David Copperfield

Chapter 9
Chapter 4 Humiliated and humiliated (2)
"Actually," said my poor mother through tears, "I don't want anyone to go. I'd be very sorry if anyone did. I don't ask much. I'm reasonable. I just ask Tell me when you have something. As long as you are a helper, I am grateful. I only ask to tell me when you have something, just for a form. In the past, I thought you liked me because I was inexperienced and childish. —you did say that—but now you dislike me for it, and you are so severe."

Then Miss Murdstone went on in this way: "Well, I'm leaving to-morrow."

"Jane Murdstone," cried Mr. Murdstone, "don't talk, how dare you?"

Miss Murdstone took a bunch of keys from her pocket as if she were a prisoner, and held them up to her eyes.

"Clara," he went on, looking at my mother, "I didn't expect you to surprise me so much! I would have liked to marry someone innocent and unworldly, to reshape her character, to instill in her firmness and determination." , what a satisfying thing. But now, Jane Murdstone is doing my best to help me, and I have come to play a role similar to a housekeeper for me, but I have encountered such a retribution for kindness—"

"Oh, please, Edward," my mother said guiltily, "don't call me ungrateful. I'm not ungrateful. No one ever said that to me. I have a lot of faults, but not this one. Oh , no, dear."

"As I said just now, what happened to Jane Murdstone," he went on, when my mother was at a loss for words, "it changed my feelings and changed my feelings when I heard such words. cold."

"Stop it, dear!" my mother pleaded piteously. "Stop it! Edward, I can't bear it. Anyway, I'm the softest of hearts, yes, I know that. If I don't Knowing myself well enough, I wouldn't say that. Ask Peggotty, and I'm sure she'll tell you that I have the softest heart."

"Mere weakness, to whatever extent, Clara!" replied Mr. Murdstone. "It has no effect on me, and your efforts are in vain."

"Let's make it up," said my mother. "I can't bear to live with indifference and cruelty. I'm sorry, I know I have many faults. Edward, thank you for your perseverance to correct my faults. Jane, I I don't object to anything. If you go, I'll be so sad--" My mother was so sad that she couldn't go on.

"Jane Murdstone," said Mr. Murdstone, turning to his sister, "no one of us has ever spoken harshly before. It is not necessarily my fault that something so unusual has happened to-night. and it cannot be said that it is your fault that you were implicated by someone else. Let us all forget about it. Because," he added after these magnanimous words, "it does not affect the child well. — David, go to sleep!"

I am uncomfortable.I was sorry to see my mother suffer like this; but at last I left the house, and groped my way upstairs to my bedroom, not even in the mood to say good night to Peggotty, or to ask her for a candle. up.At one o'clock she told me that my mother had fallen asleep, and that Mr and Miss Murdstone were still sitting.

The next morning, I got up earlier than usual.I went outside the living room and heard my mother's voice, so I stopped.She was humbly entreating Miss Murdstone's pardon; and the lady obliged.From then on, I only know that my mother must first consult Miss Murdstone or try to find out Murdstone's opinion on everything.My mother was terrified whenever Miss Murdstone, in a fit of temper (she was apt to lose her temper), would reach into her bag as if to take the keys out and give them back.

There was a gloomy morbidity in the blood of the Murdstones which affected their faith.I have since thought that the nature of that belief contributed to Mr. Murdstone's firmness.For anyone, as long as he can find an excuse to punish, he will definitely give that person the most extreme and severe punishment.Nevertheless, I remember vividly the horror of our going to church.The dreaded Sunday came again, and I was taken to my old seat like a prisoner led to hard labor under surveillance.I thought I saw Miss Murdstone again, in her velvet gown that seemed to be made of a black coffin, following me; my mother after her; her husband after her.There was no more Peggotty.Again I thought I heard Miss Murdstone's murmured answer, with savage emphasis upon the dreaded word.I seem to see the black eyes rolling around the church again when she says "suffering sinners."I looked at my mother a few more times, she moved her lips timidly between the two people, but the two were grunting like thunder in one side of her ear.I was afraid again, wondering if our old clergyman was wrong and Mr. and Miss Murdstone were right, and whether all the angels in heaven were angels of destruction.I also felt that if I moved my fingers and relaxed the muscles of my face, Miss Murdstone would strike me with her prayer-book and make my ribs ache.

Yes, on the way home, I saw some neighbors looking at my mother, then at me, and then whispering again.When the three of them walked in front hand in hand, and I was walking behind alone, I looked at my mother with the eyes of the neighbors, and wondered whether my mother's footsteps were no longer as light and free as before, and whether her beauty had also faded away. up.I also wondered if any of my neighbors told me the way we used to—she and I—walk home.And so I spent the days of that dreadful sorrow foolishly wondering and doubting these questions.

There was also a few conversations about my going to boarding school.It was suggested by Mr and Miss Murdstone, and of course my mother agreed.Just didn't draw any conclusions.I had been taking classes at home at the time.

I never forgot those lessons, supervised by my mother in name, but in reality by the Murdstones, who were always there, seeing their studies as a chance to instill in me that firmness; Firmness is deadly poison to us, mother and child.I think it was for this motive that I was kept at home.When I was alone with my mother, I was studious and a quick learner.I can still clearly remember learning the alphabet at my mother's knee.Until now, when I see those thick and black letters in the elementary textbook, I think of their strange appearance at the beginning, and the three letters O, Q and S seem to be smiling.They didn't offend me.Not only was it not like that, I also seemed to be walking along the flower path until I reached the crocodile book, and my mother's kind voice and attitude accompanied me and encouraged me along the way.But the severe lessons that followed, I remember, took a fatal blow to my equanimity, and the lessons themselves turned into embarrassing everyday disasters.The lessons I now learn are long, numerous, and difficult—some of which I do not understand at all—and I believe I am equally as bewildered by them as my poor mother.

Let me recall the original situation and write down the experience of the day.

After breakfast I went into the inferior drawing-room with my books, exercise-book, and slate.My mother was already there, sitting behind the desk.But in fact waiting for me were Mr. and Miss Murdstone, one sitting in an easy chair by the window (pretending to read a book); the other sitting near my mother stringing steel balls.As soon as I saw their appearance, I felt that the things I had worked so hard to stuff into my mind had slipped away at once.By the way, I really don't know where they got off to.

I handed the book to my mother first.It may be grammar, or history, or geography.As I did so, I took the opportunity to glance one last time at the page and memorize it aloud quickly while I remembered.One word was wrong, Mr. Murdstone looked up, another word was wrong, Miss Murdstone looked up.I blushed, misrecited six or seven characters, and finally stopped.I figured my mother would show me the book if she dared, but she didn't dare, so she said softly:

"Oh, Wei, Wei!"

"Now, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, "be firm with the boy, and don't keep saying 'Oh, Way, Way!' so childishly. He either knows or he doesn't."

"He doesn't know," Miss Murdstone put in suddenly and horribly.

"I'm also afraid he doesn't know." My mother said.

"Then, Clara," replied Miss Murdstone, "give him back the book and teach him."

"Okay," my mother said, "Way, you try again now and don't be so stupid."

I read it again, but I can't do it well because I'm stupid.This time is not as good as last time.So I stopped and thought.But I can't think about my lessons, I think about how long Miss Murdstone's gauze is for her hat, or how expensive Mr. Murdstone's pajamas are, and all those little things that don't concern me.Mr. Murdstone was impatient, which I expected.Like Miss Murdstone.My mother gave them a meek look, and closed the book, as part of making up for my other lessons.

Before long the debt grew.The more I owe, the stupider I am.The situation was so helpless, I felt like I was stuck in a ridiculous quagmire, that I completely gave up trying to get out and left it to fate.The helpless situation my mother and I looked at each other as I went down the wrong way was truly tragic.But the saddest thing about this grueling lesson was when my mother (thinking no one was paying attention) moved her lips to give me a hint.At that moment Miss Murdstone, ever wily, suddenly warned:

"Clara!"

My mother's face changed all of a sudden, and she couldn't even smile.Mr. Murdstone got up from his chair, took the book, hit me on the body, or hit me in the ear with the book, and pushed me out of the room by the shoulders.

The dreaded arithmetic is arranged later.This was conceived especially for me, and the subject was given by Mr. Murdstone, and began: "Suppose I went to a cheese shop and bought double Grès de cheese for $5000, at fourpence-and-a-halfpence each, how much would I pay in total?" ?” I saw Miss Murdstone secretly pleased.I frantically worked out the price of these cheeses until dinner time, without any result or inspiration.By then, I was a mulatto because slate dust invaded my pores.They gave me only a slice of bread to eat, and proceeded to count the cheese, and I passed the night in humiliation.

Until now, I think that most of my unfortunate studies were conducted in this way.I should have learned better had it not been for the Murdstones, who are like two poisonous snakes to a poor bird.Even if I had done my work well all morning, I could only get one lunch, because Miss Murdstone would not have me idle without work.As soon as I looked like I had nothing to do, she called her brother's attention by saying, "Clara, dear, there's nothing better than homework—teach your son something more." Immediately cast into a new kind of labor.There are almost no games for children of the same age, because the Murdstone brothers and sisters regard them as vipers and beasts (although there are also children among the disciples of Jesus), and they think that children transmit poison to each other.

The result of this life, which lasted six months, seemed to me to be the cause of my gloomy dullness, which was exacerbated by my growing estrangement from my mother.I believe that I must be a fool if there is no other situation.

Here's the thing.My father kept a collection of books in a small room upstairs.That room was free for me to come and go (because it was next to my bedroom), but the rest of the family had no interest in it.From that heaven-given room, Radrick Langton, Perry Glenn Pickle, Hemphrey Clink, Tom Jones, the Vicar of Wakefield, Don Quixote, Jill Blass and Robinson Crusoe, such a famous group of people, came out to keep me company.It was because of them that my fantasies and my hopes for something other than reality survived,--these books, and the Arabian Nights and the Fairy Tales--they did me no harm.Because if there is, I don't feel it.I don't know their harm.I find it unbelievable that under the heavy homework at that time, I had to bother to memorize every day, how could I find time to read books like I did.

(End of this chapter)