　a　frock　and
drawers；　was　not　in　a　condition　to　satisfy……and　which；　for　the　further
attraction　of　his　infant　mind；　had　a　parenthesis　in　every　other　line
with　some　such　hiccupping　reference　as　2　Ep。　Thess。　c。　iii；　v。　6　&
7。　There　was　the　sleepy　Sunday　of　his　boyhood；　when；　like　a　military
deserter；　he　was　marched　to　chapel　by　a　picquet　of　teachers　three　times
a　day；　morally　handcuffed　to　another　boy；　and　when　he　would　willingly
have　bartered　two　meals　of　indigestible　sermon　for　another　ounce　or
two　of　inferior　mutton　at　his　scanty　dinner　in　the　flesh。　There　was　the
interminable　Sunday　of　his　nonage；　when　his　mother；　stern　of　face　and
unrelenting　of　heart；　would　sit　all　day　behind　a　Bible……bound；　like　her
own　construction　of　it；　in　the　hardest；　barest；　and　straitest　boards；
with　one　dinted　ornament　on　the　cover　like　the　drag　of　a　chain；　and　a
wrathful　sprinkling　of　red　upon　the　edges　of　the　leaves……as　if　it；　of
all　books！　were　a　fortification　against　sweetness　of　temper；　natural
affection；　and　gentle　intercourse。　There　was　the　resentful　Sunday　of　a
little　later；　when　he　sat　down　glowering　and　glooming　through　the　tardy
length　of　the　day；　with　a　sullen　sense　of　injury　in　his　heart；　and　no
more　real　knowledge　of　the　beneficent　history　of　the　New　Testament　than
if　he　had　been　bred　among　idolaters。　There　was　a　legion　of　Sundays；
all　days　of　unserviceable　bitterness　and　mortification；　slowly　passing
before　him。　'Beg　pardon；　sir；'　said　a　brisk　waiter；　rubbing　the　table。
'Wish　see　bed…room？'

'Yes。　I　have　just　made　up　my　mind　to　do　it。'

'Chaymaid！'　cried　the　waiter。　'Gelen　box　num　seven　wish　see　room！'

'Stay！'　said　Clennam；　rousing　himself。　'I　was　not　thinking　of　what　I
said；　I　answered　mechanically。　I　am　not　going　to　sleep　here。　I　am　going
home。'

'Deed；　sir？　Chaymaid！　Gelen　box　num　seven；　not　go　sleep　here；　gome。'

He　sat　in　the　same　place　as　the　day　died；　looking　at　the　dull　houses
opposite；　and　thinking；　if　the　disembodied　spirits　of　former　inhabitants
were　ever　conscious　of　them；　how　they　must　pity　themselves　for　their　old
places　of　imprisonment。　Sometimes　a　face　would　appear　behind　the　dingy
glass　of　a　window；　and　would　fade　away　into　the　gloom　as　if　it　had　seen
enough　of　life　and　had　vanished　out　of　it。　Presently　the　rain　began　to
fall　in　slanting　lines　between　him　and　those　houses；　and　people　began
to　collect　under　cover　of　the　public　passage　opposite；　and　to　look　out
hopelessly　at　the　sky　as　the　rain　dropped　thicker　and　faster。　Then　wet
umbrellas　began　to　appear；　draggled　skirts；　and　mud。　What　the　mud　had
been　doing　with　itself；　or　where　it　came　from；　who　could　say？　But　it
seemed　to　collect　in　a　moment；　as　a　crowd　will；　and　in　five　minutes　to
have　splashed　all　the　sons　and　daughters　of　Adam。　The　lamplighter　was
going　his　rounds　now；　and　as　the　fiery　jets　sprang　up　under　his　touch；
one　might　have　fancied　them　astonished　at　being　suffered　to　introduce
any　show　of　brightness　into　such　a　dismal　scene。

Mr　Arthur　Clennam　took　up　his　hat　and　buttoned　his　coat；　and　walked　out。
In　the　country；　the　rain　would　have　developed　a　thousand　fresh　scents；
and　every　drop　would　have　had　its　bright　association　with　some　beautiful
form　of　growth　or　life。　In　the　city；　it　developed　only　foul　stale
smells；　and　was　a　sickly；　lukewarm；　dirt…stained；　wretched　addition　to
the　gutters。

He　crossed　by　St　Paul's　and　went　down；　at　a　long　angle；　almost　to　the
water's　edge；　through　some　of　the　crooked　and　descending　streets　which
lie　（and　lay　more　crookedly　and　closely　then）　between　the　river　and
Cheapside。　Passing；　now　the　mouldy　hall　of　some　obsolete　Worshipful
pany；　now　the　illuminated　windows　of　a　Congregationless　Church　that
seemed　to　be　waiting　for　some　adventurous　Belzoni　to　dig　it　out　and
discover　its　history；　passing　silent　warehouses　and　wharves；　and　here
and　there　a　narrow　alley　leading　to　the　river；　where　a　wretched　little
bill；　FOUND　DROWNED；　was　weeping　on　the　wet　wall；　he　came　at　last　to　the
house　he　sought。　An　old　brick　house；　so　dingy　as　to　be　all　but　black；
standing　by　itself　within　a　gateway。　Before　it；　a　square　court…yard
where　a　shrub　or　two　and　a　patch　of　grass　were　as　rank　（which　is　saying
much）　as　the　iron　railings　enclosing　them　were　rusty；　behind　it；
a　jumble　of　roots。　It　was　a　double　house；　with　long；　narrow；
heavily…framed　windows。　Many　years　ago；　it　had　had　it　in　its　mind　to
slide　down　sideways；　it　had　been　propped　up；　however；　and　was　leaning　on
some　half…dozen　gigantic　crutches：　which　gymnasium　for　the　neighbouring
cats；　weather…stained；　smoke…blackened；　and　overgrown　with　weeds；
appeared　in　these　latter　days　to　be　no　very　sure　reliance。

'Nothing　changed；'　said　the　traveller；　stopping　to　look　round。　'Dark　and
miserable　as　ever。　A　light　in　my　mother's　window；　which　seems　never　to
have　been　extinguished　since　I　came　home　twice　a　year　from　school；　and
dragged　my　box　over　this　pavement。　Well；　well；　well！'

He　went　up　to　the　door；　which　had　a　projecting　canopy　in　carved　work
of　festooned　jack…towels　and　children's　heads　with　water　on　the　brain；
designed　after　a　once…popular　monumental　pattern；　and　knocked。　A
shuffling　step　was　soon　heard　on　the　stone　floor　of　the　hall；　and　the
door　was　opened　by　an　old　man；　bent　and　dried；　but　with　keen　eyes。

He　had　a　candle　in　his　hand；　and　he　held　it　up　for　a　moment　to　assist
his　keen　eyes。　'Ah；　Mr　Arthur？'　he　said；　without　any　emotion；　'you　are
e　at　last？　Step　in。'

Mr　Arthur　stepped　in　and　shut　the　door。

'Your　figure　is　filled　out；　and　set；'　said　the　old　man；　turning　to　look
at　him　with　the　light　raised　again；　and　shaking　his　head；　'but　you　don't
e　up　to　your　father　in　my　opinion。　Nor　yet　your　mother。'

'How　is　my　mother？'

'She　is　as　she　always　is　now。　Keeps　her　room　when　not　actually
bedridden；　and　hasn't　been　out　of　it　fifteen　times　in　as　many　years；
Arthur。'　They　had　walked　into　a　spare；　meagre　dining…room。　The　old　man
had　put　the　candlestick　upon　the　table；　and；　supporting　his　right　elbow
with　his　left　hand；　was　smoothing　his　leathern　jaws　while　he　looked　at
the　visitor。　The　visitor　offered　his　hand。　The　old　man　took　it　coldly
enough；　and　seemed　to　prefer　his　jaws；　to　which　he　returned　as　soon　as
he　could。

'I　doubt　if　your　mother　will　approve　of　your　ing　home　on　the　Sabbath；
Arthur；'　he　said；　shaking　his　head　warily。

'You　wouldn't　have　me　go　away　again？'

'Oh！　I？　I？　I　am　not　the　master。　It's　not　what　_I_　would　have。　I　have
stood　between　your　father　and　mother　for　a　number　of　years。　I　don't
pretend　to　stand　between　your　mother　and　you。'

'Will　you　tell　her