little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第96章

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Clennam's　retreating　steps；　that　he　lingered　near　the　door；　'I　had　a
friend　once；　who　had　heard　so　much　of　the　dark　side　of　this　city　and
its　ways；　that　he　wouldn't　have　confided　himself　alone　by　night　with　two
people　who　had　an　interest　in　getting　him　under　the　ground……my　faith！
not　even　in　a　respectable　house　like　this……unless　he　was　bodily　too
strong　for　them。　Bah！　What　a　poltroon；　my　Flintwinch！　Eh？'

'A　cur；　sir。'

'Agreed！　A　cur。　But　he　wouldn't　have　done　it；　my　Flintwinch；　unless　he
had　known　them　to　have　the　will　to　silence　him；　without　the　power。　He
wouldn't　have　drunk　from　a　glass　of　water　under　such　circumstances……not
even　in　a　respectable　house　like　this；　my　Flintwinch……unless　he　had　seen
one　of　them　drink　first；　and　swallow　too！'

Disdaining　to　speak；　and　indeed　not　very　well　able；　for　he　was
half…choking；　Clennam　only　glanced　at　the　visitor　as　he　passed　out。

The　visitor　saluted　him　with　another　parting　snap；　and　his　nose　came
down　over　his　moustache　and　his　moustache　went　up　under　his　nose；　in　an
ominous　and　ugly　smile。

'For　Heaven's　sake；　Affery；'　whispered　Clennam；　as　she　opened　the　door
for　him　in　the　dark　hall；　and　he　groped　his　way　to　the　sight　of　the
night…sky；　'what　is　going　on　here？'

Her　own　appearance　was　sufficiently　ghastly；　standing　in　the　dark
with　her　apron　thrown　over　her　head；　and　speaking　behind　it　in　a　low；
deadened　voice。

'Don't　ask　me　anything；　Arthur。　I've　been　in　a　dream　for　ever　so　long。
Go　away！'

He　went　out；　and　she　shut　the　door　upon　him。　He　looked　up　at　the　windows
of　his　mother's　room；　and　the　dim　light；　deadened　by　the　yellow　blinds；
seemed　to　say　a　response　after　Affery；　and　to　mutter；　'Don't　ask　me
anything。　Go　away！'




CHAPTER　11。　A　Letter　from　Little　Dorrit


Dear　Mr　Clennam；

As　I　said　in　my　last　that　it　was　best　for　nobody　to　write　to　me；　and
as　my　sending　you　another　little　letter　can　therefore　give　you　no　other
trouble　than　the　trouble　of　reading　it　（perhaps　you　may　not　find　leisure
for　even　that；　though　I　hope　you　will　some　day）；　I　am　now　going　to
devote　an　hour　to　writing　to　you　again。　This　time；　I　write　from　Rome。

We　left　Venice　before　Mr　and　Mrs　Gowan　did；　but　they　were　not　so　long
upon　the　road　as　we　were；　and　did　not　travel　by　the　same　way；　and　so
when　we　arrived　we　found　them　in　a　lodging　here；　in　a　place　called　the
Via　Gregoriana。　I　dare　say　you　know　it。

Now　I　am　going　to　tell　you　all　I　can　about　them；　because　I　know　that　is
what　you　most　want　to　hear。　Theirs　is　not　a　very　fortable　lodging；
but　perhaps　I　thought　it　less　so　when　I　first　saw　it　than　you　would　have
done；　because　you　have　been　in　many　different　countries　and　have
seen　many　different　customs。　Of　course　it　is　a　far；　far　better
place……millions　of　times……than　any　I　have　ever　been　used　to　until
lately；　and　I　fancy　I　don't　look　at　it　with　my　own　eyes；　but　with　hers。
For　it　would　be　easy　to　see　that　she　has　always　been　brought　up　in　a
tender　and　happy　home；　even　if　she　had　not　told　me　so　with　great　love
for　it。

Well；　it　is　a　rather　bare　lodging　up　a　rather　dark　mon　staircase；　and
it　is　nearly　all　a　large　dull　room；　where　Mr　Gowan　paints。　The　windows
are　blocked　up　where　any　one　could　look　out；　and　the　walls　have　been
all　drawn　over　with　chalk　and　charcoal　by　others　who　have　lived　there
before……oh；……I　should　think；　for　years！

There　is　a　curtain　more　dust…coloured　than　red；　which　divides　it；　and
the　part　behind　the　curtain　makes　the　private　sitting…room。

When　I　first　saw　her　there　she　was　alone；　and　her　work　had　fallen　out　of
her　hand；　and　she　was　looking　up　at　the　sky　shining　through　the　tops　of
the　windows。　Pray　do　not　be　uneasy　when　I　tell　you；　but　it　was　not
quite　so　airy；　nor　so　bright；　nor　so　cheerful；　nor　so　happy　and　youthful
altogether　as　I　should　have　liked　it　to　be。

On　account　of　Mr　Gowan's　painting　Papa's　picture　（which　I　am　not　quite
convinced　I　should　have　known　from　the　likeness　if　I　had　not　seen　him
doing　it）；　I　have　had　more　opportunities　of　being　with　her　since　then
than　I　might　have　had　without　this　fortunate　chance。　She　is　very　much
alone。　Very　much　alone　indeed。

Shall　I　tell　you　about　the　second　time　I　saw　her？　I　went　one　day；　when
it　happened　that　I　could　run　round　by　myself；　at　four　or　five　o'clock
in　the　afternoon。　She　was　then　dining　alone；　and　her　solitary　dinner　had
been　brought　in　from　somewhere；　over　a　kind　of　brazier　with　a　fire　in
it；　and　she　had　no　pany　or　prospect　of　pany；　that　I　could　see；
but　the　old　man　who　had　brought　it。　He　was　telling　her　a　long　story　（of
robbers　outside　the　walls　being　taken　up　by　a　stone　statue　of　a　Saint）；
to　entertain　her……as　he　said　to　me　when　I　came　out；　'because　he　had　a
daughter　of　his　own；　though　she　was　not　so　pretty。'

I　ought　now　to　mention　Mr　Gowan；　before　I　say　what　little　more　I　have　to
say　about　her。　He　must　admire　her　beauty；　and　he　must　be　proud　of　her；
for　everybody　praises　it；　and　he　must　be　fond　of　her；　and　I　do　not
doubt　that　he　is……but　in　his　way。　You　know　his　way；　and　if　it　appears
as　careless　and　discontented　in　your　eyes　as　it　does　in　mine；　I　am　not
wrong　in　thinking　that　it　might　be　better　suited　to　her。　If　it　does　not
seem　so　to　you；　I　am　quite　sure　I　am　wholly　mistaken；　for　your　unchanged
poor　child　confides　in　your　knowledge　and　goodness　more　than　she　could
ever　tell　you　if　she　was　to　try。　But　don't　be　frightened；　I　am　not　going
to　try。　Owing　（as　I　think；　if　you　think　so　too）　to　Mr　Gowan's　unsettled
and　dissatisfied　way；　he　applies　himself　to　his　profession　very　little。

He　does　nothing　steadily　or　patiently；　but　equally　takes　things　up　and
throws　them　down；　and　does　them；　or　leaves　them　undone；　without　caring
about　them。　When　I　have　heard　him　talking　to　Papa　during　the　sittings
for　the　picture；　I　have　sat　wondering　whether　it　could　be　that　he　has　no
belief　in　anybody　else；　because　he　has　no　belief　in　himself。　Is　it　so？
I　wonder　what　you　will　say　when　you　e　to　this！　I　know　how　you　will
look；　and　I　can　almost　hear　the　voice　in　which　you　would　tell　me　on　the
Iron　Bridge。

Mr　Gowan　goes　out　a　good　deal　among　what　is　considered　the　best　pany
here……though　he　does　not　look　as　if　he　enjoyed　it　or　liked　it　when　he　is
with　it……and　she　sometimes　acpanies　him；　but　lately　she　has　gone　out
very　little。　I　think　I　have　noticed　that　they　have　an　inconsistent　way
of　speaking　about　her；　as　if　she　had　made　some　great　self…interested
success　in　marrying　Mr　Gowan；　though；　at　the　same　time；　the　very　same
people；　would　not　have　dreamed　of　taking　him　for　themselves　or　their
daughters。　Then　he　goes　into　the　country　besides；　to　think　about　making
sketches；　and　in　all　places　where　there　are　visitors；　he　has　a　large
acquaintance　and　is　very　well　known。　Besides　all　this；　he　has　a　friend
who　is　much　in　his　society　both　at　home　and　away　from　home；　though　he
treats　this　friend　very　coolly　and　is　very　uncertain　in　his　behaviour
to　him。　I　am　quite　sure　（because　she　has　told　me　so）；　that　she　does　not
like　this　friend。　He　is　so　revolting　to　me；　too；　that　his　being　away
from　here；　at　present；　is　quite　a　relief　to　my　mind。　How　much　more　to
hers！

But　what　I　particularly　want　you　to　know；　and　why　I　have　resolved
to　tell　you　so　much　while　I　am　afraid　it　may　make　you　a　little
unfortable　without　occasion；　is　this。　She　is　so　true　and　so　devoted；
and　knows　so　pletely　that　all　her　love　and　duty　are　his　for　ever；
that　you　may　be　certain　she　will　love　him；　admire　him；　praise　him；　and
conceal　all　his　faults；　until　she　dies。　I　believe　she　conceals　them；　and
always　will　conceal　them；　even　from　herself。

She　has　given　him　a　heart　that　can　never　be　taken　back；　and　however　much
he　may　try　it；　he　will　never　wear　out　its　affection。　You　know　the　truth
of　this；　as　you　know　everything；　far　far　better　than　I；　but　I　cannot
help　telling　you　what　a　nature　she　shows；　and　that　you　can　never　think
too　well　of　her。

I　have　not　yet　called　her　by　her　name　in　this　letter；　but　we　are　such
friends　now　that　I　do　so　when　we　are　quietly　together；　and　she　speaks　to
me　by　my　name……I　mean；　not　my　Christian　name；　but　the　name　you　gave　me。
When　she　began　to　call　me　Amy；　I　told　her　my　short　story；　and　that　you
had　always　called　me　Little　Dorrit。　I　told　her　that　the　name　was　much
dearer　to　me　than　any　other；　and　so　she　calls　me　Little　Dorrit　too。

Perhaps　you　have　not　heard　from　her　father　or　mother　yet；　and　may　not
know　that　she　has　a　baby　son。　He　was　born　only　two　days　ago；　and　just　a
week　after　they　came。　It　has　made　them　very　happy。　However；　I　must　tell
you；　as　I　am　to　tell　you　all；　that　I　fancy　they　are　under　a　constraint
with　Mr　Gowan；　and　that　they　feel　as　if　his　mocking　way　with　them　was
sometimes　a　slight　given　to　their　love　for　her。　It　was　but　yesterday；
when　I　was　there；　that　I　saw　Mr　Meagles　change　colour；　and　get　up　and
go　out；　as　if　he　was　afraid　that　he　might　say　so；　unless　he　prevented
himself　by　that　means。　Yet　I　am　sure　they　are　both　so　considerate；
good…humoured；　and　reasonable；　that　he　might　spare　them。　It　is　hard　in
him　not　to　think　of　them　a　little　more。

I　stopped　at　the　last　full　stop　to　read　all　this　over。　It　looked　at
first　as　if　I　was　taking　on　myself　to　understand　and　explain　so　much；
that　I　was　half　inclined　not　to　send　it。　But　when　I　thought　it　over　a
little；　I　felt　more　hopeful　for　your　knowing　at　once　that　I　had　only
been　watchful　for　you；　and　had　only　noticed　what　I　think　I　have　noticed；
because　I　was　quickened　by　your　interest　in　it。　Indeed；　you　may　be　sure
that　is　the　truth。

And　now　I　have　done　with　the　subject　in　the　present　letter；　and　have
little　left　to　say。

We　are　all　quite　well；　and　Fanny　improves　every　day。　You　can　hardly
think　how　kind　she　is　to　me；　and　what　pains　she　takes　with　me。　She　has
a　lover；　who　has　followed　her；　first　all　the　way　from　Switzerland；　and
then　all　the　way　from　Venice；　and　who　has　just　confided　to　me　that　he
means　to　follow　her　everywhere。　I　was　much　confused　by　his　speaking　to
me　about　it；　but　he　would。　I　did　not　know　what　to　say；　but　at　last　I
told　him　that　I　thought　he　had　better　not。　For　Fanny　（but　I　did　not　tell
him　this）　is　much　too　spirited　and　clever　to　suit　him。　Still；　he　said　he
would；　all　the　same。　I　have　no　lover；　of　course。

If　you　should　ever　get　so　far　as　this　in　this　long　letter；　you　will
perhaps　say；　Surely　Little　Dorrit　will　not　leave　off　without　telling　me
something　about　her　travels；　and　surely　it　is　time　she　did。　I　think　it
is　indeed；　but　I　don't　know　what　to　tell　you。　Since　we　left　Venice　we
have　been　in　a　great　many　wonderful　places；　Genoa　and　Florence　among
them；　and　have　seen　so　many　wonderful　sights；　that　I　am　almost　giddy
when　I　think　what　a　crowd　they　make。

But　you　can　tell　me　so　much　more　about　them　than　I　can　tell　you；　that
why　should　I　tire　you　with　my　accounts　and　descriptions？

Dear　Mr　Clennam；　as　I　had　the　courage　to　tell　you　what　the　familiar
difficulties　in　my　travelling　mind　were　before；　I　will　not　be　a　coward
now。　One　of　my　frequent　thoughts　is　this：……Old　as　these　cities　are；
their　age　itself　is　hardly　so　curious；　to　my　reflections；　as　that　they
should　have　been　in　their　places　all　through　those　days　when　I　did　not
even　know　of　the　existence　of　more　than　two　or　three　of　them；　and　when
I　scarcely　knew　of　anything　outside　our　old　walls。　There　is　something
melancholy　in　it；　and　I　don't　know　why。　When　we　went　to　see　the　famous
leaning　tower　at　Pisa；　it　was　a　bright　sunny　day；　and　it　and　the
buildings　near　it　looked　so　old；　and　the　earth　and　the　sky　looked　so
young；　and　its　shadow　on　the　ground　was　so　soft　and　retired！　I　could　not
at　first　think　how　beautiful　it　was；　or　how　curious；　but　I　thought；　'O
how　many　times　when　the　shadow　of　the　wall　was　falling　on　our　room；　and
when　that　weary　tread　of　feet　was　going　up　and　down　the　yard……O　how　many
times　this　place　was　just　as　quiet　and　lovely　as　it　is　to…day！'　It　quite
overpowered　me。　My　heart　was　so　full　that　tears　burst　out　of　my　eyes；
though　I　did　what　I　could　to　restrain　them。　And　I　have　the　same　feeling
often……often。

Do　you　know　that　since　the　change　in　our　fortunes；　though　I　appear　to
myself　to　have　dreamed　more　than　before；　I　have　always　dreamed　of　myself
as　very　young　indeed！　I　am　not　very　old；　you　may　say。　No；　but　that　is
not　what　I　mean。　I　have　always　dreamed　of　myself　as　a　child　learning
to　do　needlework。　I　have　often　dreamed　of　myself　as　back　there；　seeing
faces　in　the　yard　little　known；　and　which　I　should　have　thought　I　had
quite　forgotten；　but；　as　often　as　not；　I　have　been　abroad　here……in
Switzerland；　or　France；　or　Italy……somewhere　where　we　have　been……yet
always　as　that　little　child。　I　have　dreamed　of　going　down　to　Mrs
General；　with　the　patches　on　my　clothes　in　which　I　can　first　remember
myself。　I　have　over　and　over　again　dreamed　of　taking　my　place　at　dinner
at　Venice　when　we　have　had　a　large　pany；　in　the　mourning　for　my　poor
mother　which　I　wore　when　I　was　eight　years　old；　and　wore　long　after　it
was　threadbare　and　would　mend　no　more。　It　has　been　a　great　distress　to
me　to　think　how　irreconcilable　the　pany　would　consider　it　with　my
father's　wealth；　and　how　I　should　displease　and　disgrace　him　and　Fanny
and　Edward　by　so　plainly　disclosing　what　they　wished　to　keep　secret。　But
I　have　not　grown　out　of　the　little　child　in　thinking　of　it；　an