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 complained 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 directions, and I begin to feel
careful again about the expenses of the day, and about my dear father,
and about my work, and then I remember with a start that there are no
such cares left, and that in itself is so new and improbable that it
sets me wandering again. I should not have the courage to mention this
to any one but you.
It is the same with all these new countries and wonderful sights.
They are very beautiful, and they astonish me, but I am not collected
enough--not familiar enough with myself, if you can quite understand
what I mean--to have all the pleasure in them that I might have. What
I knew before them, blends with them, too, so curiously. For instance,
when we were among the mountains, I often felt (I hesitate to tell such
an idle thing, dear Mr Clennam, even to you) as if the Marshalsea must
be behind that great rock; or as if Mrs Clennam's room where I have
worked so many days, and where I first saw you, must be just beyond that
snow.
Do you remember one night when I came with Maggy to your lodging
in Covent Garden? That room I have often and often fancied I have seen
before me, travelling along for miles by the side of our carriage, when
I have looked out of the carriage-window after dark. We were shut out
that night, and sat at the iron gate, and walked about till morning.
I often look up at the stars, even from the balcony of this room, and
believe that I am in the street again, shut out with Maggy. It is the
same with people that I left in England.