little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第117章

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old　mean　Marshalsea　a　reality。　Nay；　even　the　old　mean　Marshalsea　was
shaken　to　its　foundations　when　she　pictured　it　without　her　father。　She
could　scarcely　believe　that　the　prisoners　were　still　lingering　in　the
close　yard；　that　the　mean　rooms　were　still　every　one　tenanted；　and　that
the　turnkey　still　stood　in　the　Lodge　letting　people　in　and　out；　all　just
as　she　well　knew　it　to　be。

With　a　remembrance　of　her　father's　old　life　in　prison　hanging　about　her
like　the　burden　of　a　sorrowful　tune；　Little　Dorrit　would　wake　from　a
dream　of　her　birth…place　into　a　whole　day's　dream。　The　painted　room　in
which　she　awoke；　often　a　humbled　state…chamber　in　a　dilapidated　palace；
would　begin　it；　with　its　wild　red　autumnal　vine…leaves　overhanging　the
glass；　its　orange…trees　on　the　cracked　white　terrace　outside　the　window；
a　group　of　monks　and　peasants　in　the　little　street　below；　misery　and
magnificence　wrestling　with　each　other　upon　every　rood　of　ground　in
the　prospect；　no　matter　how　widely　diversified；　and　misery　throwing
magnificence　with　the　strength　of　fate。　To　this　would　succeed　a
labyrinth　of　bare　passages　and　pillared　galleries；　with　the　family
procession　already　preparing　in　the　quadrangle　below；　through　the
carriages　and　luggage　being　brought　together　by　the　servants　for　the
day's　journey。　Then　breakfast　in　another　painted　chamber；　damp…stained
and　of　desolate　proportions；　and　then　the　departure；　which；　to　her
timidity　and　sense　of　not　being　grand　enough　for　her　place　in　the
ceremonies；　was　always　an　uneasy　thing。　For　then　the　courier　（who
himself　would　have　been　a　foreign　gentleman　of　high　mark　in　the
Marshalsea）　would　present　himself　to　report　that　all　was　ready；　and　then
her　father's　valet　would　pompously　induct　him　into　his　travelling…cloak；
and　then　Fanny's　maid；　and　her　own　maid　（who　was　a　weight　on　Little
Dorrit's　mind……absolutely　made　her　cry　at　first；　she　knew　so　little
what　to　do　with　her）；　would　be　in　attendance；　and　then　her　brother's　man
would　plete　his　master's　equipment；　and　then　her　father　would　give
his　arm　to　Mrs　General；　and　her　uncle　would　give　his　to　her；　and；
escorted　by　the　landlord　and　Inn　servants；　they　would　swoop　down…stairs。
There；　a　crowd　would　be　collected　to　see　them　enter　their　carriages；
which；　amidst　much　bowing；　and　begging；　and　prancing；　and　lashing；　and
clattering；　they　would　do；　and　so　they　would　be　driven　madly　through
narrow　unsavoury　streets；　and　jerked　out　at　the　town　gate。

Among　the　day's　unrealities　would　be　roads　where　the　bright　red　vines
were　looped　and　garlanded　together　on　trees　for　many　miles；　woods　of
olives；　white　villages　and　towns　on　hill…sides；　lovely　without；　but
frightful　in　their　dirt　and　poverty　within；　crosses　by　the　way；　deep
blue　lakes　with　fairy　islands；　and　clustering　boats　with　awnings　of
bright　colours　and　sails　of　beautiful　forms；　vast　piles　of　building
mouldering　to　dust；　hanging…gardens　where　the　weeds　had　grown　so　strong
that　their　stems；　like　wedges　driven　home；　had　split　the　arch　and　rent
the　wall；　stone…terraced　lanes；　with　the　lizards　running　into　and　out
of　every　chink；　beggars　of　all　sorts　everywhere：　pitiful；　picturesque；
hungry；　merry；　children　beggars　and　aged　beggars。　Often　at
posting…houses　and　other　halting　places；　these　miserable　creatures　would
appear　to　her　the　only　realities　of　the　day；　and　many　a　time；　when　the
money　she　had　brought　to　give　them　was　all　given　away；　she　would　sit
with　her　folded　hands；　thoughtfully　looking　after　some　diminutive　girl
leading　her　grey　father；　as　if　the　sight　reminded　her　of　something　in
the　days　that　were　gone。

Again；　there　would　be　places　where　they　stayed　the　week　together　in
splendid　rooms；　had　banquets　every　day；　rode　out　among　heaps　of　wonders；
walked　through　miles　of　palaces；　and　rested　in　dark　corners　of　great
churches；　where　there　were　winking　lamps　of　gold　and　silver　among
pillars　and　arches；　kneeling　figures　dotted　about　at　confessionals　and
on　the　pavements；　where　there　was　the　mist　and　scent　of　incense；　where
there　were　pictures；　fantastic　images；　gaudy　altars；　great　heights　and
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