David Copperfield

Chapter 24
Chapter 10 Getting Support(3)
Since then I have often thought what an unusual wedding it was! Soon after dark we got into the carriage again and drove home.On the way we looked at and talked about the stars, and I was their chief guide, and made Mr. Baggis learn again, and I told him all I knew, and he always believed what I told him, because he told me I admired my talent so much that he even told his wife that I was a little "Locius" in front of my face. 】—I think what he meant was a gifted child.

When we had finished talking on the subject of the stars, or when Mr. Barkis' talents were exhausted, little Em'ly and I made a cloak out of an old shawl, and bound us in it, as we did all the way.Ah! how I love her! If we were married, and went wherever we wanted, and lived in the woods and the fields, and never grew up, and were always children, and were never wiser, holding hands on a sunny day, How beautiful it is to play among the meadows of flowers, to lie at night on green moss, to sleep pure and peaceful; and when we die, to be buried by birds! I have carried this picture in my mind all the way; Reality, illuminated by our naive brilliance, blurs like distant stars.I was glad to think of Peggotty's marriage, with Emily and I, two innocent souls, in the company.It gave me great joy to think of Eros and Beauty taking part in their modest wedding process with such buoyancy.

We went back to the old boat in the middle of the night.Mr. and Mrs. Barkis bade us good-bye, and drove merrily back to their own home.I felt then for the first time that Peggotty had really left me.If it hadn't been for little Emily under the same roof with me, my heart would have been so painful that I would have been unable to sleep.

Mr. Peggotty and Ham, who knew what was in my heart as well as I did, prepared a supper, entertained me with hospitality, and relieved me of my worries.Little Em'ly and I sat together on the little box, for the only time during all our visit.All in all, it was a wonderful day, and it ended beautifully.

The tide was high that night, and Mr Peggotty and Ham were out to sea shortly after we went to bed.They left me alone in my lonely house, to be the protector of Emily and Mrs. Gummidge, and I thought I was brave.If only a lion, snake, or any other ferocious monster came against us and I could destroy it to make myself famous.But since there were no such things prowling the Yarmouth beach that night, I did what I could to remedy it: I dreamed about dragons all night long until morning.

At daybreak Peggotty came.She woke me up under my window as usual, as if Mr. Barkis, the coachman, had been a dream all through.After breakfast, she took me to their home, which was small but beautiful.Of all the furniture, what interests me the most is an old dark wood bookcase in the living room (the brick kitchen is a common living room) with a movable top that can be opened and lowered to make it a writing desk.There was a quarto copy of Fox's The Martyrs.I immediately saw this precious book (which I have now forgotten), and devoted myself to it; every time I came here after that, I always climbed on a chair, took out the book, and put my arms on the desk, Start reading that book carefully.I suppose that the main attraction of that book was the various macabre scenes; but since then the Martyr and Peggotty's house have been linked in my mind.

Mr. Peggotty, Ham, Mrs. Gummidge, and little Emily and I spent the night in a small room at Peggotty's house.Peggotty said that the little room (with the crocodile book on the bedside shelf) was always mine, and would always remain exactly the same for me.

"As long as I am here, and this home is mine, dear David," said Peggotty, "you will find me expecting you every moment. I will manage it every day as I used to manage it. like your little room; and even if you go to a foreign country, you can imagine that it will be like that after you're gone."

I fully felt the faithfulness and steadfastness of my dear old nurse, and I was very grateful to her.But I wasn't doing my best because she said those words with her arms around my neck in the morning when I was going home to myself.They drove me home together and said goodbye to me at the gate, which was not easy and unpleasant.How rare it was to see the cart take Peggotty away, and I stay under the old elm, and look at the house, where there was not a single face looking at me with love!

At this time, I became a child who was ignored, and when I thought about it, I couldn't help but feel sad.I fell into a lonely situation-no one cared about me, no children of my own age to communicate with, no companions except my lonely, lonely thoughts, and that kind of feeling seems to make the pen ink bleak now. stand up.

How I wish they would send me to the strictest school--just teach me something, anywhere, however!--but I have no hope.They don't like me; they treat me coldly and sullenly.I suppose Mr. Murdstone's livelihood was at that time difficult, but that was not the problem.It was that he could not bear me, and, I believe, he wanted to get rid of me so that he would not have any obligations to me—and he succeeded.

I wasn't actually abused.They didn't beat me, they didn't starve me, but they ignored me no less in an unbearably ruthless way.Day after day, week after week, month after month, they ignored me, snubbed me mercilessly.Sometimes I think, what would they do if I was sick? I might lie in my lonely little room, as lonely as usual, until I slowly withered away and died. Would someone come to save me? I couldn't imagine .

I dined with the Murdstones when they were at home, and ate and drank alone when they were away.I could hang about the house at will; but they forbade me to associate with anyone, probably because, if I made friends, I would have to complain to them.For this reason, when Mr. Qillpool used to call me to see him, (he was a widower, and his thin, fair-haired wife died years ago.) I spent an afternoon in his operating room. , read a medicinal book I had never read, or pound medicine in a medicine bowl under his patient guidance, but I only occasionally had such opportunities.

For the same reason they had always disliked Peggotty, and they seldom allowed me to see her.Peggotty, true to her promise, came to see me every week, or met me somewhere near my house, never empty-handed, but I was disappointed not to be allowed to see her.But as time went by, they allowed me to visit her house once in a while.It occurred to me then that Mr. Baggis was a little stingy, or, as Peggotty said, "a little stingy."He put the money in a box under his bed, but told people that it contained a jacket and trousers.In this little vault his wealth was so carefully guarded that even the smallest sum had to be contrived.So every Saturday when counting the expenses, Peggotty had to devise a long and ingenious plan like the "Gunpowder Plot".

At all times during this period, I felt deeply that even if I had a future, I was being ruined; no one cared about me, and if it were not for a few old books, my distress would be unbearable.I'm loyal to them, and so are they, and I've watched them over and over again and again.

The period of my life which I am now writing is one I will never forget, as long as I can remember; and the recollections of this period have often loomed before me without summons, and disturbed my happier hours like a ghost.

I was prowling the neighborhood listlessly and broodingly (which my life had caused) that day, when I turned a corner near our house when I came across Mr. Murdstone and a man approaching.I panicked and tried to walk past them when the man called out:

"Brooks! How's it going?"

"No, sir, David Copperfield," I said.

"Don't correct me, you're Brooks," the man said, "You're Brooks of Sifel. That's your name."

After hearing this, I looked at this man carefully.I just remembered that he was Mr. Quinn.That's—but that's all right—don't worry about when.

"How are you now, and where do you go to school, Brooks?" said Mr. Quinnen.

He had already put his hand on my shoulder, and turned me around, and told me to go with them, and I didn't know what to say, and looked at Mr. Murdstone blankly.

"He's at home now," he said. "He's not in school and I don't know what to do with him. He's a problem."

The usual sinister look paused on me, then he frowned, his eyes darkened, and he looked away with disgust.

"Ha!" said Mr. Quinn, looking (I think) at both of us. "Good weather!"

Then everyone was silent, and I was thinking about how to get my shoulders off his hands, when he said:

"I suppose you're still as sensible as ever, Brooks?"

"Hey! He's very sensible," said Mr. Murdstone irritably. "You'd better let him go. He won't appreciate you for disturbing him."

Under such hints, Mr. Quinn let go of me, and I ran home quickly.When I came into the front garden, I saw Mr. Murdstone leaning against the bolt-door of the graveyard, and Mr. Quinen was talking to him.They both looked at me behind me and talked about me.

Mr. Quinn stayed at our house that night.Early the next morning, after breakfast, I opened the door of my room and was about to go out when Mr. Murdstone called me.He walked gravely to another table where his sister was writing something.Mr. Quinn, with his hands in his pockets, stood looking out of the window, and I stood there looking at them.

"David," said Mr. Murdstone, "it's a world for young people to start a business, not a world to hang out."

"Like you," said his sister sharply.

"Leave me alone, Jane Murdstone. I say, David, the world is not a world to hang out with young people. It is more so with a child of your character, because your character Sex needs many changes; nothing can do better with your character than to be forced to obey the laws of this world, and to destroy it."

"Don't be stubborn here!" said his sister. "You can only subdue the stubborn temper, you must subdue it, and you will be able to subdue it!"

He looked at her, agreed a little, and then said:

"I think, David, you understand that I'm poor. Anyway, you understand now that you've had quite a bit of education, and education is expensive, and even if it wasn't expensive, I couldn't provide much, I mean Even if you go to school, you won’t get any benefits. Your future is to struggle in society, and the earlier you start, the better.”

I think I have actually started to struggle, although I have no strength, I think so now.

"You've heard me sometimes refer to 'warehouses,'" said Mr Murdstone.

"Warehouse? Sir," I repeated.

"Molger's warehouse, the brewer," he replied.

I believe I must have shown hesitation at that time, because he hurriedly continued:

"You must have heard of 'warehouse,' or trade, wine cellar, wharf, or anything related to it."

"I think I've heard that mentioned, sir," I said, recalling my vague knowledge of his and his sister's property, "but I don't know the time."

"That's all right," he went on, "Mr. Quinnin manages that business."

I looked at Quinine standing by the window with great respect.

"Mr. Quinnin suggested that the company needs to hire anyway, and he sees no reason not to hire you in the same circumstances."

"Murdstone," whispered Mr. Quinen, half-turning, "that's because he had no choice."

Mr. Murdstone moved impatiently, even angrily, and, paying no attention to his words, went on:

"Those conditions are that you can also earn money for food, drink, and pocket expenses. I will pay for your accommodation (I have arranged it), and your laundry fee-"

"—can't go beyond my budget," said his sister.

"I'll supply your clothes, too," said Mr. Murdstone, "because you can't make money for them just yet. So you go to London with Mr. Quinine, and start a business of your own."

"In short, you have been well arranged," said his sister, "and it will be your own responsibility from now on."

Although I fully understand that this statement is to get rid of me, I don't know whether to be surprised or like it. My impression is that I am between fear and like, and I am very confused.I didn't have much time to think either, since Mr. Quinn was leaving soon.

On the second day, you see, I was wearing a worn-out little white cap (with a black gauze hooped over it, which was regarded as mourning for my mother), a black jacket on the upper body, and a pair of stiff cotton trousers on the lower body— —Miss Murdstone thinks these trousers are the armor that protects my legs in my struggles in the world—look at me dressed like this! All my assets are in a little box, a poor boy, just like Gummidge Take the bicycle that takes Mr. Quinine to Yarmouth, as madam says, and the post to London! Behold, our house and the village church are receding; Rising no more from my old playground, nothing in the sky!
(End of this chapter)