David Copperfield

Chapter 55
Chapter 22 Old Things New People (2)
"From the shadow of that wall, I think," I said, and there happened to be a wall at the side of the road where we were walking.

"It's gone!" he said, looking back. "I wish all misfortunes were gone. Now go back to your dinner!"

But he looked back to the distant horizon again and again, and several times during the rest of our journey, he said intermittently that he didn't understand what it was about.He didn't forget about it until the light from the fire and candles fell on us warmly.

Lytimus was there, and maintained his usual influence on me.When I greeted Mrs Steerforth and Miss Dartle to him, he thanked me and sent my regards for them.But he made me think he was saying, "You're young, sir, very young."

When we had almost finished eating, he took a step or two towards the table from the corner where he supervised us, or rather me, and said to his master:

"I beg your pardon, sir, but here comes Miss Molcher."

"Who?" asked Steerforth, somewhat surprised.

"Miss Moocher, sir."

"Well, what is she here for?"

"This place seems to be her home, sir. She told me she came every year for a business call, sir. I met her in the street this afternoon. She said she wanted to call on you after supper, sir. "

"You know what we call a giantess, Daisy?" Steerforth asked me.

I have to admit that Miss Molcher knew nothing of me.

"Then you must see her," said Steerforth. "She is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Here comes Miss Molcher, bring her in."

I had a curiosity about this young lady, which was heightened by Steerforth's laugh at my mention of her, and his resolute refusal to make her a subject or answer my question.Therefore, after the tablecloth was removed for half an hour, I was in a kind of anticipation, and finally the door opened, and Li Timo reported with his usual calm attitude:

"Miss Molcher is here."

I looked for the door, but there was nothing.I still kept watching hard, thinking that she was really late.But instead of what I expected, I was amazed to see swinging past behind the sofa a dumpy man, about four or fifty years old, with a big head and a big face, with sly gray eyes and tiny arms, and when she looked She tried to put a finger on her flat nose when Steerforth was approaching, but as she couldn't reach her nose she had to meet the finger halfway and put her nose on it.Her chin (the so-called double chin) is so fat that it completely swallows up her bonnet strap.Her neck, legs, and waist are not worth mentioning, because although the part above her waist (if any) exceeds the average length, and although she has two feet like normal people, she is so short, so She was standing beside a chair of average height, as if someone else were standing at a table, the way people put things on a table.The young lady, in casual attire, with difficulty bringing her nose and fingers together, with her head on one side, with her eyes closed, made a very treacherous countenance, and winked at Steerforth, He talked endlessly.

"My little girl!" she said cheerfully, shaking her big head. "You're here, aren't you? You naughty child, alas, you're so far away from home. What are you doing here? Naughty, you must be. Oh, you crafty fellow, Steerforth. Yes, you're a crafty fellow, and I'm a crafty fellow, aren't I? Ha! Ha! Ha! You must think you won't meet me here, yes No, you know that I am everywhere like a half-crown in a magician's handkerchief. You are the greatest joy of your proud mother, are you not, my dear boy, and I say that I am partial to you."

As Miss Molcher said, she untied her bonnet, threw it behind her, and sat panting on a footstool in front of the fire—the mahogany dining table became her gazebo.

"Well," she said, slapping her hand on her knee, and looking at me warily, "I'm a big fat man, it's true, Steerforth. I've got a hard time breathing after I've gone up a flight of stairs. If you're on the first floor Looking down from the upper window, you must have mistaken me for a pretty person, have you not?"

"I've always thought so wherever I was," said Steerforth.

"Fuck you, you little lap dog!" cried the little man, waving the handkerchief he was wiping his face. "Don't be ashamed! But let me tell you, I was at Mrs. Misel's last week—that's called Pretty, she never ages - Misel came into the room where I was waiting for Mrs. Misel too. He's a handsome man too! He never ages either - and his wig doesn't age either, Been wearing it for ten years—he flatters me so politely I think I must ring. He's a likable thing, but he's got no morals."

"What are you doing with Mrs. Missel?"

"That can't tell you, my sweet child," she said, pointing her nose again, twisting her face, winking like a kid, "you don't have to care. You want to know how I can keep her hair from falling out , how to dye her hair, how to moisturize her skin, or trim her eyebrows, don’t you? Then you wait—you’ll understand. Do you know what my great-grandfather’s name was?”

"do not know."

"Walker, my dear darling," said Miss Mutcher, "he has a succession of Walker before him, from whom I have inherited everything!"

Miss Molcher had a calm, self-possessed energy that I do not know of anyone else but herself.When listening to others talking, or waiting for someone to answer her words, she always tilted her head to one side, rolling her eyes like a magpie. Her appearance surprised me a lot. I just sat there watching her, completely forgetting the rules and etiquette.

She had drawn the chair to her side by this time, and from the bag she drew bottles, sponges, brushes, pieces of flannelette, handfuls of curling irons, and other things in a heap.She stopped abruptly, and said to Steerforth:

"Who is this man?"

"Mr. Copperfield," said he, "he wants to make your acquaintance."

"That's good, that's fine. I just saw him and thought he was already acquainted." Miss Moocher walked up to me with a bag in her hand, and laughed at me and said, "The face is like a peach!" I sat there , she stood on tiptoe and pinched my face with her hand, "It's so charming! I love peaches, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Copperfield."

I said I was honored to have known her too.

"Oh, my God, you're very kind!" cried Miss Molcher, putting her little hands into her face, "but it's all nonsense, isn't it?"

It was an affectionate conversation between the two of us, and then she took her hands from her face and reached into the bag, arms and shoulders.

"What does that mean, Miss Molcher?" asked Steerforth.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! We're a funny bunch of liars, aren't we, my dear boy?" The woman put her head sideways, raised her eyes, and reached into the bag, "Look," she took something out of the bag , "Nails cut off by the prince of Russia! I call him the prince, because all the letters of the alphabet are jumbled up in his name."

"This Russian prince is also your client?" said Steerforth.

"Yes, my dear," replied Miss Molcher, "I do his manicures twice a week, fingernails and toenails."

"I hope he's well paid?" said Steerforth.

"He spends his money as he talks," said Miss Molkell. "The Lord is not like you fellows. If you had seen his beard, you would have said it. It was naturally red, and it was dyed black. "

"You must have done it," said Steerforth.

Miss Molcher winked her eyes in agreement: "It's up to me. The climate affects his dyeing, which is fine in Russia, but not here. You'll never see a rusty prince like him, Like scrap metal."

"Is that why you call him a liar?" asked Steerforth.

"Oh, you're a bright boy," said Miss Marcher, shaking her head violently. "Of course, they're all liars, and I'll show you the duke's nails. The duke's nails are among those with It is more useful than all my talents put together. I always carry this, and it is a first-rate introduction. Since Miss Molcher gave the Prince a manicure, it must be true. I put this nail When presenting to young ladies and wives, I know they'll be in yearbooks. Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes, the whole social system (like a speech in Parliament) is one prince's nails! said the little woman, nodding her head, crossing her arms.

Steerforth laughed, and I laughed, and Miss Molcher kept shaking her head (generally on one side), looking up with one eye, and blinking the other.

"Come, come!" she said, standing up, beating her little knees, "this is no business. Steerforth, let us explore the poles, and get this done."

She then selected two or three implements and a small bottle, and asked (I was taken aback) whether the table would hold her standing on it.When Steerforth said she could stand it, she moved a chair, asked me to help her, and jumped on it nimbly, as if it were a stage.

"If either of you sees my ankle," she said, standing firmly on the table, "tell me, and I'll go home and kill myself."

"I didn't see it," said Steerforth.

"I didn't see it either," I said.

"Then," cried Miss Moocher, "I promise not to kill myself. Now, Duckling, Duckling, Duckling, come to Mrs. Bond and get stabbed!"

It was a spell which put Steerforth at her mercy.Steerforth obeyed her, with his back to the table, and his face to me, bowing his head with a smile, apparently only to amuse us.I was amazed to see Miss Molcher take a large round magnifying glass from her pocket to look at his brown hair.

"You're a pretty fellow!" said Miss Molcher, after examining it. "If you hadn't met me, you'd have a monk's head in the near future. Just a moment, my friend, and I'll be able to Wipe your hair so that it won't be curly for ten years!"

As she spoke, she poured a little from the little bottle on a little piece of flannel, and some on a little brush, and began to brush and rub the top of Steerforth's head with both, with the stillness in her mouth. Can't stop nagging.

"Tell me about Charles? Sendgrave, the duke's son," she said. "Do you know him?" She turned her face from behind him to look at him.

"A little," said Steerforth.

"What a fine man he is! What a beard he has! And as for his feet, if they were paired (unfortunately they were not), there would be no equal. He doesn't use me - one of the Praetorians - -Do you believe it?"

"No!" said Steerforth.

"Kind of like, but mad or not, he really doesn't need me," went on Miss Molcher. "What's he doing? Well, he's running into a spice shop to buy a bottle of Madagascar water."

"Charlie buys this water?" said Steerforth.

"Yes, but he didn't get Madagascar water."

"What's that, drink?" he asked.

"Drink?" said Miss Molcher, patting him on the face. "To trim my own beard. There was a woman in that shop - a very old woman - a monster - she didn't even have the thing's name Never heard of either. 'I'm sorry, sir,' she said to Charlie, 'is that—is it rouge?' 'Rouge?' Charlie said to her, 'what do you think I want rouge for?' 'Don't get mad, sir. ’ said she, ‘people ask us for this by all sorts of names, and I thought you wanted this.’ Well, my dear,” said Miss Molcher, rubbing, “this is what I want. Another trick to say. I've done it myself—perhaps many times—perhaps a little—my dear boy!—never mind!"

"Which side are you talking about, the rouge kind?" said Steerforth.

"Mix this with that, my dear student," said Miss Molcher slyly, "follow the recipes, and the finished product will please you. I say I'll do some too. A Rich women call it lip balm, another glove, another lace, another a fan. I call them whatever they call it. I give them these things, but we cheat each other and act as if nothing happened. So they soon Before the public, as before me with those things. When I serve them, they say to me sometimes—with this—thick—they say to me: 'How do I look, Maucher? Am I white? 'Ha! Isn't that funny, my little friend?"

Never in my life have I seen such a thing as Miss Molcher standing on the table, amusing herself with a joke, and busily rubbing Steerforth's head, while flying eyes over my head.

"Ah," she said, "it's not much of a need here. That reminds me of another thing. I've never seen a good-looking woman here, James."

"Never?" said Steerforth.

"Not even a ghost," replied Miss Molcher.

"I'm sure we can tell her something," said Steerforth and I, eye to eye. "Can't we, Daisy?"

"Yes." I said.

"Ah?" cried the little man, looking sharply at me, and then sideways into Steerforth's face, "is it?"

She seemed unable to get an answer, so she tilted her head on one side, rolled her eyes upward (as if she could find the answer in the air and the answer would come soon), and continued to rub.

"It's your sister, Mr. Copperfield?" she said after a short pause, "is it?"

"No," replied Steerforth first, "not at all; on the contrary, Mr. Copperfield once—perhaps I am quite mistaken—admired her."

"And now," said Miss Molcher, "is he indifferent? Oh, what a shame! He picks every flower, changes every moment, till Polly repays his love? She Is it Polly?"

She asked me this question out of the blue, and looked at me with that searching look, which made me feel overwhelmed.

"No, Miss Molcher," I answered, "her name is Emily."

"Huh?" she cried, as before, "how I love to talk? Am I frivolous, Mr. Copperfield?"

Her appearance displeased me, so I said with extra solemnity:

"She is as serious as she is beautiful. She is engaged to the most worthy and qualified man who is worthy of her, and I respect her not only for her beauty, but for her character."

(End of this chapter)