little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第132章

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distances；　all　softly　lighted　through　stained　glass；　and　the　massive
curtains　that　hung　in　the　doorways。　From　these　cities　they　would　go　on
again；　by　the　roads　of　vines　and　olives；　through　squalid　villages；　where
there　was　not　a　hovel　without　a　gap　in　its　filthy　walls；　not　a　window
with　a　whole　inch　of　glass　or　paper；　where　there　seemed　to　be　nothing　to
support　life；　nothing　to　eat；　nothing　to　make；　nothing　to　grow；　nothing
to　hope；　nothing　to　do　but　die。

Again　they　would　e　to　whole　towns　of　palaces；　whose　proper　inmates
were　all　banished；　and　which　were　all　changed　into　barracks：　troops
of　idle　soldiers　leaning　out　of　the　state　windows；　where　their
accoutrements　hung　drying　on　the　marble　architecture；　and　showing　to　the
mind　like　hosts　of　rats　who　were　（happily）　eating　away　the　props　of　the
edifices　that　supported　them；　and　must　soon；　with　them；　be　smashed　on
the　heads　of　the　other　swarms　of　soldiers　and　the　swarms　of　priests；　and
the　swarms　of　spies；　who　were　all　the　ill…looking　population　left　to　be
ruined；　in　the　streets　below。

Through　such　scenes；　the　family　procession　moved　on　to　Venice。　And　here
it　dispersed　for　a　time；　as　they　were　to　live　in　Venice　some　few　months
in　a　palace　（itself　six　times　as　big　as　the　whole　Marshalsea）　on　the
Grand　Canal。

In　this　crowning　unreality；　where　all　the　streets　were　paved　with　water；
and　where　the　deathlike　stillness　of　the　days　and　nights　was　broken　by
no　sound　but　the　softened　ringing　of　church…bells；　the　rippling　of
the　current；　and　the　cry　of　the　gondoliers　turning　the　corners　of　the
flowing　streets；　Little　Dorrit；　quite　lost　by　her　task　being　done；　sat
down　to　muse。　The　family　began　a　gay　life；　went　here　and　there；　and
turned　night　into　day；　but　she　was　timid　of　joining　in　their　gaieties；
and　only　asked　leave　to　be　left　alone。

Sometimes　she　would　step　into　one　of　the　gondolas　that　were　always　kept
in　waiting；　moored　to　painted　posts　at　the　door……when　she　could　escape
from　the　attendance　of　that　oppressive　maid；　who　was　her　mistress；　and
a　very　hard　one……and　would　be　taken　all　over　the　strange　city。　Social
people　in　other　gondolas　began　to　ask　each　other　who　the　little　solitary
girl　was　whom　they　passed；　sitting　in　her　boat　with　folded　hands；
looking　so　pensively　and　wonderingly　about　her。　Never　thinking　that
it　would　be　worth　anybody's　while　to　notice　her　or　her　doings；　Little
Dorrit；　in　her　quiet；　scared；　lost　manner；　went　about　the　city　none　the
less。

But　her　favourite　station　was　the　balcony　of　her　own　room；　overhanging
the　canal；　with　other　balconies　below；　and　none　above。　It　was　of　massive
stone　darkened　by　ages；　built　in　a　wild　fancy　which　came　from　the　East
to　that　collection　of　wild　fancies；　and　Little　Dorrit　was　little　indeed；
leaning　on　the　broad…cushioned　ledge；　and　looking　over。　As　she　liked　no
place　of　an　evening　half　so　well；　she　soon　began　to　be　watched　for；　and
many　eyes　in　passing　gondolas　were　raised；　and　many　people　said；　There
was　the　little　figure　of　the　English　girl　who　was　always　alone。

Such　people　were　not　realities　to　the　little　figure　of　the　English　girl；
such　people　were　all　unknown　to　her。　She　would　watch　the　sunset；　in　its
long　low　lines　of　purple　and　red；　and　its　burning　flush　high　up　into
the　sky：　so　glowing　on　the　buildings；　and　so　lightening　their　structure；
that　it　made　them　look　as　if　their　strong　walls　were　transparent；　and
they　shone　from　within。　She　would　watch　those　glories　expire；　and　then；
after　looking　at　the　black　gondolas　underneath；　taking　guests　to　music
and　dancing；　would　raise　her　eyes　to　the　shining　stars。　Was　there　no
party　of　her　own；　in　other　times；　on　which　the　stars　had　shone？　To　think
of　that　old　gate　now！　She　would　think　of　that　old　gate；　and　of　herself
sitting　at　it　in　the　dead　of　the　night；　pillowing　Maggy's　head；　and　of
other　places　and　of　other　scenes　associated　with　those　different　times。
And　then　she　would　lean　upon　her　balcony；　and　look　over　at　the　water；
as　though　they　all　lay　underneath　it。　When　she　got　to　that；　she　would
musingly　watch　its　running；　as　if；　in　the　general　vision；　it　might　run
dry；　and　show　her　the　prison　again；　and　herself；　and　the　old　room；　and
the　old　inmates；　and　the　old　visitors：　all　lasting　realities　that　had
never　changed。




CHAPTER　4。　A　Letter　from　Little　Dorrit


Dear　Mr　Clennam；

I　write　to　you　from　my　own　room　at　Venice；　thinking　you　will　be　glad　to
hear　from　me。　But　I　know　you　cannot　be　so　glad　to　hear　from　me　as　I　am
to　write　to　you；　for　everything　about　you　is　as　you　have　been　accustomed
to　see　it；　and　you　miss　nothing……unless　it　should　be　me；　which　can　only
be　for　a　very　little　while　together　and　very　seldom……while　everything　in
my　life　is　so　strange；　and　I　miss　so　much。

When　we　were　in　Switzerland；　which　appears　to　have　been　years　ago；
though　it　was　only　weeks；　I　met　young　Mrs　Gowan；　who　was　on　a　mountain
excursion　like　ourselves。　She　told　me　she　was　very　well　and　very　happy。
She　sent　you　the　message；　by　me；　that　she　thanked　you　affectionately　and
would　never　forget　you。　She　e；　and　I　loved　her
almost　as　soon　as　I　spoke　to　her。　But　there　is　nothing　singular　in　that；
who　could　help　loving　so　beautiful　and　winning　a　creature！　I　could　not
wonder　at　any　one　loving　her。　No　indeed。

It　will　not　make　you　uneasy　on　Mrs　Gowan's　account；　I　hope……for　I
remember　that　you　said　you　had　the　interest　of　a　true　friend　in　her……if
I　tell　you　that　I　wish　she　could　have　married　some　one　better　suited　to
her。　Mr　Gowan　seems　fond　of　her；　and　of　course　she　is　very　fond　of　him；
but　I　thought　he　was　not　earnest　enough……I　don't　mean　in　that　respect……I
mean　in　anything。　I　could　not　keep　it　out　of　my　mind　that　if　I　was　Mrs
Gowan　（what　a　change　that　would　be；　and　how　I　must　alter　to　bee　like
her！）　I　should　feel　that　I　was　rather　lonely　and　lost；　for　the　want　of
some　one　who　was　steadfast　and　firm　in　purpose。　I　even　thought　she　felt
this　want　a　little；　almost　without　knowing　it。　But　mind　you　are　not　made
uneasy　by　this；　for　she　was　'very　well　and　very　happy。'　And　she　looked
most　beautiful。

I　expect　to　meet　her　again　before　long；　and　indeed　have　been　expecting
for　some　days　past　to　see　her　here。　I　will　ever　be　as　good　a　friend　to
her　as　I　can　for　your　sake。　Dear　Mr　Clennam；　I　dare　say　you　think　little
of　having　been　a　friend　to　me　when　I　had　no　other　（not　that　I　have　any
other　now；　for　I　have　made　no　new　friends）；　but　I　think　much　of　it；　and
I　never　can　forget　it。

I　wish　I　knew……but　it　is　best　for　no　one　to　write　to　me……how　Mr　and　Mrs
Plornish　prosper　in　the　business　which　my　dear　father　bought　for　them；
and　that　old　Mr　Nandy　lives　happily　with　them　and　his　two　grandchildren；
and　sings　all　his　songs　over　and　over　again。　I　cannot　quite　keep　back
the　tears　from　my　eyes　when　I　think　of　my　poor　Maggy；　and　of　the　blank
she　must　have　felt　at　first；　however　kind　they　all　are　to　her；　without
her　Little　Mother。　Will　you　go　and　tell　her；　as　a　strict　secret；　with　my
love；　that　she　never　can　have　regretted　our　separation　more　than　I　have
regretted　it？　And　will　you　tell　them　all　that　I　have　thought　of　them
every　day；　and　that　my　heart　is　faithful　to　them　everywhere？　O；　if　you
could　know　how　faithful；　you　would　almost　pity　me　for　being　so　far　away
and　being　so　grand！

You　will　be　glad；　I　am　sure；　to　know　that　my　dear　father　is　very　well
in　health；　and　that　all　these　changes　are　highly　beneficial　to　him；　and
that　he　is　very　different　indeed　from　what　he　used　to　be　when　you　used
to　see　him。　There　is　an　improvement　in　my　uncle　too；　I　think；　though　he
never　plained　of　old；　and　never　exults　now。　Fanny　is　very　graceful；
quick；　and　clever。　It　is　natural　to　her　to　be　a　lady；　she　has　adapted
herself　to　our　new　fortunes　with　wonderful　ease。

This　reminds　me　that　I　have　not　been　able　to　do　so；　and　that　I　sometimes
almost　despair　of　ever　being　able　to　do　so。　I　find　that　I　cannot　learn。
Mrs　General　is　always　with　us；　and　we　speak　French　and　speak　Italian；
and　she　takes　pains　to　form　us　in　many　ways。　When　I　say　we　speak　French
and　Italian；　I　mean　they　do。　As　for　me；　I　am　so　slow　that　I　scarcely
get　on　at　all。　As　soon　as　I　begin　to　plan；　and　think；　and　try；　all　my
planning；　thinking；　and　trying　go　in　old