David Copperfield

Chapter 10
Chapter 4 Humiliated and humiliated (3)
I'm amazed that, thinking about it now, in the midst of those troubles at the time (they were big troubles at the time), I could imagine myself as a favorite character in the book, and regard the Murdstone brothers and sisters as villains.I was Tom Jones (a child's Tom Jones, a harmless man).I also remember being my own Radrick Langton for a month.I had a great interest in a couple of sailing and travel books--I don't remember the names--that were on the shelf.I remember, for days at a time, walking up and down my part of the house, armed with the pivot of an old shoe last, like a captain of the Royal Navy, besieged by savages, determined to Give it a go.Captains never lose their dignity by being slapped for forgetting their Latin grammar book, but I did.But I think that regardless of the grammar of all the grammar books in the world, dead or alive, that captain is always a captain, a hero.

This is my only and constant consolation.When I think about this, the situation at that time always pops up in my mind: one summer night, other children are playing, and I am studying hard.Every barn in the neighborhood, every brick in the church, every inch of the cemetery has an association with these books, a point in them.I've seen Tom Pipes climb to the top of the church; I've seen Streep resting on the door with his pack on his back; reunion.

After a few paragraphs the reader will know as well as I do what the childhood I am now reliving was like.

One morning, when I came into the drawing-room with my book, I saw my mother's anxious face, Miss Murdstone's determined look, and Mr. Murdstone's binding something to a limp thin on the cane.When I entered the house, he stopped, picked it up, and waved it in the air.

"Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, "I used to get whipped myself."

"Really, of course," said Miss Murdstone.

"You're saying, dear Jane," my mother whispered timidly, "but—but will that do him any good?"

"Do you think that would do him any harm, Clara?" Mr. Murdstone said sharply.

"It's definitely good, that's what it is," said his sister.

Regarding this sentence, my mother just said: "It's not bad at all." After she finished speaking, she stopped talking.

I knew then that the words must have had something to do with me directly, and saw Mr. Murdstone looking at me.

"Well, David," he said--and I caught him squinting at me again as he spoke--"you've got to be extra careful today." Be there, pick up the book.

It was a start, and it was enough to make me lose my composure.I feel like all the words in my homework have slipped away—not one by one, not line by line, but whole pages.All of a sudden, it slid away at an unstoppable speed.

We started off badly and got worse as we went on.I had come into the house well prepared and wanted to be praised, but it turned out to be completely wrong.Book after book, the pile grew thicker, and Miss Murdstone kept a steady watch on us throughout.When we got to 5000 yuan of cheese (I remember, the topic on the first day was [-] walking sticks), my mother burst into tears.

"Clara!" Miss Murdstone warned.

"I feel a little sick to myself, Jane dear," my mother said.

I saw him give his sister a serious look, and taking his stick in his hand, he rose and said:

"Hey, Jane, we don't expect more from Clara. Clara has improved a lot, but we can't ask for that much from her. David, come upstairs with me."

When he pulled me to the door, my mother came running towards us.Miss Murdstone said, "Clara, are you a complete fool?" and stopped her.I saw my mother covering her ears and crying loudly.

Mr. Murdstone escorted me slowly to my room--I judged he had a great pleasure in the formal display of punishment--and when I got there he suddenly took my head under his arms. .

"Mr. Murdstone!" I cried to him. "No! Spare me! I would like to learn, but I can't get in with you and Miss Murdstone. Really, I can't."

He clamped my head up as if in a vice.But I stopped him and begged him not to hit me.I could only hold him back for a moment, and then he swung the cane whip hard at me.Then I took his hand that was holding me and bit it open.Thinking about it now still makes my teeth itch.

Then he hit me like hell, as if he was going to kill me.In the midst of our tumult I heard people running upstairs crying--I heard my mother crying--and Peggotty.Then Mordstone was gone, and the door was locked from the outside.I lay on the floor, hot, ripped where I hurt, and frantic with my childish self.

I vividly remember that when I slowly fell silent, the whole house was dead silent.I feel like I'm so bad again.

I sat there and listened for a long time, but there was no sound.I got up from the ground and saw my face in the mirror, swollen, red and ugly.The whips hurt me when I moved, and I cried, but the pain of the whips was nothing compared to the guilt in my heart.This feeling of guilt weighed on my heart and made me feel that I was really a heinous sinner.

It was getting dark, and I had closed the window (I lay with my head on the sill most of the time, crying and sleeping alternately, looking out blankly), and presently Miss Murdstone came in with a bit of bread in her hand. , Meat And Milk.Without saying a word, she put the things on the table with typical firmness, then turned and went out, locking the door behind her.

I sat there long after dark, wondering if anyone else was coming.I thought no one would come, so I undressed and went to bed; I was so terrified in bed, I didn't know what they were going to do with me.What kind of deed am I doing? Am I to be handed over to the police, or sent to prison for confinement? Am I in danger of being hanged?

The freshness of waking up the next day was overwhelmed by old and miserable memories.Miss Murdstone reappeared at the bedside, and told me I could go for a walk in the garden, not to exceed half an hour.And with that she went away, leaving the door open so that I might enjoy this favor.

I did this every day during my five-day incarceration.If I could see my mother alone, I would get on my knees and beg her to forgive me.But I saw only Miss Murdstone, and it was only in the drawing-room at vespers, when all the others had taken their places, that she escorted me to my place, and put me in a solitary place near the door.Before the others rose from the solemn vespers, I was escorted back to the bedroom by the solemn guards.I just saw my mother kneeling so far away from me, with her back to me, that I couldn't see her face.Again I saw Mr. Murdstone's hand wrapped in a large piece of gauze.

Those five painful days have occupied my memory not just for a few days, but for years.I listened to every little audible movement in the house: bells ringing, doors opening and closing, people talking, people going upstairs, laughter, whistles or singing that made me feel all the more embarrassing in my solitude and humiliation.Time is unpredictable, especially at night, when I wake up to what feels like morning, and my family is still up, and the long night is just beginning - day, noon, afternoon and dusk come, it doesn't seem to make sense to me up.Those were the days when the kids were playing in the churchyard, and I could only watch them from a distance in my bedroom, not daring to show my face at the window, lest they know I was a prisoner—the strange feeling of never being able to hear myself speak—as I ate and drank The fleeting moments of quasi-pleasure that flowed together—one night, when it rained, and the rain and growing darkness seemed to drown me in misery, panic, and regret—all seemed to repeat itself for years ; They have left such vivid and vivid memories in my mind.

On the last night of my confinement, I was awakened by voices whispering my name.I jumped up, stretched out my arms in the dark, and said:

"Peggotty?"

There was no answer, and someone called my name. The voice was so mysterious and terrifying. If I didn't suddenly realize that the voice must come from the keyhole, I think I would have fainted from fright.

I groped my way to the bed, and whispered into the keyhole:

"Is that you, Peggotty?"

"Yes, my darling, David," she answered, "quietly, or the cat will hear us."

I knew she meant Miss Murdstone, and I understood the danger—her room was next door.

"How is my mother, dear Peggotty? Is she still angry with me?"

Before she answered me, I heard her weep softly on the other side of the keyhole, and I wept on the other side too.

"No, not very angry."

"What will happen to me, Peggotty, my dear? Do you know?"

"Take you to school, which is very near to London," replied Peggotty.And I forgot to remove my mouth, and put my ear to it, and the words she said the first time fell from my throat; although they pleased me, I could not hear them, and had to let her say them again.

"When to set off?"

"Just tomorrow."

"Miss Murdstone took clothes out of my drawer for that?" she did, and I forgot to say.

"Yes," said Peggotty, "and the chest."

"Can I see my mother?"

"Yes," said Peggotty, "to-morrow morning."

Then Peggotty put his mouth to the keyhole, and from there came the warmest, most heartfelt words a keyhole could convey.I believe that the hole itself trembles every time it shoots out a short sentence.

"Way, darling—lately, I haven't loved you as much as I used to—that doesn't mean I don't love you any more—I still do, and love you more—my darling, I don't get close to you because I feel It's better for you—and for others. David, my dear, are you still listening? Can you hear me?"

"Yes-yes-yes-yes, Peggotty!" I sobbed.

"Darling!" said Peggotty, with infinite sympathy, "I'm going to say--you'll always remember me--because I'll always remember you. I'll always take care of your mother, David-- As I used to take care of you--I will never leave her alone. Someday she will lay her poor head on her dull and stubborn Peggotty's arm, and I will write I tell you, my dear—though I don't know much, I can—still—" Peggotty went on kissing the keyhole, because I couldn't be kissed.

"Thank you, Peggotty!" said I. "Oh, thank you, thank you! Will you promise me one thing, Peggotty? Will you write to Mr. Peggotty, and little Emily, and Mrs Gummidge and Ham, say I'm not so bad as they say, give them my regards--especially little Emily, will you? Will you, Peggotty?"

She consented, and we both kissed the keyhole with the greatest affection—I remember, patting it with my hand, as if it were Peggotty's face—and so we parted.Ever since that night, an inexplicable feeling had grown up in me for Peggotty.Of course she did not replace my mother, no one can; but she entered into a void in my heart, and I kept her in my heart; thus I have a special feeling for her that is different from ordinary people.At the same time, this is also an interesting relationship.If she had died long ago, I can't imagine what would be done, or how, to play out the tragedy her death caused me.

In the morning Miss Murdstone made her usual appearance.She told me that I was going to be sent to school, which wasn't as sudden to me as she thought it would be.She also told me to go downstairs to the living room and have breakfast when I got dressed.There, I saw my mother's haggard face and red eyes.I threw myself on her, begging her forgiveness.

"Oh, David!" she said, "didn't think you could hurt him. You must change! I forgive you. But I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be so wicked!"

They must have convinced her that I was a bad thing; she was more upset about it than I was about leaving the house.I was devastated because of leaving home.I tried my best to eat my parting breakfast, but my tears ran down my buttered bread and my tea, and I saw my mother look at me now and then at the watchful Modes Miss Tong, and then lowered his eyes, or moved his eyes to other places.

"Master Copperfield's box is there!" said Miss Murdstone when a car sounded outside the door.

I looked for Peggotty at first, but I didn't see her, and neither she nor Mr. Murdstone came out.At the door was my old acquaintance, the porter, who carried the boxes to the car.

"Clara!" cried Miss Murdstone in her warning tone.

"Relax, dear Jane," my mother replied, "bye, David. You will take care of yourself, and bye, my child. When you come home from vacation, I hope you will be a good boy."

"Clara!" cried Miss Murdstone again majestically.

"Yes, dear Jane," my mother said as she hugged me, "I forgive you, my dear child, and God bless you."

"Clara!" Miss Murdstone said even more solemnly.

By Miss Murdstone's kindness, she escorted me to the car, saying that she hoped I would repent before it was too late.So I hit the road.

(End of this chapter)