little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第39部分

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by　a　cruel　father　for　remaining　true　to　her　own　true　love；　and　refusing
to　marry　the　suitor　he　chose　for　her。　The　legend　related　how　that　the
young　lady　used　to　be　seen　up　at　her　window　behind　the　bars；　murmuring　a
love…lorn　song　of　which　the　burden　was；　'Bleeding　Heart；　Bleeding　Heart；
bleeding　away；'　until　she　died。　It　was　objected　by　the　murderous　party
that　this　Refrain　was　notoriously　the　invention　of　a　tambour…worker；　a
spinster　and　romantic；　still　lodging　in　the　Yard。　But；　forasmuch　as　all
favourite　legends　must　be　associated　with　the　affections；　and　as　many
more　people　fall　in　love　than　mit　murder……which　it　may　be　hoped；
howsoever　bad　we　are；　will　continue　until　the　end　of　the　world　to　be
the　dispensation　under　which　we　shall　live……the　Bleeding　Heart；　Bleeding
Heart；　bleeding　away　story；　carried　the　day　by　a　great　majority。　Neither
party　would　listen　to　the　antiquaries　who　delivered　learned　lectures　in
the　neighbourhood；　showing　the　Bleeding　Heart　to　have　been　the　heraldic
cognisance　of　the　old　family　to　whom　the　property　had　once　belonged。
And；　considering　that　the　hour…glass　they　turned　from　year　to　year　was
filled　with　the　earthiest　and　coarsest　sand；　the　Bleeding　Heart　Yarders
had　reason　enough　for　objecting　to　be　despoiled　of　the　one　little　golden
grain　of　poetry　that　sparkled　in　it。

Down　in　to　the　Yard；　by　way　of　the　steps；　came　Daniel　Doyce；　Mr　Meagles；
and　Clennam。　Passing　along　the　Yard；　and　between　the　open　doors　on
either　hand；　all　abundantly　garnished　with　light　children　nursing　heavy
ones；　they　arrived　at　its　opposite　boundary；　the　gateway。　Here　Arthur
Clennam　stopped　to　look　about　him　for　the　domicile　of　Plornish；
plasterer；　whose　name；　according　to　the　custom　of　Londoners；　Daniel
Doyce　had　never　seen　or　heard　of　to　that　hour。

It　was　plain　enough；　nevertheless；　as　Little　Dorrit　had　said；　over　a
lime…splashed　gateway　in　the　corner；　within　which　Plornish　kept　a　ladder
and　a　barrel　or　two。　The　last　house　in　Bleeding　Heart　Yard　which　she
had　described　as　his　place　of　habitation；　was　a　large　house；　let　off　to
various　tenants；　but　Plornish　ingeniously　hinted　that　he　lived　in　the
parlour；　by　means　of　a　painted　hand　under　his　name；　the　forefinger　of
which　hand　（on　which　the　artist　had　depicted　a　ring　and　a　most　elaborate
nail　of　the　genteelest　form）　referred　all　inquirers　to　that　apartment。

Parting　from　his　panions；　after　arranging　another　meeting　with
Mr　Meagles；　Clennam　went　alone　into　the　entry；　and　knocked　with　his
knuckles　at　the　parlour…door。　It　was　opened　presently　by　a　woman　with
a　child　in　her　arms；　whose　unoccupied　hand　was　hastily　rearranging　the
upper　part　of　her　dress。　This　was　Mrs　Plornish；　and　this　maternal
action　was　the　action　of　Mrs　Plornish　during　a　large　part　of　her　waking
existence。

Was　Mr　Plornish　at　home？　'Well；　sir；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　a　civil　woman；
'not　to　deceive　you；　he's　gone　to　look　for　a　job。'

'Not　to　deceive　you'　was　a　method　of　speech　with　Mrs　Plornish。　She　would
deceive　you；　under　any　circumstances；　as　little　as　might　be；　but　she　had
a　trick　of　answering　in　this　provisional　form。

'Do　you　think　he　will　be　back　soon；　if　I　wait　for　him？'

'I　have　been　expecting　him；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'this　half　an　hour；　at
any　minute　of　time。　Walk　in；　sir。'　Arthur　entered　the　rather　dark　and
close　parlour　（though　it　was　lofty　too）；　and　sat　down　in　the　chair　she
placed　for　him。

'Not　to　deceive　you；　sir；　I　notice　it；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'and　I　take
it　kind　of　you。'

He　was　at　a　loss　to　understand　what　she　meant；　and　by　expressing　as　much
in　his　looks；　elicited　her　explanation。

'It　ain't　many　that　es　into　a　poor　place；　that　deems　it　worth　their
while　to　move　their　hats；'　said　Mrs　Plornish。　'But　people　think　more　of
it　than　people　think。'

Clennam　returned；　with　an　unfortable　feeling　in　so　very　slight　a
courtesy　being　unusual；　Was　that　all！　And　stooping　down　to　pinch　the
cheek　of　another　young　child　who　was　sitting　on　the　floor；　staring　at
him；　asked　Mrs　Plornish　how　old　that　fine　boy　was？

'Four　year　just　turned；　sir；'　said　Mrs　Plornish。　'He　IS　a　fine　little
fellow；　ain't　he；　sir？　But　this　one　is　rather　sickly。'　She　tenderly
hushed　the　baby　in　her　arms；　as　she　said　it。　'You　wouldn't　mind　my
asking　if　it　happened　to　be　a　job　as　you　was　e　about；　sir；　would
you？'　asked　Mrs　Plornish　wistfully。

She　asked　it　so　anxiously；　that　if　he　had　been　in　possession　of　any
kind　of　tenement；　he　would　have　had　it　plastered　a　foot　deep　rather
than　answer　No。　But　he　was　obliged　to　answer　No；　and　he　saw　a　shade　of
disappointment　on　her　face；　as　she　checked　a　sigh；　and　looked　at　the
low　fire。　Then　he　saw；　also；　that　Mrs　Plornish　was　a　young　woman；　made
somewhat　slatternly　in　herself　and　her　belongings　by　poverty；　and　so
dragged　at　by　poverty　and　the　children　together；　that　their　united
forces　had　already　dragged　her　face　into　wrinkles。

'All　such　things　as　jobs；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；　'seems　to　me　to　have　gone
underground；　they　do　indeed。'　（Herein　Mrs　Plornish　limited　her　remark　to
the　plastering　trade；　and　spoke　without　reference　to　the　Circumlocution
Office　and　the　Barnacle　Family。）

'Is　it　so　difficult　to　get　work？'　asked　Arthur　Clennam。

'Plornish　finds　it　so；'　she　returned。　'He　is　quite　unfortunate。　Really
he　is。'　Really　he　was。　He　was　one　of　those　many　wayfarers　on　the　road
of　life；　who　seem　to　be　afflicted　with　supernatural　corns；　rendering　it
impossible　for　them　to　keep　up　even　with　their　lame　petitors。

A　willing；　working；　soft　hearted；　not　hard…headed　fellow；　Plornish　took
his　fortune　as　smoothly　as　could　be　expected；　but　it　was　a　rough　one。
It　so　rarely　happened　that　anybody　seemed　to　want　him；　it　was　such　an
exceptional　case　when　his　poisty
mind　could　not　make　out　how　it　happened。　He　took　it　as　it　came；
therefore；　he　tumbled　into　all　kinds　of　difficulties；　and　tumbled　out　of
them；　and；　by　tumbling　through　life；　got　himself　considerably　bruised。

'It's　not　for　want　of　looking　after　jobs；　I　am　sure；'　said　Mrs　Plornish；
lifting　up　her　eyebrows；　and　searching　for　a　solution　of　the　problem
between　the　bars　of　the　grate；　'nor　yet　for　want　of　working　at　them　when
they　are　to　be　got。　No　one　ever　heard　my　husband　plain　of　work。'

Somehow　or　other；　this　was　the　general　misfortune　of　Bleeding　Heart
Yard。　From　time　to　time　there　were　public　plaints；　pathetically
going　about；　of　labour　being　scarce……which　certain　people　seemed　to　take
extraordinarily　ill；　as　though　they　had　an　absolute　right　to　it　on　their
own　terms……but　Bleeding　Heart　Yard；　though　as　willing　a　Yard　as　any　in
Britain；　was　never　the　better　for　the　demand。　That　high　old　family；　the
Barnacles；　had　long　been　too　busy　with　their　great　principle　to　look
into　the　matter；　and　indeed　the　matter　had　nothing　to　do　with　their
watchfulness　in　out…generalling　all　other　high　old　families　except　the
Stiltstalkings。

While　Mrs　Plornish　spoke　in　these　words　of　her　absent　lord；　her　lord
returned。　A　smooth…cheeked；　fresh…coloured；　sandy…whiskered　man　of
thirty。　Long　in　the　legs；　yielding　at　the　knees；　foolish　in　the　face；
flannel…jacketed；　lime…whitened。

'This　is　Plornish；　sir。'

'I　came；'　said　Clennam；　rising；　'to　beg　the　favour　of　a　little
conversation　with　you　on　the　subject　of　the　Dorrit　family。'

Plornish　became　suspicious。　Seemed　to　scent　a　creditor。　Said；　'Ah；　yes。
Well。　He　didn't　know　what　satisfaction　he　could　give　any　gentleman；
respecting　that　family。　What　might　it　be　about；　now？'

'I　know　you　better；'　said　Clennam；　smiling；　'than　you　suppose。'

Plornish　observed；　not　Smiling　in　return；　And　yet　he　hadn't　the　pleasure
of　being　acquainted　with　the　gentleman；　neither。

'No；'　said　Arthur；　'I　know　your　kind　offices　at　second　hand；　but　on　the
best　authority；　through　Little　Dorrit。……I　mean；'　he　explained；　'Miss
Dorrit。'

'Mr　Clennam；　is　it？　Oh！　I've　heard　of　you；　Sir。'

'And　I　of　you；'　said　Arthur。

'Please　to　sit　down　again；　Sir；　and　consider　yourself　wele。……Why；
yes；'　said　Plornish；　taking　a　chair；　and　lifting　the　elder　child　upon
his　knee；　that　he　might　have　the　moral　support　of　speaking　to　a　stranger
over　his　head；　'I　have　been　on　the　wrong　side　of　the　Lock　myself；　and
in　that　way　we　e　to　know　Miss　Dorrit。　Me　and　my