David Copperfield

Chapter 15 First Semester at Salem (1)
Chapter 7 First term at Salem (1)
in class.The classroom was chaotic at first, but suddenly became subdued when Mr. Krigul came in, standing in the doorway like a giant in a storybook looking at his captive.

Tungai followed closely behind.He shouted needlessly ferociously: "Don't make noise!"

Mr. Crigul moved his lips, but Tungay spoke:

"Then, children, the new semester has begun. You have to study hard. You have to study hard while you just started. If not, I will never show mercy. It is useless for you to stubbornly resist. I will leave it to you." The scars on the school are indelible. Study hard, all students!"

When Tungay limped out again after the lecture, Mr. Crigul came straight up to me and told me that if I was famous for biting, he would be all right.Then he showed his cane and asked me, "How is it? Is this a terrible tooth? A double tooth? Hey! Does it have a point? Hey! Does it bite? Hey! It bites man?" and he spasmed me with spasms; so I enjoyed all of Salem, as Steerforth said, and I burst into tears.

Mr. Krigul then went on a tour of the students, most of whom (especially the younger ones) "enjoyed the honor".Before the day's homework even started, half of the students were rolling and crying.I waited silently.

Mr. Krigul's pleasure in thrashing his pupils was like satisfying an intense pleasure.I believe he had a special fascination with spanking plump children, and he couldn't rest for a day if he didn't spank them.I'm chubby myself so feel the same way, dare I say I think about this guy now and still feel pretty bad about him because I know he's a big bad guy who doesn't know anything but hit people, he's a teacher , it is incompetent to be a naval commander or an army commander.But whether he was either, he couldn't have done more bad things than he could have done as headmaster.

What cruelty he did to the poor little penitent! I recall now how low we were to him! And what kind of life was I dabbling in?

Now I seem to be sitting at the desk, watching him furtively and tremblingly, as he corrects the arithmetic-book with a ruler for another poor fellow; Pain.I didn't pay attention to his eyes for no purpose (I still have a lot of homework), he has a kind of morbid attraction to me, which makes me wonder what he will do next, and whether the next unlucky person will be me or someone else.There are many people who think the same as me.He must know, just pretend not to know.As he corrected the arithmetic book, he squinted at our row, and we were terrified.After a while, I couldn't help but look at him again.A poor child was called away because he didn't finish the exercises.The little criminal begged for mercy pitifully, and vowed to do well tomorrow.Krigul made a joke before hitting him.We all laughed—we poor puppies were pale, but laughed, and terrified.

I think back to that drowsy summer afternoon when I sat at my desk surrounded by a buzzing as if the students were flies.We had only eaten for an hour or two, and the warm fat made me feel greasy, and my head was as heavy as a hunk of lead, and I gave it a go, just let me sleep.I sat there watching Mr. Crigul, and after a while, I fell asleep, and he came softly behind me, and whipped the red welts on my back, and woke me up, because he wanted to make me sleep. I can see a little more clearly.

At this time, I seemed to have returned to the old playground, and my eyes followed him, although I couldn't see him.I knew he was having breakfast not far from the window at the time, so I couldn't see him; I just looked out the window for him.As soon as his face was exposed, my face was a pleading and pitiful expression.If he looked out of the glass, the most daring pupils (except Steerforth) learned in silence.One day the unfortunate Traddles broke the glass with a rubber ball.And the ball just hit Mr. Krigul's divine head.

Poor Traddles! He is lively, but also the most pitiful.He was always subjected to a cane, except on Mondays when he was off, and only with a ruler on his hand.He always said he was going to write to his uncle, but he never did.After being beaten, before the pain was over, he became happy again, laughed, and drew skulls all over the stone slab.At first I didn't understand why he did this.Sometimes I think he's a monastic, comforting himself with those symbols of death, that the rod can't go on forever.But I believe that he drew these because they have no features and are easy to draw.

Traddles was breezy, he loved to help his fellows, and several times he suffered for it.On that occasion, Steerforth laughed in the church service, and the warden thought it was Traddles, and threw him out of the door.I still seem to see him being despised by everyone.The next day he was beaten and kept in confinement for a long time, and when he came out his Latin dictionary was full of skeletons in the whole cemetery.But he never named the real criminal, and he was paid for it by Steerforth's compliment that he had holy thoughts in his heart.We all thought it was the highest honor.I am certainly not so brave as Traddles.

To see Steerforth going to church arm in arm with Miss Creigul was the greatest spectacle I ever saw.I know that Miss Crigul is not as beautiful as Emily, nor do I love or dare to love Miss Crigul.But I think she is very attractive.When Steerforth carried her parasol in white trousers, I thought it an honor to befriend him.I believe she respects him a lot.Mr. Sharp and Mr. Meyer were also great men in my eyes at the time, but not so much compared with Steerforth.

With Steerforth around no one dares to offend me.But he did not—or at least he did not—exonerate Mr. Crigul from his cruelty to me.Whenever I was treated worse than usual, he always told me that I should have a little bit of his bones, and that he would never do it in his place.Mr. Crigul's strictness to me had only this benefit: it turned out that when he passed behind the chair I was sitting in, and tried to hit me in passing, the sign was always a disservice; so he took it off.

This day is special.He was talking to me on the playground, and I was talking about someone or something—I don't remember what it is now—someone or something like something out of Pilgrim.He didn't ask much at the time, but at night when I went to bed he asked me if I had brought that book to school and I said no and explained how I read and mentioned all the other books.

"Do you remember?" asked Steerforth.

"Oh, yes." I replied.

"Then, young Copperfield," said Steerforth, "you tell me about the books, which I have to go to bed late at night and wake up early in the morning. We may treat this as Make "Arabian Nights"."

Of course I am very happy.In the course of my narration, if I have influenced some writers I like, of course I can’t say it, and I don’t want to know; but I have a deep identification with them, and I also believe that when I narrate, I am sincere; these qualities have great benefits.

The trouble was that I often fell asleep at night and couldn't keep up my spirits, but the story had to be told, because nothing could be done to displease or disappoint Steerforth.It was tiresome to have to tell a long story in the morning, when I was very tired and sleepy, but Steerforth was firm about it; and above all, he gave me answers to arithmetic and exercises and Everything else is hard for me.So fair and reasonable.But at the end of the day it's because I adore him, love him, and it's worth it.I look back on these little things with sadness now, but I cherished them dearly at the time.

Steerforth took good care of me, too, and it showed in little things, which I thought were a little irritating in the eyes of Traddles and the rest.Peggotty promised to send me a letter—a letter to my great delight—and it arrived a few weeks after term started, bringing with it a lot of oranges, some cakes, and two bottles of primrose wine.Of course, I leave it all to Steerforth.

"Little Copperfield," said he, "save the wine for your throat while you tell your stories!"

I begged him not to do that, but he said he used to hear my voice a little hoarse--or rather rattled--so every drop of wine should be used to lubricate my throat.The bottles were therefore put away and he poured himself into a vial; and when he thought I needed it, he let me suck from a thin tube inserted in a cork.Sometimes, to make the wine full of potency, he squeezed orange juice into it himself, or put something else; it wasn't better, but it was a good starter, but the last thing in the night , first thing in the morning, I always drink the concoction with infinite gratitude.

We seem to have been telling "Pelegrim" for months, and other stories for months.Neither of us was ever slackened by the lack of stories, and those two bottles lasted almost as long as the stories.But poor Traddles was like an answer to me, rocking with laughter at the funny parts of the story, and pretending to be terribly frightened at the horrible parts.This way I can no longer continue.The funniest thing I remember was his feigned chattering of his teeth at the mention of the police officers involved in the Spanish adventure, and his feigned terror when the chief of the Spanish police officers met the chief of the bandits in Madrid The trembling was overheard by Mr. Crigul, who was prowling the corridor secretly, and he was given a good beating for disturbing the dormitories.

All the elements of romantic fantasy in me were alive with so many stories told in the dark.On the one hand, it didn't do me much good; but on the other hand, I was already treated as a popular entertainment in the bedroom; I was the youngest and attracted attention, which encouraged I work hard.In a school governed by tyrannical and brutal means, no matter who presides, the pupils generally learn little.We are punished so much that we cannot study properly; we cannot study well.But my own petty vanity, and the help Steerforth gave me, encouraged me to go on, and though my punishment was not lessened by it at the time, I still learned from time to time something which made me so One exception in a group of children.

In this regard, Mr. Meyer helped me a lot.Here I have to say gratefully that he likes me.I have often been grieved to see Steerforth deliberately hurt him, never miss an opportunity of hurting his feelings, or persuade others to do so.As I hid nothing from Steerforth, any more than I had a heart or anything corporeal, I soon told him about Mr Meyer taking me to two old ladies .For a long time, therefore, I was very disturbed, and I was often afraid that Steerforth would tell the story and expose him.

(End of this chapter)