Chapter 8 Chapter 4 I suffered humiliation

If the room into which my bed was moved was a sentient and witnessing thing, I could ask it today - I don't know who sleeps in it now - to testify to me that I brought it What a heavy heart.I got there amidst the barking of the dog, and I kept hearing the dog barking behind me as I went upstairs.The room seemed empty and strange to me, just as the room seemed to me too.I just sat there with my little hands crossed and thought about it. I can only think of the weirdest things.I thought of the shape of the room, the cracks in the ceiling, the paper on the walls, the rippling and swirling cracks in the window panes, the crooked and unhappy-looking washstand on three legs.When I saw it, I couldn't help thinking of Mrs. Gao Mizhi under the influence of the old man.I kept crying and crying, but I'm sure I wasn't crying for anything else other than feeling cold and depressed.Finally, feeling all alone, I began to think how much I loved little Emily, and had been dragged away from her to this place, where no one seemed to need me or care half as much as she did.Thinking of this, I was in so much pain that I rolled into a corner of the quilt, cried and fell asleep.

Someone said "here he is!" and pulled the covers off my hot head, which woke me up.It was my mother and Peggotty who came to see me, and one of them woke me up. "Wei Wei," said the mother, "what's wrong?" I thought it was weird for her to ask me that, so I said, "It's nothing." I turned my face away, and I remember that I didn't want her to see my trembling lips, otherwise she would see more of the truth. "Wei Wei," said the mother, "Wei Wei, my child." I daresay nothing she said at the time touched my heart more than when she called me her child.I hid my tears in the sheets.When she was about to pull me up, I pushed her away with my hands.

"That's what you do, Peggotty, you cruel thing!" said the mother, "and I have no doubts about it. I didn't know you so set my own son against me or against anyone I loved. Man, how can you be fair to your conscience? What do you mean by that, Peggotty?" Poor Peggotty raised his hands, and raised his eyes.She could only answer in the words I used to say in my after-dinner prayer: "God forgive you, Mrs. Copperfield, and I hope you don't really regret what you just said!" "It really pisses me off," cried my mother. "On my honeymoon, even my worst enemy would have thought of that, and not be jealous of my little peace and happiness. Wei Wei, you naughty boy!" My child! Peggotty, you savage thing! Oh, dear!" cried my mother, turning now to me and now to Peggotty, "when one thinks one can expect the world to be as good as it can be , what a troubled world this is!"

I felt a hand touch me, and I knew it was neither hers nor Peggotty's, so I got up and stood beside the bed.It was Mr. Murdstone's hand, which he kept on my arm as he spoke. "What's the matter? Clara, my darling, have you forgotten?— Be firm, my dear." "I'm ashamed, Edward," said my mother, "I would have done well, but I'm not well." "Really!" he replied, "too bad to hear that so soon, Clara." "I said, it's too hard to make me like this," my mother pouted. "It's—hard—isn't it?" He pulled her close to him, whispered something to her and kissed her.Seeing my mother's head on his shoulder and her arm against his neck, I knew—as clearly as I do now—that he could play with her feeble nature all he wanted, and he had achieved his goal.

"Go down, my love," said Mr. Murdstone, "and David and I will go down together. My friend," he nodded to my mother as he went out, and Smiling, and turning his sullen face to Peggotty, "Do you know your mistress's name?" "She has been my mistress a long time, sir," answered Peggotty, "of course I know." "That's true," he answered, "but I think I heard you not address her by her last name when I went upstairs. She has taken mine, you know. Will you remember that?" " Peggotty looked at me anxiously, bowed, and left the room without saying a word.I guess she saw that someone wanted her to leave, and she had no reason to stay in the room.When it was just the two of us, he closed the door, sat down on a chair, grabbed me and stood in front of him, staring into my eyes.I felt that my eyes were also attracted by him and fixed on his eyes as well.When I recalled that we were looking at each other like this, I seemed to hear my heart beating so fast and violently again.

"David," he said, pursing his lips thinly, "if I had to deal with a stubborn horse or a fierce dog, what do you think I would do?" "I have no idea." "I beat it." I could hardly say anything, but I felt that although I was silent, my breathing was much faster. "I want him to be scared, to behave. I said to myself, 'I've got to conquer this guy;' I'd do it even if it had to bleed dry, what's on your face?" "Dirty stuff," I said. He knew it as clearly as I did: it was a tear stain.But even if he asked this question twenty times and still punched me twenty times each time, I believe I would never answer him like that, even if my childish heart exploded.

"You're a smart little fellow," he said, with that stern smile that belonged only to him. "You know me well, I can see. Go wash your face, sir, and come downstairs with me." go." He pointed to the washstand which reminded me of Mrs. Gummidge, and with his head signaled that I should immediately obey him.I had no doubt then (and I have no doubt now) that if I had hesitated a moment, he would have knocked me down without hesitation. "Clara, my dear," he said as he took me by the arm and ushered me into the living room when I had done as he was told, "you won't feel sick anymore, I hope. We'll be here soon." Will make our young man better."

God help me!One kind word at that time would have made me better all my life, perhaps a different kind of man.A word of encouragement and explanation, a word of sympathy for my youth and ignorance, a word of welcoming me home, a word of assuring me that this is my home, will make me filial to him from the bottom of my heart, not just A hypocritical outward obedience to him would also make me respect him rather than hate him.I thought my mother was sorry to see me standing so timidly and distantly in the middle of the room, so as soon as I slipped to a chair and sat down, her eyes followed me even more sadly—perhaps she missed my childish gait very much. Let's be free in that way—but that sentence is not said, and the time to say that sentence has passed.

We ate alone, just the three of us.He seemed to love my mother--and I'm afraid I didn't like him any less for that--and she loved him.From their conversation, I learned that one of his older sisters was coming to live with us, and that she was coming tonight.Whether it was then or later I found out, I'm not sure about that, anyway, he wasn't actively involved in anything, he just had some shares in a London liquor store, or a little bonus every year, or when his great-grandfather was alive, His family has something to do with that firm, and his sister has a stake in that firm; but I'm going to explain here, whether it's true or not.

After supper we all sat by the fire, and I wondered how I could get to Peggotty's without sneaking away, so as not to offend the head of the family.Just then, a carriage came to the gate of the garden, and he went out to meet the guests.My mother followed behind him, and I timidly followed behind my mother.In the gloom, when she came to the door of the living room, she turned and put her arms around me as before, and whispered to me to love and obey this new father.She did it hurriedly and secretly, as if it was wrong, but still affectionate and tender.She reached behind her and took my little hand, and she didn't let go of my hand to take his arm until we were near where he was standing in the garden.

It was Miss Murdstone, a gloomy lady.Not only was she dark like her brother, but she also had his face and voice.Her eyebrows were thick and grew almost to her big nose, as if she had been born of the wrong sex in place of a beard.She had brought with her two awkward, solid black boxes with her initials stamped firmly with brass nails on the lids.To pay the coachman, she took money from a strong purse, and imprisoned it in a bag, which was fastened to the house by a thick chain. on her arm.I had never seen a woman of iron so thoroughly and truly as Miss Murdstone before that time. Amidst many words of welcome she was ushered into the drawing room, where she formally recognized my mother as her new next of kin.Then she looked at me again and said: "Is this your boy, sibling?" My mother admits I am. "Generally," said Miss Murdstone, "I don't like boys. How do you do, boy?" With such encouragement, I told her I was fine and that I hoped the same for her.Miss Murdstone dismissed me in four cold words: "Lack of breeding." After saying this word for word, she asked to be taken to her room.Since then, the room has been a cold, dreadful place to me.Those two trunks had never been seen opened, nor had they been unlocked (I peeped in once or twice while she was out. Miss Murdstone dressed with The countless thin steel cables and studs that come to dress up and decorate themselves are always hung on the mirror, which makes people feel frightened. As far as I can see, she is staying and has no desire to go.Early the next morning, she set out to "help" my mother, going in and out of the storage room all day, sorting things out, and moving all the previous arrangements.The first striking thing I observed about Miss Murdstone was her constant suspicion that the servants were hiding a man somewhere in the house.Under the influence of this hallucination, she would rush into the coal cellar at the most inopportune times, open and slam the dark closet door, thinking she had him caught. Miss Murdstone was a lark when it came to getting up, though she was not the least bit nimble.She got up before anyone else in the house woke up (I still believe she was looking for the man).It was Peggotty's own opinion that she slept with one eye open.But I can't agree with this statement, because after I heard this, I tried it myself and found it impossible. The morning after her arrival, she got up when the cock crowed and rang the bell.When my mother came down to breakfast and to make tea, Miss Murdstone gave her a peck on the cheek (as close as she could get to a kiss) and said: "Oh, Clara, my dear, you know, I'm here to get you out of trouble as much as I can. You're too pretty and too brainless"—my mother blushed, but Still smiling, as if he didn't hate this kind of statement-"I shouldn't push the responsibility that I can share on you. If you are obedient, give me all your keys, my dear, and I will take care of everything in the future Let's cook." After that, Miss Murdstone put the keys in her little prison during the day, and under her pillow at night, and my mother, like me, never touched them again. Not without a little protest from my mother at the complete loss of sovereignty.One night Miss Murdstone proposed to her brother a plan of housework, and he agreed.At this point, my mother burst into tears and said she thought maybe they would talk it over with her. "Clara!" said Mr. Murdstone sharply, "Clara! I really don't understand you." "Oh, it's nice to say you don't understand me, Edward!" cried the mother; "it's nice of you to talk about firmness, but you don't like to do it yourself." I can say that firmness is a quality that both the Murdstones considered great.If I had been asked to give my understanding of the word at the time, and I could have given my opinion, I could have seen it as an alias for bossiness, as a kind of kind that they both had. Another name for the dark and arrogant devil temperament.The creed, all I can say now, is this.Mr. Murdstone is firm; and in his world there is no man so firm as he, Mr. Murdstone; in his world no one else can be firm, for all must submit to his firmness.Miss Murdstone was an exception.She can be firm, but only by virtue of being a relation, and only so far as she is dependent.My mother is another exception. She can be firm, and must be firm, but can only endure their firmness firmly, and firmly believe that there is no other firmness in the world. "It's so hard," my mother said, "this is in my own home—" "My own home?" repeated Murdstone. "Clara!" "My own home, I mean," my mother stammered, obviously frightened—"I hope you know what I mean, Edward—that is in your own home." It is impossible for me to say a word about housekeeping. I believe that before we married, I also managed housekeeping very well. There is evidence for it," my mother said with a sob. "Ask Peggotty, no one Did I do a good job when I interfered!" "Edward," said Miss Murdstone, "that's all. I'm leaving to-morrow." "Jane Murdstone," said her brother, "be quiet! How can you imply that you don't know my character?" "I'm sure," continued my poor mother, weeping, now at the most tragic disadvantage, "that I don't want anyone to go. If any one should go, I should be miserable and unhappy. I The request is not much. I am not unreasonable. I just ask to discuss with me sometimes. I am very grateful to the people who help me, I just ask to discuss with me only in form. Once, because I Inexperienced and childish, I thought you were very happy about it, Edward - I'm sure you said that - but now, you seem to hate me for it, you're so severe." "Edward," continued Miss Murdstone, "that's all. I'm leaving to-morrow. "Jane Murdstone," cried Mr. Murdstone, "you'll be quiet, will you? What's the matter with you?" Miss Murdstone drew a handkerchief from her prison pocket and held it up to her eyes. "Clara," he went on, looking at my mother, "you surprise me! You surprise me! Yes, to marry someone who is inexperienced and scheming, to mold her character, and to put in it the necessary amount of firmness and Decision, I was content to think so. But when Jane Murdstone so kindly came to do my best to help me, when she put herself in the position of a housekeeper for my sake, when she therefore When getting a vile reward—” "Oh, please, please, Edward," cried my mother, "don't accuse me of being ungrateful, I'm sure I'm not. Kind of people. Oh, don't be like that, my dear!" "When Jane Murdstone got, I must say," he went on, when my mother had fallen silent, "such a mean return, I was chilled, and I felt my mind changed." "Don't talk like that, my love!" pleaded my mother pitifully. "Oh, don't talk like that, Edward dear! I can't bear to hear you talk like that. Whatever I am, I'm serious. Emotional, I know I'm emotional, I wouldn't say that if I wasn't convinced I was. Just ask Peggotty. I'm sure she'll tell you I'm an emotional person. " "Anyway, it's just weakness. Clara," replied Murdstone, "that doesn't make a difference to me. You're out of breath." "Please let us be friends," said my mother, "I cannot live with indifference and cruelty. I am very sorry. I have many faults, I know, thanks to your goodness, Edward, with your will and hard work. Correct those faults for me. I have nothing against anything, Jane. If you think of going away, it would break my heart—" My mother couldn't go on. "Jane Murdstone," said Mr. Murdstone to his sister, "I hope it doesn't happen very often that we speak harshly to each other. It is not my fault that this rare thing happened to-night, it is because was dragged by another person. It's not your fault, you were dragged by that other person too. Let's both try to forget about it. And because," he added Say, "This is not the right situation for a child—David, go to bed." I was in tears and could barely find the door.I was sorry for my mother's sorrow, but I groped my way out, groping my way to my bedroom in the dark.I wasn't even in the mood to say good night to Peggot, or ask her for a candle.An hour later she came up to see me, and woke me up, and told me that my mother had gone to bed despondent, and Mr and Miss Murdstone were left sitting there. The next morning, I went downstairs earlier than usual.I stopped outside the living room as soon as I heard my mother's voice.She begged Miss Murdstone's forgiveness earnestly and humbly.The lady agreed, and a full settlement was reached.I have not since seen her express an opinion on any matter without consulting Miss Murdstone, or having received her opinion from a reliable source.And whenever Miss Murdstone got angry (and she often did) and reached into her bag as if to pull out the keys and offered to return them to my mother, I always saw my mother go into a state of extreme panic. look. The gloom that ran in the Murdstone blood also darkened the family's faith, which was both severe and angry.I have thought since then that the nature of the faith was a necessary consequence of Mr. Murdstone's firmness of character, which would not allow him to let anyone escape what he could do under any pretense. severe punishment.In this way, I still vividly remember the grandeur and the changed atmosphere when we went to church.That dreadful Sunday came again, and I was crammed first into my old seat like a prisoner being led to hard labour, followed by Miss Murdstone in her black velvet gown, which seemed to have been seamed with a coffin-cover. Me; then my mother, and then her husband.It's not the same as before, there's no Peggotty now.Again I heard Miss Murdstone murmur in reply, emphasizing every dreadful word with cruel emphasis.Again I saw her dark eyes rolling around the church, as if she were cursing the whole congregation when she said "poor sinner."With great difficulty, I sneaked a few more sneaky glances at my mother, only to see her timidly moving her lips between the two of them, and the murmurs of the two in her ear were like muffled thunder to her.Again I wonder with sudden dread: whether our good old clergyman is mistaken and only Mr and Miss Murdstone are right; and whether the angels of heaven are all destroyers Angel.If I tried to move a finger or loosen a muscle in my face, Miss Murdstone poked me with her prayer book, and it made my ribs hurt. Yes, as we were walking home, I found the neighbors looking at us and whispering something again.When the three of them walked in front arm in arm and I fell behind and followed slowly, I followed the eyes of these people and wondered whether my mother's footsteps were not as light as I had seen before, and her Is it true that the beauty of the face is almost eaten away by sorrow?And I wondered if the neighbor remembered as well as I did how we used to walk home together—she and I—in those old days; and I was foolish to think about it all day in that dreadful dreary day. Several times inadvertently, Mr. and Miss Murdstone brought up the topic of sending me to boarding school, and my mother naturally agreed.Nothing came of it, though, and I was still homeschooling at the time. I will never forget those lessons.Nominally my mother supervised my studies, but in fact Mr Murdstone and his sister presided over them.These two were always there, seeing my homework as a chance to teach my mother that goddam firmness that was poison to our lives, mother and child.I believe it was for this purpose that I was kept at home.When it was just my mother living with me, I learned easily and enjoyed it.I still vaguely remember how I learned to read the alphabet on her lap.To this day, when I look at those fat black letters in the primer, I seem to see them again when they first appeared in front of my eyes. O, Q, and S are so kind.They don't make people feel disgusted or reluctant. On the contrary, I seem to be accompanied by my mother's gentle voice and encouraged by her gentle attitude, and I have been walking along the path full of flowers to the crocodile book.But the tedious work that followed, I remember them as a blow to my tranquility, a daily drudgery and disaster.They are always going on for a long time, and there are many, many, and very difficult—some of them are incomprehensible to me—I believe that my mother and I are both overwhelmed by the lessons . Let me recall the usual situation, just remember what a morning is like. After breakfast I went to the second-best drawing-room with my books, an exercise-book, and a slate.Mother was already waiting for me at her desk, but more anxiously was Mr Murdstone in his easy chair by the window (though he pretended to be reading a book), or Mr. Miss Murdstone with steel balls by her side.As soon as the sight of these two men affected me so much, I began to feel that the words I had worked so hard to memorize were slipping away, into places I didn't know. Really, I don't know where they slip off. I gave my first book to my mother.Maybe it's grammar, maybe it's history, maybe it's geography.When I handed the book into her hands, I desperately glanced at the pages one last time, and memorized them at the speed of a race while I could remember.I misremembered a word, and Mr. Murdstone looked up at me.I misremembered another word, and Miss Murdstone looked up at me.I blushed, stuttered, memorized half a dozen words wrongly, and finally stopped.I thought my mother would show me the book if she dared, but she didn't.She just said softly: "Oh, Wei Wei, Wei Wei!" "Ah, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, "must be firm with the boy. Don't say 'Oh, David, David,' that's what you do with little children. Either he knows his lesson, Or just don't know." "He doesn't know," put in Miss Murdstone viciously. "I'm really afraid he doesn't know," said the mother. "Then, you know, Clara," replied Miss Murdstone, "you should give him back the book and teach him." "Yes, of course," said my mother, "that's exactly what I wanted to do, my dear Jane. Now, try again, Daddy, and don't be fooled." I followed the first half of the instruction and tried again, but was not very successful in carrying out the second half because I was terribly confused.I started making mistakes before I got to the place where I couldn't memorize before, but last time I was able to recite it correctly.I had to stop and think.But I'm not thinking about my homework.I can't do that.I was thinking of the yards of netting in Miss Murdstone's hat, or the value of Mr. Murdstone's dressing-gown, or all those ridiculous questions that have nothing to do with me, and I don't want to.Mr. Murdstone moved impatiently, which I had been expecting.Miss Murdstone did the same.My mother gave them a very obedient look, then closed the book and put it aside, planning to make up the debt when I had finished my other homework. Soon, the arrears piled up like a snowball.The more I owe, the more confused I become.The situation was so disappointing that I felt that I was in an absurd quagmire from which I gave up all thought of getting out and left it to fate.It was sad how my mother and I looked at each other in dismay as I stuttered and made mistakes.But the most harrowing part of this harrowing lesson came when my mother tried to give me hints (she thought no one would pay attention).At that moment, Miss Murdstone, who had been waiting so intently for this to happen, warned in a low voice: "Clara!" Mother was startled, her face changed, and she smiled fearfully.Mr. Murdstone got up from his chair, took the book and threw it at me or slapped me on the ear, then took me by the shoulders and threw me out of the room. It's just that the homework is done, and the worst thing comes in the form of calculations.It was made for me, dictated to me by Mr. Murdstone.It started like this: "If I came to a cheese shop and bought five thousand double Grosses de cheese, at four and a halfpence each, how much would I pay?" - I know Murdstone The young lady was secretly happy about it.Till supper time I could not think of a trick or find a glimmer of light in these cheeses; as the ashes of the slate got into my pores, I made myself a half-breed.A thin slice of bread helped me get rid of that cheese, and then I felt so humiliated that night. Up to now, I feel that my unlucky study is roughly like this.I might have done well without the Murdstones, but they had the same effect on me as two vipers have on a bird.Even if I got a passable grade that morning, I would get no favors at dinner; for Miss Murdstone would never have tolerated my idleness if I inadvertently appeared to be idle, and she would would call her brother's attention to me with words like, "Clara, my dear, there's nothing like work—let your boy do some practice," and I was instantly pushed into a new labor.As for playing games with children of their age, that is a rare thing, for in the gloomy theology of the Murdstones all children are nothing but a pack of vipers (although there have been some among the saints a small child), and firmly believe that they are passing toxicity to each other. After being treated like this continuously for more than six months, I think it is the inevitable result that I become gloomy, dull, and poor.Feeling estranged from my mother is also a reason.If it hadn't been for that one thing, I think I'd be downright stupid. That's what happened.The few books my father left behind in a small room upstairs were never bothered by anyone in the family.Since that little room is next to my bedroom, I can easily get to them.Out of that little deserted room came Roderick Langton, Pilgrim Peake, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, the Vicar of Wakefield ⑤, Don Quixote ⑥, Gil Blas ⑦, and Robinson Clouseau ⑧, they all regarded me as friends.They preserved my fantasy, my hope for something beyond my situation at the time.They--and "Elf Tales"--did me no harm, and it wouldn't have done me any harm if some of those books were, and I didn't find that harm at all.I am still amazed that I was able to find time to read those books when I was surrounded by such a burden of problems, thinking hard and making mistakes.It seemed strange to me that, beneath my trifling troubles (which seemed to me at the time gigantic), I should be able to picture myself as the characters I liked, to compare Mr. and Miss Murdstone to all those villains, and to make myself Take some solace in that.I once thought of myself as Tom Jones (a child's Tom Jones, a harmless character) for a whole week.I'm sure I've been living my Roderick Langton for a month.I devoured the books on voyages and travels that were then on the shelf--I don't remember the titles now; Walking about, arming myself with the pivot of an old shoe-tree, I looked like an anonymous captain of the British Royal Navy, determined to give my life before the siege of barbarians was critical.That captain had never lost his dignity by being slapped for not knowing Latin grammar.I've been that way, but living or dead, the captain is a captain, a hero, despite all the grammars of all the languages ​​in the world. -------- ①②③ are all characters in the works of the 18th century British novelist Smollett. ④A character in the works of the 18th century British novelist Fielding, also the name of the novel. ⑤ A character in the works of the 18th-century British novelist Gal Smith. ⑥ A character in the works of the 17th century Spanish novelist Cervantes, also the name of the novel. ⑦A character in the works of the 18th century French novelist Le Sage, also the name of the novel. ⑧A character in the works of Defoe, a British novelist in the 18th century, is also the name of the novel. This is my only and constant consolation.When I think about it, I always have this image in my mind: the children are playing in the church yard on a summer night, and I am sitting on the bed desperately reading.In my mind, every barn in the neighborhood, every stone in the church, every foot of ground in the church yard, is connected with these books, and represents some famous place in this book.I have seen Tom Pipes climb to the top of the church, I have watched Streep stop to rest at the side door with his bag on his back; The captain was in a conference with Mr. Pickle. The reader understands now as well as I do what I was when I recalled that period of my childhood once more. When I came into the drawing-room one morning with the books in my arms, I found my mother's anxious face, Miss Murdstone's firm face, and Mr. Murdstone's binding something to the end of a stick--that was A very resilient stick.As soon as I entered the house, he stopped tying it up and whipped the thing up in the air. "I tell you, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, "I have been whipped a lot." "Yes, of course," said Miss Murdstone. "Indeed, my dear Jane," stammered the mother timidly, "but— But do you think that would be good for Edward? " "Do you think that would do Edward any harm, Clara?" asked Mr. Murdstone gravely. "That's right!" said his sister. To which my mother replied, "Indeed, my dear Jane," and said nothing more. I felt vaguely that these conversations were about me, and I watched Mr. Murdstone's eyes rest on me. "Well, David," he said--and I saw him squint again as he spoke--"you're going to have to be extra careful than usual today." He raised the stick and swung it again.He put the prepared things beside him, and then picked up his book with a clear expression on his face. It was like that in the beginning, and it was enough to get me flustered right away.I felt that the words in the text slipped away again, not one by one, nor line by line, but the whole page.I tried to grab them, but they seemed to be on roller skates—if I may say so—and slid past me irresistibly. We got off to a bad start and got worse.I came in thinking I was well prepared.Trying to be nice; but it turns out I was dead wrong.The books I failed to pass piled up one upon another, and all the while Miss Murdstone kept a steady eye on us.当我们那天最后又来做那道五千块奶酪的算术题时（我记得那天他出题是用些棍子），我母亲一下哭了起来。 “克拉拉！”默德斯通小姐用警告的口气说。 “我不太好受，我亲爱的珍、我想。”我母亲说。 我看到他板着脸朝他姐姐使了个眼色，并拿起那根鞭子起身道： “嗨，珍，我们不能指望克拉拉能完全坚定地忍受今天大卫要给她带来的忧愁和痛苦。那会太让她为难了。克拉拉是被改变得坚强了许多，也被改善了许多，但我们还不能期望她太多。大卫，你和我上楼去，孩子。” 他把我带到门口时，我母亲向我们跑了过来。默德斯通小姐一边说着：“克拉拉！你就是一个彻头彻尾的傻瓜吗？”一边阻拦。我看到这时母亲堵住了耳朵，并听到她哭了起来。 他阴沉沉地慢慢朝我卧室走来——我可以肯定他对这种行刑的正式仪式感到其乐无穷——我们走进那屋后，他就突然一下把我的头扭到他胳臂下。 “默德斯通先生！先生！”我朝他叫道，“别！求你别打我！我是想学的，可是当你和默德斯通小姐在旁边时我学不了。我真的学不了！” “学不了，真的，大卫？”他说，“我们就试试看。” 我的头被他夹住就像被把老虎钳夹住一样，但我设法缠住他，并有那么一会儿使他动不了，我还求他别打我。可我只能拦住他那一小会，因为他马上就朝我狠狠地打了下来，而我一下咬住他夹住我的手并把它咬破。现在想起这事我还觉得牙酸呢。 于是他就揍我，好像要把我揍死。除了我们的喧闹声，我还听见她们哭着跑上楼——我听见我母亲哭，还有皮果提哭。然后他走了，在外面把门锁上；我狂怒不已，但我感到身子发烧、火辣辣、被撕裂似地、肿痛；只好无力地躺在地板上。 我记得多清楚，当我安静下来后，整所房子是被什么样的一种异样的沉寂笼罩着！我记得很清楚，当痛楚开始减退、激情开始减退时，我开始感到我多么不应该呀！ 我坐起来，听了好久，什么声音也没听到。我从地上爬起来，在镜子里看到我的脸那么肿、那么红又那么丑，连我自己也吓坏了。我动一动，伤痕处就扯得紧紧地痛，使我又哭了起来。可是和我所感到的负罪感比，这痛不算什么。我敢说那沉甸甸压在我心头的负罪感使我觉得我是一个罪大恶极的罪犯。 天色开始转暗了，我关上了窗子（大部分时间里，我都头倚在窗台上那么躺着，哭一阵，睡一阵，茫然地朝外面看一阵），这时钥匙转动了，默德斯通小姐拿了一点面包、肉和牛奶进来。她把这些东西放到桌子上，用那典型的坚定神情看看我就出去了，并在身后把门又锁上。 天黑下来好久了，我还坐在那儿，心想不知还会不会有人来。当看来那晚已无来人的可能性时，我脱衣上了床。在床上，我开始满怀恐惧地想以后我会遭遇到什么。我的所为是不是犯罪行为？我会不会被抓起来送进监牢？我到底是不是身陷被绞死的危险中了呢？ 我永远忘不了次日清晨醒来时的情景；刚睁眼时那股高兴和新鲜感马上被对凄惨旧事的回忆压垮。默德斯通小姐在我还没起床时又来了，她唠唠叨叨地告诉我，说我能在花园里散步半个小时，不能再久了；说罢她又退了出去，让门开着，这一来我可以享受那份恩典。 我那样做了，在一连五天的囚禁中我那样做了。如果我可以单独看到母亲，我会向她跪下，请求她原谅；可是在那段日子里，除了默德斯通小姐，我看不到任何人——晚祷时是例外；那时等大家都就位了，我就被默德斯通小姐押到客厅。在客厅里，我这个年轻的罪犯被孤零零地安排站在靠近门口的地方。在其它的人做完祈祷起身前，我就被我那看守森严地带走。我只能看到母亲尽可能远远离开我，并把脸转到我根本看不到的方位；我还看到默德斯通的手被绷带包扎着。 我没法对任何人证明那五天有多长。好多年里，我都记得那几天。我是怎么样倾听家里一切我能听得到的声音；门铃声、门开关声，嗡嗡的说话声，楼梯上的脚步声，我在孤独和屈辱中特别让我感到痛苦的笑声、口哨声和唱歌声——那让人捉摸不定的时分，尤其是夜间我醒来还以为是早晨时，却发现家人还未去睡，而漫长的夜晚才刚刚降临——我那些沮丧的梦和可怕的梦魇——往返的白天，中午，下午，还有男孩们在教堂院子里嬉戏的傍晚，而我那时只能在屋子里远远地看着他们，并因为怕他们知道我被监禁着而羞于在窗口露面——根本听不见自己说话的那种奇异感觉，随吃喝时而来又而去的那种短促的感觉，那种可算是种愉快的感觉——一个夜晚带着清新气息的一场雨，它在我和教堂之间越下越急，一直下到似乎它和那越来越浓的夜色是要把我在忧郁、恐惧和后悔中浸透——这一切好像不是几天，而是几年，在我记忆中印刻得如此生动，如此强烈。 我被囚禁的最后那一个晚上，有人轻轻唤我的名字而把我叫醒。我一下从床上跳了起来，在黑暗里伸出胳臂说： “是你吗，皮果提？” 没人马上回答，却依旧再叫我的名字。那声音那么神秘可怕，如果我不是一下意识到它准是从钥匙孔里透过来的，我一定会吓昏过去。 我摸索着来到门边，把嘴唇凑到钥匙孔前，小声说： “是你吗，皮果提，亲爱的？” “是的，我亲爱的宝贝卫卫，”她答道，“像耗子那么轻，要不猫会听见的。” 我明显这是指默德斯通小姐，也意识到眼前的危急；她的房间挨得很近呢。 “妈妈好吗，亲爱的皮果提？她很生我的气吗？” 我能听到在钥匙孔那一边，皮果提小声抽泣，而我也在这一边哭。然后她答道：“不，不是很生气。” “要对我怎么处置、亲爱的皮果提？你知道吗？” “去学校。靠近伦敦，”这是皮果提的回答。由于我忘了把嘴从钥匙孔挪开再把耳朵凑到那儿，她第一次回答全传到我喉咙里去了，我只好请她说了两次，虽说她说的是让我高兴的话，我却没听到。 “什么时候，皮果提？” "tomorrow." “就为这个，默德斯通小姐从我的抽屉里把衣服拿出来了吗？”她是这么做了的，虽说我忘了提。 “是的，”皮果提说，“箱子。” “我能看到妈妈吗？” “可以，”皮果提说，“早晨。” 然后，皮果提把嘴凑近钥匙孔，尽那钥匙孔所能地用那么多感情和真诚说了一番话。我敢说，那钥匙孔在每次射出下面那番断断续续的话时，自己也发生了一阵阵轻轻的震动。 “卫卫，亲爱的。如果我没有像过去那样和你亲近——近来不像我以前那样——那并不是因为我不爱你。我可爱的小娃娃，我还是那样爱你，比过去更爱你——我那样做因为我觉得会对你好些——还因为对别的某人也会好些。卫卫，我亲爱的——你在听吗？你能听见我说话吗？” “是——是——是——是的，皮果提！”我哽咽道。 “我的孩子！”皮果提无比深情地说，“我要说的是——你千万不要忘记我——因为我决不会忘记你——我会尽一切照顾你妈妈；卫卫——像我照顾你那样——我不会离开她。总有一天她会又高兴地把她那可怜的头放在——又放在她那笨头笨脑又坏脾性的皮果提怀里——我会给你写信的，亲爱的——虽说我没什么学问——我会——我会——”皮果提开始一个劲亲那钥匙孔，就像那样可以亲到我一样。 “谢谢你、亲爱的皮果提！”我说，“哦，谢谢你！谢谢你！你能答应我一件事吗，皮果提？请你写信给皮果提、小爱米丽、高米芝太太和汉姆，告诉他们我并不像他们想的那么坏，并告诉他们我把一切爱送给他们——尤其是给小爱米丽，好吗？如果你愿意，你能这么做吗，皮果提？” 那好心的人答应了，我俩都怀着最深的爱亲那个钥匙孔——我记得，我还用手轻轻拍它，好像那是她那张诚实的脸——这才分别。从那天晚上以后，我胸中就生出对皮果提的一种我也说不太清的感情。她没有取代母亲；没人能取代；可她进入我心中一个地方，那儿从此就被关合起来；我对她抱的那种感情是我对任何人都不曾有的。也幸好有这种感情，如果她死得早，我无法想象我会做些什么，我在那后来发生在我身上的悲剧中又会做出什么样的表演。 早上，默德斯通小姐像往常一样露面了，她告诉我说我要去学校了，不过这消息对我并不如她所以为的那样算个新闻。我穿衣时，她还告诉我要去楼下客厅吃早饭。在那儿，我看母亲面色苍白而两眼通红。我扑到她怀里，请求她宽恕我那痛苦的灵魂。 “哦，卫卫！”她说，“你竟伤害了我所爱的人！努力变好些，求你变好些！我原谅你，可我太伤心了，卫卫，你心里竟有这样恶的情感！” 他们已经使她相信我是个坏家伙，这比我的离开还更让她伤心。我为此也感到痛苦。我努力想咽下这顿离别的早餐，可我的眼泪滴到我的面包和奶油上，流进我的茶里，我咽不下去。我看到母亲不时看看我，又瞟一眼那密切注视着的默德斯通小姐，再眼光朝下或朝别处望。 “科波菲尔少爷的箱子在那儿！”当大门口响起了车轮声时，默德斯通小姐说道。 我找皮果提，她却不在场；她和默德斯通先生都没露面。我的老熟人，就是那车夫，已来到门边；箱子已被拿出了屋，放进了他的车。 “克拉拉！”默德斯通小姐用警告的口气说道。 “准备好了，我亲爱的珍，”母亲答道，“再见了，卫卫。你去是为你自己好。再见了，我的孩子。放假你就能回家，做一个好孩子吧。” “克拉拉！”默德斯通小姐又说了一声。 “当然，我亲爱的珍，”母亲拉着我答道：“我原谅你，我亲爱的孩子。上帝保佑你！” “克拉拉！”默德斯通小姐再一次重复道。 默德斯通小姐总算好心地把我带出门送到车前，一路上她还说她希望我会在得到坏下场前悔改；然后我就上了车，那匹懒洋洋的马就拉起车上路了。