A Little Princess is a British
children''s novel by Frances Hodgson Burnett, first published as a book in 1905.
It is an expanded version of Burnett''s 1888 short story entitled Sara Crewe :
or, What Happened at Miss Minchin''s, which was serialized in St. Nicholas
Magazine from 1887 to 1888.
A Little Princess is full of good,
strong female characters, and shows its readers that being a princess isn’t
about being beautiful rich daughter of a king, trapped in a castle, waiting for
her prince. It’s about being a virtuous, kind and generous person, no matter
what your circumstances.
Based on a 2007 online poll, the U. S.
National Education Association named the book one of its “Teachers’ Top 100
Books for Children”. In 2012 it was ranked number 56 among all-time children’s
novels in a survey published by School Library Journal. It was the second of
two Burnett novels among the Top 100, with The Secret Garden number 15.
Chapter 18 “I Tried Not
to Be” 183
Chapter 19 Anne
194
內容試閱：
Once
on a dark winter’s day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the
streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with
gas as they do at night, an oddlooking little girl sat in a cab with her father
and was driven rather slowly through the big thoroughfares.
She
sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her
in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer
old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.
She
was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small
face. It would have been an old look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was
only seven. The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking
odd things and could not herself remember any time when she had not been
thinking things about grown-up people and the world they belonged to. She felt
as if she had lived a long, long time.
At
this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with
her father, Captain Crewe. She was thinking of the big ship, of the Lascars
passing silently to and fro on it, of the children playing about on the hot
deck, and of some young officers’ wives who used to try to make her talk to
them and laugh at the things she said.
Principally,
she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one time one was in India
in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving in a
strange vehicle through strange streets where the day was as dark as the night.
She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.
“Papa,”
she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost a whisper, “papa.”
“What
is it, darling?” Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and looking down
into her face. “What is Sara thinking of?”
“Is
this the place?” Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him.
“Is
it, papa?”
“Yes,
little Sara, it is. We have reached it at last.” And though she was only seven
years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it.
It
seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for “the
place,” as she always called it. Her mother had died when she was born, so she
had never known or missed her. Her young, handsome, rich, petting father seemed
to be the only relation she had in the world. They had always played together and
been fond of each other. She only knew he was rich because she had heard people
say so when they thought she was not listening, and she had also heard them say
that when she grew up she would be rich, too. She did not know all that being
rich meant. She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been used to
seeing many servants who made salaams to her and called her “Missee Sahib,” and
gave her her own way in everything. She had had toys and pets and an ayah who
worshipped her, and she had gradually learned that people who were rich had
these things. That, however, was all she knew about it.
During
her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing was “the place”
she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for
children, and as soon as possible they were sent away from it—generally to
England and to school. She had seen other children go away, and had heard their
fathers and mothers talk about the letters they received from them. She had
known that she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her father’s
stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been
troubled by the thought that he could not stay with her.
“Couldn’t
you go to that place with me, papa?” she had asked when she was five years old.
“Couldn’t you go to school, too? I would help you with your lessons.”
“But
you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara,” he had always
said. “You will go to a nice house where there will be a lot of little girls,
and you will play together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you will
grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and
clever enough to come back and take care of papa.”
She
had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her father; to ride with him,
and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner parties; to talk to him and
read his books—that would be what she would like most in the world, and if one
must go away to “the place” in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to
go. She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of
books she could console herself. She liked books more than anything else, and
was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to
herself. Sometimes she had
told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as
she did.
“Well,
papa,” she said softly, “if we are here I suppose we must be resigned.”
He
laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. He was really not at all
resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret. His quaint little
Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felt he should be a lonely
fellow when, on his return to India, he went into his bungalow knowing he need
not expect to see the small figure in its white frock come forward to meet him.
So he held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big, dull
square in which stood the house which was their destination.
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