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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