David Copperfield

Chapter 1 My Birth (1)
Chapter 1 My Birth(1)
In this biography about me, whether I am the protagonist or someone else is the protagonist, this book should explain.My biography should begin with the beginning of my life.I was born at twelve o'clock on a Friday night (as far as I know, and I have no doubts).It is said that as soon as the bell began to strike, I also began to cry, and the two coincided.

The nurse at the birth and some of the wise ladies in the neighbourhood, who had taken a keen interest in me in the months before they met me, made a great deal of it, in view of the date and hour of my birth. Well, let me say that I am, first, destined to be unlucky in my life; second, I have the talent to see ghosts.They firmly believe that all children, boys and girls, born within an hour or two after midnight must possess these two gifts.

As to the first point, I need not say much, for nowhere is this prophecy more clearly expressed than in this biography, whether the prophecy was borne out or not. As for the second point, I can only say Well, if I hadn't lost that "property" in my infancy, then I haven't received it yet.But I don't hold a grudge if I'm deprived of it, and if someone else is enjoying it, I'd really welcome him to keep it.

I was born with membranes, which were advertised for auction in the newspapers for fifteen guineas.I don't know whether the seafaring people were short of money or had no faith in their hearts and preferred to wear cork shirts; but I only know that there was only one person, a lawyer who had a relationship with the securities brokerage industry. The price: two pounds in cash, with wine to make up the shortfall, and he would rather give up his guarantee against drowning than pay a little more.The result was that the ad was withdrawn, and the cost of the ad was fully reimbursed—as for the wine, my poor lovely mother herself sold it at the time—and ten years later, the membrane was sold in a lottery; a total of fifty local people participated There was a lottery, half a crown each, five shillings for the winner.I was right there at the time.I still remember feeling uneasy and embarrassed seeing a part of myself arranged like that.

I still remember that it was an old lady with a basket who got the fetal membrane.Reluctantly she drew out of the basket the prescribed five shillings, all halfpenny coppers, and two were missing, and though it took a long time to explain to her that she did not have enough, she still not understand.She was not drowned, but died triumphantly in bed at the age of 92.This incident has become an anecdote in our area, and it has lasted for a long time.The old lady's greatest boast in life, so far as I know, was that she had never been on water except across bridges; She always blamed the sins of the sailors and others.It's no use telling her that some of the daily necessities (tea perhaps included) come from people she considers "wandering".She always rebuts you more confidently and confidently: "We don't need to run around."

I don't need to talk "chaotic" now, let's get back to the book.

I was born in Blandstone, Suffolk, or, as the Scots say, "in there," a posthumous child.I was born six months after my father died.Until now, I've always felt a little weird.In my vague memory, my father's white tombstone in the cemetery once aroused such associations in my childish mind: In our small living room, the fire is burning and the candles are brightly lit, but the doors of our house are all locked. Then, locking my father's grave out, this situation still feels weird in retrospect.

One of my father's aunts, my great-aunt, the principal personage in our family--Miss Trowood--when my poor mother overcame her awe of this dreadful figure, and occasionally referred to her, always Called her Miss Bessie--was married to a younger husband.He is very handsome, but not "beauty is virtue" - because everyone is convinced that he is suspected of beating Miss Bessie; and sometimes when arguing about the daily diet, he even wants to get Miss Bessie from the third floor. The tall windows were thrown down.It can be seen that their tempers were not on the same page, and Miss Bessie had to give him a sum of money, and the two parties agreed to separate.He went to India with this capital.It is said that in India, once, he was seen riding an elephant with a big baboon.But I think it should be a nobleman, or a princess. [Note: Baboons are called Baboon in English, Indians call them Baboo, and Indians call them Begum, the princess of the Hui nationality. 】Anyway, the news of his death reached home from India in less than ten years anyway, and no one knows how my aunt felt when she heard the news; because she resumed working immediately after the two of them separated. She bought a house by the sea far away, took a maid, and lived the life of a single woman; since then, everyone thinks that she has decided to live a life of isolation.

I think my father had been her favorite person, but his marriage broke her heart very much.She disapproved of my mother, seeing her as a "wax doll".She never met my mother, but she knew that my mother was not yet 20 years old.My father and Miss Bessie never met again.When my father and the others got married, his father was twice as old as my mother, and his health was not very good.He died a year later, and as I said before, I was born six months after his death.

That's what happened on that fateful Friday afternoon.So I can by no means say that I knew all about the situation at that time, nor can I say that what happened afterwards is what I recall from my own experience.

My mother was sitting by the fire, weak and languid, looking into the fire with tearful eyes, desperate for herself and for the little fatherless stranger she hadn't met.Although this orphan has not yet met anyone, his family has prepared a large number of prophecies in the drawer upstairs, and the world is not surprised at his coming.As I have said, my mother sat before the fire on that fine, windy March afternoon, full of melancholy.When she dried her tears and looked up, she saw a strange woman walking towards the garden.

When she looked at it again, my mother decided that it was Miss Bessie.The man put on a domineering expression that no one else could have, walked towards the door calmly with a sharp and straight back and a sullen face.

When she finally came to the house, she explained again that it was her.It turned out that my father used to say that she didn't behave like an ordinary Christian; so instead of ringing the bell, she ran to the window facing my mother, and pressed the tip of her nose to the glass; The poor mother later recounted that at one moment the tip of her nose was completely flattened and white.

She surprised my mother so much that I always thought it was Miss Betsy's fault that I was born on a Friday afternoon.

My mother turned pale when she saw my aunt, left the chair and hid in a corner behind the chair.Miss Bessie searched the house.She started on the opposite side of the room, moving her eyes little by little, like a Saracen on a Dutch clock.The person's name and image were later often used as shop names or signboards in the UK. 】Like a head, finally cast his eyes on my mother.At this time she frowned at my mother and gestured to my mother to open the door.My mother went over and opened the door.

"I suppose you are Mrs. David Copperfield," said Miss Betsy.

"Yes." My mother said weakly.

"Miss Trowood," said the visitor, "perhaps you have heard of her?"

My mother said she was honored to have heard of the name.But she had a certain displeasure at the time, which certainly did not appear to be an honor.

"You see that man now," said Miss Betsy.After hearing this, my mother lowered her head and let her sit in the house.

They went into the little parlor where my mother had sat, for there was no fire in the best room across the hall in our house--in fact, no fire since my father's burial; and when they were both seated , Miss Bessie was silent, and my mother suppressed it, and then burst into tears.

"Oh, come, come!" said Miss Betsy hastily, "come on, come on, come on!"

But the mother still couldn't help it, and she cried until she had enough.

"Take off your hat, my child," said Miss Betsy, "and let me see you."

My mother was too frightened to disobey this request, even if she wanted to.So she took off her hat as she was told, and as she did so her nervousness caused her hair (her hair was plentiful and beautiful) to fall over her face.

"Oh, my God!" cried Miss Bessie, "you're such a baby!"

Of course, my mother was very young for her age, and even younger in appearance.Poor thing, she bowed her head as if it was her fault to be young, and sobbed that she was a child, but a widow, and a childish mother, if she lived after childbirth. Woolen cloth.Then, during a brief pause, she had a vague feeling that Miss Basie was touching her hair, and that her hand was very gentle.But when she wished frightfully to be touched again, she saw Miss Bessie sitting with her skirts folded up, her hands on one knee, her feet up on the grate, frowning at the fire.

"My God," said Miss Betsy suddenly, "why is it called 'Crow's Nest'?"

"Do you mean the house, miss?" my mother retorted.

"Why 'Crow's Nest'?" said Miss Betsy. "It would be a better place to call it a kitchen, if either of you has any sense of practicality."

"It's from Mr. Copperfield," my mother replied, "that when he bought the house he always thought there were crows around here."

Just at this time, the evening wind was blowing among the tall old elm trees at the end of the garden, and my mother and Miss Bessie looked there unconsciously.The elms bowed down like giants whispering secrets, and in a few seconds their branches began to shake wildly and sway around, as if their whispers had been too bad to disturb their peace. At this moment, some old weather-beaten and broken crow's nests built in the tree-tops pitched and rocked like wrecks in a storm.

"Where are the crows?" asked Miss Betsy.

"Those—?" My mother was thinking of something else.

"What's the matter with the crows?" asked Miss Betsy again.

"Never seen a crow since the day we moved in," said my mother. "Mr. Copperfield thought—this is where crows nest; but the nests are old, and the crows Let them go and fly somewhere else."

"And that's exactly what David Copperfield is, the very nature of David Copperfield! Not even a crow can be seen on this side of the house, yet he calls it a 'crow's nest' '! When he saw a crow's nest, he thought there was a crow! Even with the birds!"

"But Mr. Copperfield is dead now," said my mother, "and if you say these sarcasm about him in my presence—"

I think my poor mother, but she really wants to start a fight with my aunt for a while, but she is not afraid of being charged with "fighting".In fact, despite the way she looked that afternoon, even if she was well trained in boxing, my aunt could easily handle her with only one hand.But though my mother might have thought so at the time, it was gone when she got up from her chair.She sat down obediently again, and then she passed out.

After a while she woke up by herself, or Miss Bessie woke her up.Anyway, when she woke up, she saw only Miss Betsy standing by the window.At that time, as night fell and grew dark, they could only vaguely recognize each other's faces, and even this recognition could only be done by the light of the fireplace.

"I said," said Miss Bessie, who seemed to glance casually at the scenery outside the window, and then returned to her chair, "how many days are you before—"

"Why do I keep shaking?" stammered my mother. "What's the matter? Am I dying, yes, I must be dying!"

(End of this chapter)