THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELDI. MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONSThe first things that I seem to remember are the figure of my mother with her pretty hair and youthful face, and Peggotty, our faithful servant, large of figure, black of eye, and with cheeks and arms so hard and red that I wondered the birds didn't peck them in preference to apples. I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and I going unsteadily from the one to the other. My father I never saw, for he died before I was born.What else do I remember? Let me see. There comes to me a vision of our quaint cosy little home, the "Rookery." On the ground floor is Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a corner, without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, walking about, in a ferocious manner. There is one cock who gets upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me as I look at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the geese outside the gate who come waddling after me with their long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream fearfully at night.Here is a long passage leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front door. A dark storeroom opens out of it, and that is a place to be run past at night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars and old tea-chests, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles, pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there are the two parlors: the parlor in which we sit of an evening, my mother and I and Peggotty—for Peggotty is quite our companion, when her work is done and we are alone—and the best parlor where we sit on a Sunday; grandly but not so comfortably.And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed bedroom windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and the ragged old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm trees at the bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the yard where the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are—a very preserve of butterflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting gooseberries slyly, and trying to look unmoved.A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlor. When my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round her fingers and straightening her waist, and nobody knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.That is among my very earliest impressions,—that, and a sense that we were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submit ourselves in most things to her direction.Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlor fire, alone. I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must not have read very clearly, for I remember she had a cloudy impression that they were a sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading, and sleepy; but having leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home from spending the evening at a neighbor's, I would rather have died upon my post than have gone to bed.We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with alligators, when the bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was my mother looking unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a gentleman with beautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last Sunday.As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms and kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellow than a monarch—or something like that."What does that mean?" I asked him, over her shoulder.He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother's in touching me—which it did. I put it away as well as I could. My mother gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for bringing her home.From the moment that I first saw the gentleman with the black whiskers, I held a deep instinctive dislike to him. And I am sure Peggotty agreed with me, from some remarks I chanced to hear her utter to my mother. But Mr. Murdstone—that was his name—began coming often to the Rookery, and exerted himself always to be agreeable to me, calling me a fine boy and patting me on the head; so I tried to think myself very ungrateful. But still I could not make myself like him. The sight of him made me fear that something was going to happen—I didn't know what.Not long after that, when Peggotty and I were sitting alone, she darning and I reading farther in the crocodile book,—for my mother was out, as she often was, with Mr. Murdstone,—she bit off a thread and asked:"Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a treat?""Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?" I inquired doubtfully."Oh, what an agreeable man he is!" cried Peggotty, holding up her hands. "Then there's the sea; and the boats and ships; and the fishermen; and the beach; and 'Am to play with—"Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she spoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that it would indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?"Why, then, I'll as good as bet a guinea," said Peggotty, intent upon my face, "that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as soon as ever she comes home. There now!""But what's she to do while we're away?" said I, putting my small elbows on the table to argue the point. "She can't live by herself."If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel of that stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and not worth darning."I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know.""Oh, bless you!" said Peggotty, looking at me again at last. "Don't you know? She's going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs. Grayper's going to have a lot of company."Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the utmost impatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper's (for it was that identical neighbor), to ascertain if we could get leave to carry out this great idea. Without being nearly so much surprised as I had expected, my mother entered into it readily; and it was all arranged that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paid for.The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it came soon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half afraid that an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other accident might stop the expedition. We were to go in a carrier's cart, which departed in the morning after breakfast. I would have given any money to have been allowed to wrap myself up over-night, and sleep in my hat and boots.It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect how eager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I suspected what I did leave for ever.I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my mother ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she might kiss me once more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness and love with which she lifted up her face to mine.As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to where she was, and chided her for being so moved. I was looking back round the awning of the cart, and wondered what business it was of his. Peggotty, who was also looking back on the other side, seemed anything but satisfied, as the face she brought back into the cart denoted.The carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the world, I thought, as he shuffled along with his head down. But Peggotty had brought along a basket of refreshments which would have lasted us handsomely for a journey three times as long. And at last we drove up to the Yarmouth tavern, where we found Ham awaiting us. He was a huge, strong fellow, about six feet high, with a simple, good-natured face.He put me upon his shoulder, and my box under his arm, and trudged away easily down a lane littered with shipbuilders' odds and ends, past forges, yards and gas works, till we came out upon an open waste of sand, with the sea pounding upon it and eating away at it. Then Ham said,"Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy!"I looked in all directions, as far as I could, and away at the sea, but no house couldImake out. There was a black barge, or some other kind of boat, not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney and smoking very cosily; but nothing else in the way of a house that was visible to me."That's not it?" said I. "That ship-looking thing?""That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham.If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's egg and all, I suppose I could not have been more charmed with the idea of living in it. There was a delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were little windows in it; but the charm of it was that it was areal boatwhich had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and which had never been intended to be lived in on dry land.It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and a tea-tray with a painting on it. The tray was kept from tumbling down by a Bible; and the tray, if it had tumbled down, would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a tea-pot around the book. On the walls there were some colored pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects. There were some hooks in the beams of the ceiling whose use I did not know; and some lockers and boxes scattered around, which served for seats.One thing I particularly noticed in this delightful house was the smell of fish, which was so searching that when I took out my pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt exactly as if it had wrapped up a lobster. On my whispering this to Peggotty, she informed me that her brother dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish; and I afterwards found that a heap of these creatures, in a state of wonderful confusion with one another, and never leaving off pinching whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little wooden lean-to where the pots and kettles were kept.We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, whom I had seen courtesying at the door when I was on Ham's back, about a quarter of a mile off; likewise by a most beautiful little girl with a necklace of blue beads, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but ran away and hid herself.By and by, when we had dined in a sumptuous manner off boiled fish, melted butter, and potatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very good-natured face came home. As he called Peggotty "Lass," and gave her a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt that he was her brother; and so he turned out—being presently introduced to me as Mr. Peggotty, the master of the house."Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Peggotty. "You'll find us rough, sir, but you'll find us ready."I thanked him and replied that I was sure I should be happy in such a delightful place.The civil woman with the white apron was Mrs. Gummidge, an old widowed lady who kept the boat-house in fine order. The little girl was Emily, a niece of Mr. Peggotty's. She had never seen her father, just as I had never seen mine—which was our first bond of sympathy. She had lost her mother, too; and as we played together happily in the sand, I told her all about my mother and how we had only each other and I was going to grow up right away to take care of her.Of course I was quite in love with little Emily. I am sure I loved her quite as truly as one could possibly love. And I made her confess that she loved me. So when the golden days flew by and the time of parting drew near, our agony of mind was intense. The farewells were very tearful; and if ever in my life I had a void in my heart, I had one that day.I am ashamed to confess that the delightful fortnight by the sea had driven out all thoughts of home. But no sooner were we on the return journey, than the home longing came crowding in upon me tenfold. I grew so excited to see my mother, that it seemed as if I couldn't wait for that blundering old cart. But Peggotty, instead of sharing in these transports, tried to check them, though very kindly, and looked confused and out of sorts.The Rookery would come, however, in spite of her, when the carrier's horse pleased—and did. How well I recollect it, on a cold, gray afternoon, with a dull sky threatening rain!The door opened, and I sprang in, half laughing and half crying as I looked for my mother. It was not she who met me, but a strange servant."Why, Peggotty!" I said, ruefully, "isn't she come home?""Yes, yes, Master Davy," said Peggotty. "She's come home. Wait a bit, Master Davy, and I'll—I'll tell you something.""Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. "What's the matter?""Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear!" she answered, with an air of cheerfulness."Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's mamma?""Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand, and speaking in a breathless sort of way; "what do you think? You have got a Pa!"I trembled, and turned white. Something—I don't know what, or how—connected with my father's grave in the churchyard, and the raising of the dead, seemed to strike me like an unwholesome wind."A new one," said Peggotty."A new one?" I repeated.Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something that was very hard, and, putting out her hand, said,"Come and see him.""I don't want to see him.""And your mamma," said Peggotty.I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlor, where she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped her work, and arose hurriedly but timidly, I thought. "Now, Clara, my dear," said Mr. Murdstone, "recollect! control yourself. Davy boy, how do you do?"I gave him my hand. Then I went and kissed my mother; she kissed me, patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I could not look at her, I could not look at him. I knew quite well that he was looking at us both; and I turned to the window and looked out there, at some shrubs that were drooping their heads in the cold.As soon as I could, I crept upstairs. My old dear bedroom was changed, and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled downstairs to find anything that was like itself, so altered it all seemed; and roamed into the yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was filled up with a great dog—deep-mouthed and black-haired like Him—and he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprang out to get at me.II. I FALL INTO DISGRACEThat first lonely evening when I crept off alone, feeling that no one wanted me, was the most miserable of my life. I rolled up in a corner of my bed and cried myself to sleep.Presently I was awakened by somebody saying, "Here he is!" and uncovering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, and it was one of them who had done it."Davy," said my mother, "what's the matter?"I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and answered, "Nothing." I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling lip, which answered her with greater truth."Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child!"I dare say, no words she could have uttered would have affected me so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have raised me up.Then I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor Peggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bedside. It was Mr. Murdstone's hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said:"What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten? Firmness, my dear!""I am very sorry, Edward," said my mother. "I meant to be very good.""Go below, my dear," he answered. "David and I will come down together."When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes."David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?""I don't know.""I beat him. I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, 'I'll conquer that fellow'; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should do it. What is that upon your face?""Dirt," I said.He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the question twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby heart would have burst before I would have told him so."You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow," he said, with a grave smile that belonged to him, "and you understood me very well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me.""Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked me into the parlor, with his hand still on my arm; "you will not be made uncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthful humors."What a little thing will change the current of our lives! I might have been made another creature perhaps by a kind word just then. A word of welcome home, of assurance that itwashome, might have made me respect my new father instead of hate him. But the word was not spoken, and the time for it was gone.From that time my life was a lonely one. My mother petted me in secret, but plainly stood in awe of Mr. Murdstone; and even the dauntless Peggotty must needs keep her peace. His word alone was law.After a time his sister, Miss Murdstone, came to live with us. And from the second day of her arrival she took charge of the household keys, and managed things with a firmness second only to her brother himself.There had been some talk of my going to boarding-school. Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course agreed with them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet, and in the meantime I learned my lessons at home.Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally by my mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always present, and found them a favorable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miscalled firmness which was the bane of both our lives. I believe I was kept at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to learn, and willing enough, when my mother and I had lived alone together. I can faintly remember learning the alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I look upon the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of their shapes and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S seem to present themselves again before me as they used to do. But they recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I seem to have walked along a path of flowers as far as the crocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the gentleness of my mother's voice and manner all the way.But these solemn lessons which succeeded I remember as the death-blow to my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were very long, very numerous, very hard,—and I was generally as much bewildered by them as I believe my poor mother was herself.Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again.I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast with my books and an exercise-book and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair by the window, though he pretends to be reading a book, or as Miss Murdstone, sitting near my mother, stringing steel beads. The very sight of these two has such an influence over me that I begin to feel the words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head all sliding away and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by the bye?I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps a history or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give it into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have got it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip over another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over half-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book if she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly:"Oh, Davy! Davy!""Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, "be firm with the boy. Don't say 'Oh, Davy, Davy!' That's childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not know it.""He doesnotknow it," Miss Murdstone interposes, awfully."I am really afraid he does not," says my mother."Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone, "you should just give him the book back and make him know it.""Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend to do, my dear Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid."The natural result of this treatment was to make me sullen, dull, and dogged; and my temper was not improved by the sense that I was daily shut out from my mother.One morning, after about six months of these lessons, when I went into the parlor with my books, I found my mother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding something round the bottom of a cane,—a lithe and limber cane, which he left off binding when I came in, and poised and switched in the air."Now, David," he said, "you must be far more careful to-day than usual." He gave the cane another poise and another switch, and laid it down beside him with an expressive look and took up his book.This was a good freshener to my presence of mind as a beginning. I felt the words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line, but by the entire page. I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed, if I may so express it, to have put skates on and to skim away from me with a smoothness there was no checking.We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with an idea that I was very well prepared, but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added to the heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the time. And when we came to the last, my mother burst out crying."Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.Mr. Murdstone laid down his book and stood up, cane in hand."David, you and I will go upstairs," he said.He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely, and when we got there, suddenly twisted my head under his arm."Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray don't beat me! I have tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone are by. I can't indeed!""Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that."He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped him for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only for a moment that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in the same instant I caught his hand in my mouth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to think of it!He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out—I heard my mother crying out—and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the door was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and sore and raging, upon the floor.How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my smart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I felt. It lay like lead upon my breast.For five days I was imprisoned thus within my room, seeing no one except Miss Murdstone, who came to bring me food. They live like years in my remembrance. On the fifth night I heard my name softly whispered through the keyhole.I groped my way to the door, and, putting my own lips to the keyhole, whispered,"Is that you, Peggotty, dear?""Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft as a mouse, or the Cat'll hear us."I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, her room being close by."How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?"I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I was doing on mine, before she answered, "No. Not very.""What is going to be done with me, Peggotty, dear? Do you know?""School. Near London.""When, Peggotty?""To-morrow.""Sha'n't I see mamma?""Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning."Then she stole away, fearful of surprises. In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told me I was going to school, which was not altogether such news to me as she supposed. She also informed me that when I was dressed, I was to come down stairs into the parlor, and have my breakfast. There I found my mother, very pale and with red eyes, into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my suffering soul."Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could hurt any one I love! Try to be better, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy, that you should have such bad passions in your heart."They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to eat my parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread and butter, and trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and then glance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and then look down, or look away."Master Copperfield's box there?" said Miss Murdstone, when wheels were heard at the gate.I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstone appeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door; the box was taken out to his cart and lifted in."Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note."Yes, my dear Jane," returned my mother. "Good-bye, Davy. You are going for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in the holidays, and be a better boy. God bless you!"Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on the way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.We had not gone half a mile when I was astonished to see Peggotty burst from a hedge and climb into the cart. Not a word did she say, but she squeezed me tight, crammed a bag of cakes into my pockets, and put a purse into my hand. After a final squeeze she got down from the cart and ran away as quickly as she had come.My pocket-handkerchief was now so wet that the carrier proposed spreading it out upon the horse's back to dry. We did so, and I then had leisure to look at the purse. It had three bright shillings in it from Peggotty, and—more precious still—two half-crowns folded together in a bit of paper, on which was written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy. With my love."I was so overcome by this that I asked the carrier to reach me my handkerchief again, but he said I had better let it dry first. I thought so too, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve this time.Then the cakes came in for consideration. I offered the carrier one which he ate at a gulp, without the slightest change of expression."Didshemake 'em?" asked the carrier, whose name, by the way, was Barkis."Peggotty, you mean, sir?""Ah!" said Mr. Barkis. "Her.""Yes, she makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking."Mr. Barkis said nothing for some moments. Then—"Perhaps you might be writin' to her, later on?""Yes, indeed," I said."Then you just say to her that Barkis is willin'. Would you?""Yes, sir," I replied, considerably puzzled by the message. And I did deliver it the very first time I wrote to Peggotty. I did not then know that the carrier meant, by being "willing," he wanted to marry my good Peggotty and was too shy to say so for himself.At Yarmouth I changed to the coach for London; and at London, to still another coach for Salem, the school. And so, after a long, wearisome journey, I reached my new destination. Another leaf of my life was turned over, and a fresh one begun.III. SCHOOL. STEERFORTH AND TRADDLESSalem House was a square brick building with wings. The schoolroom was very long, with three rows of desks running the length of it and bristling all around with pegs for hats and slates. Scraps of copy-books and exercises littered the floor. The other students had not yet returned from their holidays when I took my first peep into this room, in company with Mr. Mell, one of the tutors.Presently I chanced to see a pasteboard sign lying upon a desk and bearing these words:"TAKE CARE OF HIM.HE BITES."I hurriedly climbed upon the desk, fearful of a dog underneath; but saw none."What are you doing there?" asked Mr. Mell."I beg your pardon, sir," I replied. "If you please, I'm looking for the dog.""Dog? What dog?"I pointed to the sign."No, Copperfield," he said gravely. "That's not a dog; that's a boy. My instructions are to put this sign on your back. I'm sorry to do so, but must do it."With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and wherever I went, afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it.What I suffered nobody can imagine. Whether it was possible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody was reading it. It was no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherever my back was, there I imagined somebody always to be, until at last I positively began to have a dread of myself as the boy whodidbite.Mr. Creakle, the master of the school, was a short, thick-set man, and bald on the top of his head. He had a little nose and large chin. He had lost his voice and spoke almost in a whisper, which surprised me greatly, for his face always looked angry, and the exertion of talking made his thick veins stick out so that he looked angrier still.When the boys began to come back I found my ordeal, on account of the sign on my back, not quite so great as I had feared; and it was chiefly on account of the first fellow to arrive, Tommy Traddles. Dear Tommy Traddles! You made a friend of a poor, lonesome, frightened boy that day, who will always be loyal to you so long as he lives.Traddles was a jolly looking boy who laughed heartily when he first saw the card, as at a great joke; and he saved me from any further shyness by introducing me to every boy and saying gaily, "Look here! Here's a game!" Happily, too, most of the boys came back low-spirited, and were not very boisterous at my expense. Some of them certainly did dance about me like wild Indians and could not resist patting me, lest I should bite, and saying, "Lie down, sir!" and calling me Towzer. But on the whole I got through rather easily.I was not considered as being formally received into the school, however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was reputed to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking, and at least half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried as before a magistrate. He inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was "a jolly shame"; for which I became bound to him ever afterwards.Then Steerforth asked how much money I had; and when I told him, he suggested that it was the proper thing for a new boy to stand treat to the others. I agreed, but felt helpless; whereupon he kindly volunteered to get the things for me and smuggle them into my room. I was a little uneasy about spending my mother's half-crowns, but didn't dare say so. I handed them over to him and he procured the feast and laid it out on my bed, saying,"There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got!"I couldn't think of doing the honors of the feast, at my time of life, while he was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him to do me the favor of presiding; and my request being seconded by the other boys he acceded to it, and sat upon my pillow, handing round the viands with perfect fairness, I must say. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and the rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the floor.How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers, or their talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window, painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in shadow, except when Steerforth struck a match, when he wanted to look for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us that was gone directly.I heard all kinds of things about the school. I heard that Mr. Creakle was a tartar and thrashed the boys unmercifully—all except Steerforth, upon whom he didn't dare lay his hand. I heard that Mr. Creakle was very ignorant, and that Mr. Mell, who was not a bad sort of fellow, was poorly paid. All this and much more I heard in the whispers of that moonlit room, before we finally betook ourselves to bed.From that time on, big handsome Steerforth took me under his protection, and, for my part, I was his willing slave. I would tell him tales which I had imbibed from my early reading, while he would help me do my sums and keep the other boys from tormenting me. Why he, the fine head-boy, should have taken notice of me at all, I don't know. But I remember I all but worshipped him with his easy swagger and lordly air.The other boy to whom I always owed allegiance was Traddles. Poor jolly Traddles! In a tight, sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs look like German sausages, he was at once the merriest and most miserable of all boys. He was always being caned by that fierce Mr. Creakle, who made all our backs tingle, except Steerforth's. After Traddles had got his daily caning he would cheer up somehow and get comfort by drawing skeletons all over his slate. He was always drawing these skeletons, just as he was always getting caned. And they did comfort him somehow, for presently he would begin to laugh again before his tears were dry.He was very honorable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several occasions; and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and the Beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, going away in custody, despised by the congregation. He never said who was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard full of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and we all felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have gone through a good deal to have won such a reward.Although Mr. Creakle's school was not noted for scholarship, I can confess without vanity that I did make good progress. I was naturally fond of books and a great reader; and now I had the first fair chance at learning things. In this I found Mr. Mell, the quiet, gentle tutor, a constant friend to me. I shall always remember him with gratitude.But Steerforth, I am sorry to say, did not like the tutor and took no pains to hide his poor opinion. Since many of the other boys followed Steerforth's lead, poor Mr. Mell was not popular. Still, nothing especial came of it until one memorable day when Mr. Creakle was absent. The boys seized the chance to be uproarious, and Mr. Mell could not control them. Finally even his patience was exhausted, and he sprang to his feet and pounded his desk with a book."Silence!" he cried. "This noise must cease! It's maddening! How can you treat me this way, boys?"It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him, following his eye as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop, some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end of the long room. He was lounging with his back against the wall, and his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him."Silence, Mr. Steerforth!" said Mr. Mell."Silence yourself," said Steerforth, turning red. "Whom are you talking to?""Sit down," said Mr. Mell."Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "and mind your business."There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white that there was silence."If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell, "that you can make use of your position of favoritism here to disobey rules and insult a gentleman—""A what?—where is he?" said Steerforth.Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad!" It was Traddles, whom Mr. Mell instantly routed by bidding him hold his tongue.—"To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who never gave you the least offence," continued Mr. Mell, his lip trembling, "you commit a mean and base action. You can sit down or stand up as you please, sir. Copperfield, go on.""Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming forward, "stop a bit. I tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the liberty of calling men mean and base, or anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar. You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do that, you are an impudent beggar."I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side. I saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned into stone, and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his face in his hands, sat for some moments quite still."Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper was very audible now; "you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?""No, sir," said Mr. Mell.Mr. Creakle looked hard at him and then turned to Steerforth."Now, sir, will you tell me what this is about?"Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking what a fine-looking fellow he was, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him."What did he mean by talking about favorites, then?" said Steerforth at length."Favorites?" repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead swelling quickly. "Who talked about favorites?""He did," said Steerforth."And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?" demanded Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his assistant."I meant, Mr. Creakle," he returned, in a low voice, "as I said; that no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favoritism to degrade me.""To degradeyou?" said Mr. Creakle. "My stars! But give me leave to ask you, Mr. What's your name, whether, when you talk about favorites, you showed proper respect to me? To me, sir," said Mr. Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly and drawing it back again, "the principal of this establishment and your employer.""It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit," said Mr. Mell. "I should not have done so if I had been cool."Here Steerforth struck in."Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called him a beggar. IfIhad been cool, perhaps I shouldn't have called him a beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take the consequences of it."Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an impression on the boys, too, for there was a low stir among them, though no one spoke a word."I am surprised, Steerforth,—although your candor does you honor," said Mr. Creakle, "does you honor, certainly,—I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any person employed and paid in Salem House, sir."Steerforth gave a short laugh."That's not an answer, sir," said Mr. Creakle, "to my remark. I expect more than that from you, Steerforth."If Mr. Mell looked homely in my eyes before the handsome boy, it would be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked."Let him deny it," said Steerforth."Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?" cried Mr. Creakle. "Why, where does he go a begging?""If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's one," said Steerforth. "It's all the same.""What do you mean?""Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said Steerforth, "and to say what I mean,—what I have to say is, that his mother lives on charity in an almshouse."Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant with a severe frown and labored politeness:"Now you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if you please, to set him right before the assembled school.""He is right, sir, without correction," returned Mr. Mell, in the midst of a dead silence; "what he has said is true.""Be so good then as to declare publicly, will you," said Mr. Creakle, putting his head on one side and rolling his eyes round the school, "whether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?""I believe not directly," he returned."Why, youknownot," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, man?""Sir, I think you knew my circumstances when I came here, and that a bare living wage—""I think, if you come to that," said Mr. Creakle, with his veins swelling again bigger than ever, "that you've been in a wrong position altogether, and mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we'll part if you please. The sooner the better.""There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising, "like the present.""Sir, to you!" said Mr. Creakle."I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of all of you," said Mr. Mell, glancing round the room and patting me gently on the shoulder. "James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be ashamed of what you have done to-day. At present I would prefer to see you anything rather than a friend to me or to any one in whom I feel an interest."Then Mr. Mell walked out with his property under his arm.Mr. Creakle made a speech, in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting (though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respectability of Salem House; and which he wound up by shaking hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers,—I did not quite know what for, but I suppose for Steerforth, and so joined in them ardently, though I felt miserable. Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being discovered in tears instead of cheers on account of Mr. Mell's departure: and went back to his sofa or wherever he had come from.When he had gone there was an awkward silence. Somehow we all felt uncomfortable or ashamed. As for Steerforth, he said he was angry with Traddles and glad he had caught it.Poor Traddles, who was relieving himself as usual with a burst of skeletons, said he didn't care. Mr. Mell was ill-used."Who has ill-used him, you girl?" said Steerforth."Why,youhave," returned Traddles."What have I done?" said Steerforth."What have you done?" retorted Traddles."Hurt his feelings and lost him his situation.""His feelings!" repeated Steerforth, disdainfully. "His feelings will soon get the better of it, I'll be bound. His feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situation,—which was a precious one, wasn't it?—do you suppose I am not going to write home and take care that he gets some money? Polly?"We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, it was said, that he asked her. We were all extremely glad to see Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to the skies. But as I look back at it now, I should rather have been Traddles that day than any other boy in the room. And I think the other boys will say so too.
THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF DAVID COPPERFIELD
I. MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS
The first things that I seem to remember are the figure of my mother with her pretty hair and youthful face, and Peggotty, our faithful servant, large of figure, black of eye, and with cheeks and arms so hard and red that I wondered the birds didn't peck them in preference to apples. I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the floor, and I going unsteadily from the one to the other. My father I never saw, for he died before I was born.
What else do I remember? Let me see. There comes to me a vision of our quaint cosy little home, the "Rookery." On the ground floor is Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog-kennel in a corner, without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, walking about, in a ferocious manner. There is one cock who gets upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me as I look at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the geese outside the gate who come waddling after me with their long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream fearfully at night.
Here is a long passage leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front door. A dark storeroom opens out of it, and that is a place to be run past at night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars and old tea-chests, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles, pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there are the two parlors: the parlor in which we sit of an evening, my mother and I and Peggotty—for Peggotty is quite our companion, when her work is done and we are alone—and the best parlor where we sit on a Sunday; grandly but not so comfortably.
And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed bedroom windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling air, and the ragged old rooks'-nests still dangling in the elm trees at the bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the yard where the empty pigeon-house and dog-kennel are—a very preserve of butterflies, as I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting gooseberries slyly, and trying to look unmoved.
A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlor. When my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round her fingers and straightening her waist, and nobody knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.
That is among my very earliest impressions,—that, and a sense that we were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submit ourselves in most things to her direction.
Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlor fire, alone. I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I must not have read very clearly, for I remember she had a cloudy impression that they were a sort of vegetable. I was tired of reading, and sleepy; but having leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home from spending the evening at a neighbor's, I would rather have died upon my post than have gone to bed.
We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with alligators, when the bell rang. We went out to the door; and there was my mother looking unusually pretty, I thought, and with her a gentleman with beautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last Sunday.
As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms and kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellow than a monarch—or something like that.
"What does that mean?" I asked him, over her shoulder.
He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother's in touching me—which it did. I put it away as well as I could. My mother gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for bringing her home.
From the moment that I first saw the gentleman with the black whiskers, I held a deep instinctive dislike to him. And I am sure Peggotty agreed with me, from some remarks I chanced to hear her utter to my mother. But Mr. Murdstone—that was his name—began coming often to the Rookery, and exerted himself always to be agreeable to me, calling me a fine boy and patting me on the head; so I tried to think myself very ungrateful. But still I could not make myself like him. The sight of him made me fear that something was going to happen—I didn't know what.
Not long after that, when Peggotty and I were sitting alone, she darning and I reading farther in the crocodile book,—for my mother was out, as she often was, with Mr. Murdstone,—she bit off a thread and asked:
"Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a treat?"
"Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty?" I inquired doubtfully.
"Oh, what an agreeable man he is!" cried Peggotty, holding up her hands. "Then there's the sea; and the boats and ships; and the fishermen; and the beach; and 'Am to play with—"
Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, but she spoke of him as a morsel of English Grammar.
I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that it would indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say?
"Why, then, I'll as good as bet a guinea," said Peggotty, intent upon my face, "that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like, as soon as ever she comes home. There now!"
"But what's she to do while we're away?" said I, putting my small elbows on the table to argue the point. "She can't live by herself."
If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the heel of that stocking, it must have been a very little one indeed, and not worth darning.
"I say! Peggotty! She can't live by herself, you know."
"Oh, bless you!" said Peggotty, looking at me again at last. "Don't you know? She's going to stay for a fortnight with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs. Grayper's going to have a lot of company."
Oh! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, in the utmost impatience, until my mother came home from Mrs. Grayper's (for it was that identical neighbor), to ascertain if we could get leave to carry out this great idea. Without being nearly so much surprised as I had expected, my mother entered into it readily; and it was all arranged that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paid for.
The day soon came for our going. It was such an early day that it came soon, even to me, who was in a fever of expectation, and half afraid that an earthquake or a fiery mountain, or some other accident might stop the expedition. We were to go in a carrier's cart, which departed in the morning after breakfast. I would have given any money to have been allowed to wrap myself up over-night, and sleep in my hat and boots.
It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to recollect how eager I was to leave my happy home; to think how little I suspected what I did leave for ever.
I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, my mother ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that she might kiss me once more. I am glad to dwell upon the earnestness and love with which she lifted up her face to mine.
As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up to where she was, and chided her for being so moved. I was looking back round the awning of the cart, and wondered what business it was of his. Peggotty, who was also looking back on the other side, seemed anything but satisfied, as the face she brought back into the cart denoted.
The carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the world, I thought, as he shuffled along with his head down. But Peggotty had brought along a basket of refreshments which would have lasted us handsomely for a journey three times as long. And at last we drove up to the Yarmouth tavern, where we found Ham awaiting us. He was a huge, strong fellow, about six feet high, with a simple, good-natured face.
He put me upon his shoulder, and my box under his arm, and trudged away easily down a lane littered with shipbuilders' odds and ends, past forges, yards and gas works, till we came out upon an open waste of sand, with the sea pounding upon it and eating away at it. Then Ham said,
"Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy!"
I looked in all directions, as far as I could, and away at the sea, but no house couldImake out. There was a black barge, or some other kind of boat, not far off, high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney and smoking very cosily; but nothing else in the way of a house that was visible to me.
"That's not it?" said I. "That ship-looking thing?"
"That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham.
If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's egg and all, I suppose I could not have been more charmed with the idea of living in it. There was a delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were little windows in it; but the charm of it was that it was areal boatwhich had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and which had never been intended to be lived in on dry land.
It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and a tea-tray with a painting on it. The tray was kept from tumbling down by a Bible; and the tray, if it had tumbled down, would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a tea-pot around the book. On the walls there were some colored pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects. There were some hooks in the beams of the ceiling whose use I did not know; and some lockers and boxes scattered around, which served for seats.
One thing I particularly noticed in this delightful house was the smell of fish, which was so searching that when I took out my pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it smelt exactly as if it had wrapped up a lobster. On my whispering this to Peggotty, she informed me that her brother dealt in lobsters, crabs, and crawfish; and I afterwards found that a heap of these creatures, in a state of wonderful confusion with one another, and never leaving off pinching whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little wooden lean-to where the pots and kettles were kept.
We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, whom I had seen courtesying at the door when I was on Ham's back, about a quarter of a mile off; likewise by a most beautiful little girl with a necklace of blue beads, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but ran away and hid herself.
By and by, when we had dined in a sumptuous manner off boiled fish, melted butter, and potatoes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very good-natured face came home. As he called Peggotty "Lass," and gave her a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt that he was her brother; and so he turned out—being presently introduced to me as Mr. Peggotty, the master of the house.
"Glad to see you, sir," said Mr. Peggotty. "You'll find us rough, sir, but you'll find us ready."
I thanked him and replied that I was sure I should be happy in such a delightful place.
The civil woman with the white apron was Mrs. Gummidge, an old widowed lady who kept the boat-house in fine order. The little girl was Emily, a niece of Mr. Peggotty's. She had never seen her father, just as I had never seen mine—which was our first bond of sympathy. She had lost her mother, too; and as we played together happily in the sand, I told her all about my mother and how we had only each other and I was going to grow up right away to take care of her.
Of course I was quite in love with little Emily. I am sure I loved her quite as truly as one could possibly love. And I made her confess that she loved me. So when the golden days flew by and the time of parting drew near, our agony of mind was intense. The farewells were very tearful; and if ever in my life I had a void in my heart, I had one that day.
I am ashamed to confess that the delightful fortnight by the sea had driven out all thoughts of home. But no sooner were we on the return journey, than the home longing came crowding in upon me tenfold. I grew so excited to see my mother, that it seemed as if I couldn't wait for that blundering old cart. But Peggotty, instead of sharing in these transports, tried to check them, though very kindly, and looked confused and out of sorts.
The Rookery would come, however, in spite of her, when the carrier's horse pleased—and did. How well I recollect it, on a cold, gray afternoon, with a dull sky threatening rain!
The door opened, and I sprang in, half laughing and half crying as I looked for my mother. It was not she who met me, but a strange servant.
"Why, Peggotty!" I said, ruefully, "isn't she come home?"
"Yes, yes, Master Davy," said Peggotty. "She's come home. Wait a bit, Master Davy, and I'll—I'll tell you something."
"Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear!" she answered, with an air of cheerfulness.
"Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's mamma?"
"Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a shaking hand, and speaking in a breathless sort of way; "what do you think? You have got a Pa!"
I trembled, and turned white. Something—I don't know what, or how—connected with my father's grave in the churchyard, and the raising of the dead, seemed to strike me like an unwholesome wind.
"A new one," said Peggotty.
"A new one?" I repeated.
Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something that was very hard, and, putting out her hand, said,
"Come and see him."
"I don't want to see him."
"And your mamma," said Peggotty.
I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best parlor, where she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped her work, and arose hurriedly but timidly, I thought. "Now, Clara, my dear," said Mr. Murdstone, "recollect! control yourself. Davy boy, how do you do?"
I gave him my hand. Then I went and kissed my mother; she kissed me, patted me gently on the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I could not look at her, I could not look at him. I knew quite well that he was looking at us both; and I turned to the window and looked out there, at some shrubs that were drooping their heads in the cold.
As soon as I could, I crept upstairs. My old dear bedroom was changed, and I was to lie a long way off. I rambled downstairs to find anything that was like itself, so altered it all seemed; and roamed into the yard. I very soon started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was filled up with a great dog—deep-mouthed and black-haired like Him—and he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprang out to get at me.
II. I FALL INTO DISGRACE
That first lonely evening when I crept off alone, feeling that no one wanted me, was the most miserable of my life. I rolled up in a corner of my bed and cried myself to sleep.
Presently I was awakened by somebody saying, "Here he is!" and uncovering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look for me, and it was one of them who had done it.
"Davy," said my mother, "what's the matter?"
I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and answered, "Nothing." I turned over on my face, I recollect, to hide my trembling lip, which answered her with greater truth.
"Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child!"
I dare say, no words she could have uttered would have affected me so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid my tears in the bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my hand, when she would have raised me up.
Then I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor Peggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bedside. It was Mr. Murdstone's hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said:
"What's this? Clara, my love, have you forgotten? Firmness, my dear!"
"I am very sorry, Edward," said my mother. "I meant to be very good."
"Go below, my dear," he answered. "David and I will come down together."
When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes.
"David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?"
"I don't know."
"I beat him. I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, 'I'll conquer that fellow'; and if it were to cost him all the blood he had, I should do it. What is that upon your face?"
"Dirt," I said.
He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he had asked the question twenty times, each time with twenty blows, I believe my baby heart would have burst before I would have told him so.
"You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow," he said, with a grave smile that belonged to him, "and you understood me very well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and come down with me."
"Clara, my dear," he said, when I had done his bidding, and he walked me into the parlor, with his hand still on my arm; "you will not be made uncomfortable any more, I hope. We shall soon improve our youthful humors."
What a little thing will change the current of our lives! I might have been made another creature perhaps by a kind word just then. A word of welcome home, of assurance that itwashome, might have made me respect my new father instead of hate him. But the word was not spoken, and the time for it was gone.
From that time my life was a lonely one. My mother petted me in secret, but plainly stood in awe of Mr. Murdstone; and even the dauntless Peggotty must needs keep her peace. His word alone was law.
After a time his sister, Miss Murdstone, came to live with us. And from the second day of her arrival she took charge of the household keys, and managed things with a firmness second only to her brother himself.
There had been some talk of my going to boarding-school. Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, and my mother had of course agreed with them. Nothing, however, was concluded on the subject yet, and in the meantime I learned my lessons at home.
Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally by my mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always present, and found them a favorable occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miscalled firmness which was the bane of both our lives. I believe I was kept at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough to learn, and willing enough, when my mother and I had lived alone together. I can faintly remember learning the alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I look upon the fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of their shapes and the easy good-nature of O and Q and S seem to present themselves again before me as they used to do. But they recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the contrary, I seem to have walked along a path of flowers as far as the crocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the gentleness of my mother's voice and manner all the way.
But these solemn lessons which succeeded I remember as the death-blow to my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and misery. They were very long, very numerous, very hard,—and I was generally as much bewildered by them as I believe my poor mother was herself.
Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again.
I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast with my books and an exercise-book and a slate. My mother is ready for me at her writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. Murdstone in his easy-chair by the window, though he pretends to be reading a book, or as Miss Murdstone, sitting near my mother, stringing steel beads. The very sight of these two has such an influence over me that I begin to feel the words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head all sliding away and going I don't know where. I wonder where they do go, by the bye?
I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a grammar, perhaps a history or geography. I take a last drowning look at the page as I give it into her hand, and start off aloud at a racing pace while I have got it fresh. I trip over a word. Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip over another word. Miss Murdstone looks up. I redden, tumble over half-a-dozen words, and stop. I think my mother would show me the book if she dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly:
"Oh, Davy! Davy!"
"Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, "be firm with the boy. Don't say 'Oh, Davy, Davy!' That's childish. He knows his lesson, or he does not know it."
"He doesnotknow it," Miss Murdstone interposes, awfully.
"I am really afraid he does not," says my mother.
"Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone, "you should just give him the book back and make him know it."
"Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend to do, my dear Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be stupid."
The natural result of this treatment was to make me sullen, dull, and dogged; and my temper was not improved by the sense that I was daily shut out from my mother.
One morning, after about six months of these lessons, when I went into the parlor with my books, I found my mother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding something round the bottom of a cane,—a lithe and limber cane, which he left off binding when I came in, and poised and switched in the air.
"Now, David," he said, "you must be far more careful to-day than usual." He gave the cane another poise and another switch, and laid it down beside him with an expressive look and took up his book.
This was a good freshener to my presence of mind as a beginning. I felt the words of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line, but by the entire page. I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed, if I may so express it, to have put skates on and to skim away from me with a smoothness there was no checking.
We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with an idea that I was very well prepared, but it turned out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added to the heap of failures, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the time. And when we came to the last, my mother burst out crying.
"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.
Mr. Murdstone laid down his book and stood up, cane in hand.
"David, you and I will go upstairs," he said.
He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely, and when we got there, suddenly twisted my head under his arm.
"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray don't beat me! I have tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone are by. I can't indeed!"
"Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that."
He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped him for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only for a moment that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in the same instant I caught his hand in my mouth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to think of it!
He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out—I heard my mother crying out—and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the door was locked outside; and I was lying, torn and sore and raging, upon the floor.
How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my smart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!
I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I felt. It lay like lead upon my breast.
For five days I was imprisoned thus within my room, seeing no one except Miss Murdstone, who came to bring me food. They live like years in my remembrance. On the fifth night I heard my name softly whispered through the keyhole.
I groped my way to the door, and, putting my own lips to the keyhole, whispered,
"Is that you, Peggotty, dear?"
"Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft as a mouse, or the Cat'll hear us."
I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, her room being close by.
"How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?"
I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I was doing on mine, before she answered, "No. Not very."
"What is going to be done with me, Peggotty, dear? Do you know?"
"School. Near London."
"When, Peggotty?"
"To-morrow."
"Sha'n't I see mamma?"
"Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning."
Then she stole away, fearful of surprises. In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told me I was going to school, which was not altogether such news to me as she supposed. She also informed me that when I was dressed, I was to come down stairs into the parlor, and have my breakfast. There I found my mother, very pale and with red eyes, into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my suffering soul.
"Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could hurt any one I love! Try to be better, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy, that you should have such bad passions in your heart."
They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she was more sorry for that than for my going away. I felt it sorely. I tried to eat my parting breakfast, but my tears dropped upon my bread and butter, and trickled into my tea. I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and then glance at the watchful Miss Murdstone, and then look down, or look away.
"Master Copperfield's box there?" said Miss Murdstone, when wheels were heard at the gate.
I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she; neither she nor Mr. Murdstone appeared. My former acquaintance, the carrier, was at the door; the box was taken out to his cart and lifted in.
"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note.
"Yes, my dear Jane," returned my mother. "Good-bye, Davy. You are going for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in the holidays, and be a better boy. God bless you!"
Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on the way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.
We had not gone half a mile when I was astonished to see Peggotty burst from a hedge and climb into the cart. Not a word did she say, but she squeezed me tight, crammed a bag of cakes into my pockets, and put a purse into my hand. After a final squeeze she got down from the cart and ran away as quickly as she had come.
My pocket-handkerchief was now so wet that the carrier proposed spreading it out upon the horse's back to dry. We did so, and I then had leisure to look at the purse. It had three bright shillings in it from Peggotty, and—more precious still—two half-crowns folded together in a bit of paper, on which was written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy. With my love."
I was so overcome by this that I asked the carrier to reach me my handkerchief again, but he said I had better let it dry first. I thought so too, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve this time.
Then the cakes came in for consideration. I offered the carrier one which he ate at a gulp, without the slightest change of expression.
"Didshemake 'em?" asked the carrier, whose name, by the way, was Barkis.
"Peggotty, you mean, sir?"
"Ah!" said Mr. Barkis. "Her."
"Yes, she makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking."
Mr. Barkis said nothing for some moments. Then—
"Perhaps you might be writin' to her, later on?"
"Yes, indeed," I said.
"Then you just say to her that Barkis is willin'. Would you?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, considerably puzzled by the message. And I did deliver it the very first time I wrote to Peggotty. I did not then know that the carrier meant, by being "willing," he wanted to marry my good Peggotty and was too shy to say so for himself.
At Yarmouth I changed to the coach for London; and at London, to still another coach for Salem, the school. And so, after a long, wearisome journey, I reached my new destination. Another leaf of my life was turned over, and a fresh one begun.
III. SCHOOL. STEERFORTH AND TRADDLES
Salem House was a square brick building with wings. The schoolroom was very long, with three rows of desks running the length of it and bristling all around with pegs for hats and slates. Scraps of copy-books and exercises littered the floor. The other students had not yet returned from their holidays when I took my first peep into this room, in company with Mr. Mell, one of the tutors.
Presently I chanced to see a pasteboard sign lying upon a desk and bearing these words:
"TAKE CARE OF HIM.HE BITES."
I hurriedly climbed upon the desk, fearful of a dog underneath; but saw none.
"What are you doing there?" asked Mr. Mell.
"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied. "If you please, I'm looking for the dog."
"Dog? What dog?"
I pointed to the sign.
"No, Copperfield," he said gravely. "That's not a dog; that's a boy. My instructions are to put this sign on your back. I'm sorry to do so, but must do it."
With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and wherever I went, afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it.
What I suffered nobody can imagine. Whether it was possible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody was reading it. It was no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherever my back was, there I imagined somebody always to be, until at last I positively began to have a dread of myself as the boy whodidbite.
Mr. Creakle, the master of the school, was a short, thick-set man, and bald on the top of his head. He had a little nose and large chin. He had lost his voice and spoke almost in a whisper, which surprised me greatly, for his face always looked angry, and the exertion of talking made his thick veins stick out so that he looked angrier still.
When the boys began to come back I found my ordeal, on account of the sign on my back, not quite so great as I had feared; and it was chiefly on account of the first fellow to arrive, Tommy Traddles. Dear Tommy Traddles! You made a friend of a poor, lonesome, frightened boy that day, who will always be loyal to you so long as he lives.
Traddles was a jolly looking boy who laughed heartily when he first saw the card, as at a great joke; and he saved me from any further shyness by introducing me to every boy and saying gaily, "Look here! Here's a game!" Happily, too, most of the boys came back low-spirited, and were not very boisterous at my expense. Some of them certainly did dance about me like wild Indians and could not resist patting me, lest I should bite, and saying, "Lie down, sir!" and calling me Towzer. But on the whole I got through rather easily.
I was not considered as being formally received into the school, however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was reputed to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking, and at least half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried as before a magistrate. He inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was "a jolly shame"; for which I became bound to him ever afterwards.
Then Steerforth asked how much money I had; and when I told him, he suggested that it was the proper thing for a new boy to stand treat to the others. I agreed, but felt helpless; whereupon he kindly volunteered to get the things for me and smuggle them into my room. I was a little uneasy about spending my mother's half-crowns, but didn't dare say so. I handed them over to him and he procured the feast and laid it out on my bed, saying,
"There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got!"
I couldn't think of doing the honors of the feast, at my time of life, while he was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him to do me the favor of presiding; and my request being seconded by the other boys he acceded to it, and sat upon my pillow, handing round the viands with perfect fairness, I must say. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and the rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the floor.
How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers, or their talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window, painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in shadow, except when Steerforth struck a match, when he wanted to look for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us that was gone directly.
I heard all kinds of things about the school. I heard that Mr. Creakle was a tartar and thrashed the boys unmercifully—all except Steerforth, upon whom he didn't dare lay his hand. I heard that Mr. Creakle was very ignorant, and that Mr. Mell, who was not a bad sort of fellow, was poorly paid. All this and much more I heard in the whispers of that moonlit room, before we finally betook ourselves to bed.
From that time on, big handsome Steerforth took me under his protection, and, for my part, I was his willing slave. I would tell him tales which I had imbibed from my early reading, while he would help me do my sums and keep the other boys from tormenting me. Why he, the fine head-boy, should have taken notice of me at all, I don't know. But I remember I all but worshipped him with his easy swagger and lordly air.
The other boy to whom I always owed allegiance was Traddles. Poor jolly Traddles! In a tight, sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs look like German sausages, he was at once the merriest and most miserable of all boys. He was always being caned by that fierce Mr. Creakle, who made all our backs tingle, except Steerforth's. After Traddles had got his daily caning he would cheer up somehow and get comfort by drawing skeletons all over his slate. He was always drawing these skeletons, just as he was always getting caned. And they did comfort him somehow, for presently he would begin to laugh again before his tears were dry.
He was very honorable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several occasions; and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and the Beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, going away in custody, despised by the congregation. He never said who was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard full of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and we all felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have gone through a good deal to have won such a reward.
Although Mr. Creakle's school was not noted for scholarship, I can confess without vanity that I did make good progress. I was naturally fond of books and a great reader; and now I had the first fair chance at learning things. In this I found Mr. Mell, the quiet, gentle tutor, a constant friend to me. I shall always remember him with gratitude.
But Steerforth, I am sorry to say, did not like the tutor and took no pains to hide his poor opinion. Since many of the other boys followed Steerforth's lead, poor Mr. Mell was not popular. Still, nothing especial came of it until one memorable day when Mr. Creakle was absent. The boys seized the chance to be uproarious, and Mr. Mell could not control them. Finally even his patience was exhausted, and he sprang to his feet and pounded his desk with a book.
"Silence!" he cried. "This noise must cease! It's maddening! How can you treat me this way, boys?"
It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him, following his eye as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop, some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.
Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end of the long room. He was lounging with his back against the wall, and his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him.
"Silence, Mr. Steerforth!" said Mr. Mell.
"Silence yourself," said Steerforth, turning red. "Whom are you talking to?"
"Sit down," said Mr. Mell.
"Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, "and mind your business."
There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white that there was silence.
"If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell, "that you can make use of your position of favoritism here to disobey rules and insult a gentleman—"
"A what?—where is he?" said Steerforth.
Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad!" It was Traddles, whom Mr. Mell instantly routed by bidding him hold his tongue.
—"To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who never gave you the least offence," continued Mr. Mell, his lip trembling, "you commit a mean and base action. You can sit down or stand up as you please, sir. Copperfield, go on."
"Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming forward, "stop a bit. I tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the liberty of calling men mean and base, or anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar. You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do that, you are an impudent beggar."
I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side. I saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned into stone, and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his face in his hands, sat for some moments quite still.
"Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper was very audible now; "you have not forgotten yourself, I hope?"
"No, sir," said Mr. Mell.
Mr. Creakle looked hard at him and then turned to Steerforth.
"Now, sir, will you tell me what this is about?"
Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking what a fine-looking fellow he was, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him.
"What did he mean by talking about favorites, then?" said Steerforth at length.
"Favorites?" repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead swelling quickly. "Who talked about favorites?"
"He did," said Steerforth.
"And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?" demanded Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his assistant.
"I meant, Mr. Creakle," he returned, in a low voice, "as I said; that no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favoritism to degrade me."
"To degradeyou?" said Mr. Creakle. "My stars! But give me leave to ask you, Mr. What's your name, whether, when you talk about favorites, you showed proper respect to me? To me, sir," said Mr. Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly and drawing it back again, "the principal of this establishment and your employer."
"It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit," said Mr. Mell. "I should not have done so if I had been cool."
Here Steerforth struck in.
"Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called him a beggar. IfIhad been cool, perhaps I shouldn't have called him a beggar. But I did, and I am ready to take the consequences of it."
Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an impression on the boys, too, for there was a low stir among them, though no one spoke a word.
"I am surprised, Steerforth,—although your candor does you honor," said Mr. Creakle, "does you honor, certainly,—I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you should attach such an epithet to any person employed and paid in Salem House, sir."
Steerforth gave a short laugh.
"That's not an answer, sir," said Mr. Creakle, "to my remark. I expect more than that from you, Steerforth."
If Mr. Mell looked homely in my eyes before the handsome boy, it would be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked.
"Let him deny it," said Steerforth.
"Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth?" cried Mr. Creakle. "Why, where does he go a begging?"
"If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's one," said Steerforth. "It's all the same."
"What do you mean?"
"Since you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said Steerforth, "and to say what I mean,—what I have to say is, that his mother lives on charity in an almshouse."
Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant with a severe frown and labored politeness:
"Now you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if you please, to set him right before the assembled school."
"He is right, sir, without correction," returned Mr. Mell, in the midst of a dead silence; "what he has said is true."
"Be so good then as to declare publicly, will you," said Mr. Creakle, putting his head on one side and rolling his eyes round the school, "whether it ever came to my knowledge until this moment?"
"I believe not directly," he returned.
"Why, youknownot," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, man?"
"Sir, I think you knew my circumstances when I came here, and that a bare living wage—"
"I think, if you come to that," said Mr. Creakle, with his veins swelling again bigger than ever, "that you've been in a wrong position altogether, and mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we'll part if you please. The sooner the better."
"There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising, "like the present."
"Sir, to you!" said Mr. Creakle.
"I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of all of you," said Mr. Mell, glancing round the room and patting me gently on the shoulder. "James Steerforth, the best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be ashamed of what you have done to-day. At present I would prefer to see you anything rather than a friend to me or to any one in whom I feel an interest."
Then Mr. Mell walked out with his property under his arm.
Mr. Creakle made a speech, in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting (though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respectability of Salem House; and which he wound up by shaking hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers,—I did not quite know what for, but I suppose for Steerforth, and so joined in them ardently, though I felt miserable. Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being discovered in tears instead of cheers on account of Mr. Mell's departure: and went back to his sofa or wherever he had come from.
When he had gone there was an awkward silence. Somehow we all felt uncomfortable or ashamed. As for Steerforth, he said he was angry with Traddles and glad he had caught it.
Poor Traddles, who was relieving himself as usual with a burst of skeletons, said he didn't care. Mr. Mell was ill-used.
"Who has ill-used him, you girl?" said Steerforth.
"Why,youhave," returned Traddles.
"What have I done?" said Steerforth.
"What have you done?" retorted Traddles.
"Hurt his feelings and lost him his situation."
"His feelings!" repeated Steerforth, disdainfully. "His feelings will soon get the better of it, I'll be bound. His feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles. As to his situation,—which was a precious one, wasn't it?—do you suppose I am not going to write home and take care that he gets some money? Polly?"
We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, it was said, that he asked her. We were all extremely glad to see Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to the skies. But as I look back at it now, I should rather have been Traddles that day than any other boy in the room. And I think the other boys will say so too.