david copperfield(大卫.科波维尔)-第15部分

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into　it　by　another。　Nor　is　it　your　fault。　You　were　betrayed　into　it　by　
another。　Let　us　both　try　to　forget　it。　And　as　this；’　he　added；　after　
these　magnanimous　words；　‘is　not　a　fit　scene　for　the　boy—David；　
go　to　bed！’　

I　could　hardly　find　the　door；　through　the　tears　that　stood　in　my　
eyes。　I　was　so　sorry　for　my　mother’s　distress；　but　I　groped　my　way　
out；　and　groped　my　way　up　to　my　room　in　the　dark；　without　even　
having　the　heart　to　say　good　night　to　Peggotty；　or　to　get　a　candle　
from　her。　When　her　coming　up　to　look　for　me；　an　hour　or　so　
afterwards；　awoke　me；　she　said　that　my　mother　had　gone　to　bed　
poorly；　and　that　Mr。　and　Miss　Murdstone　were　sitting　alone。　

Going　down　next　morning　rather　earlier　than　usual；　I　paused　
outside　the　parlour　door；　on　hearing　my　mother’s　voice。　She　was　
very　earnestly　and　humbly　entreating　Miss　Murdstone’s　pardon；　
which　that　lady　granted；　and　a　perfect　reconciliation　took　place。　I　
never　knew　my　mother　afterwards　to　give　an　opinion　on　any　
matter；　without　first　appealing　to　Miss　Murdstone；　or　without　
having　first　ascertained　by　some　sure　means；　what　Miss　
Murdstone’s　opinion　was；　and　I　never　saw　Miss　Murdstone；　when　
out　of　temper　（she　was　infirm　that　way）；　move　her　hand　towards　
her　bag　as　if　she　were　going　to　take　out　the　keys　and　offer　to　resign　
them　to　my　mother；　without　seeing　that　my　mother　was　in　a　
terrible　fright。　

The　gloomy　taint　that　was　in　the　Murdstone　blood；　darkened　

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David　Copperfield　

the　Murdstone　religion；　which　was　austere　and　wrathful。　I　have　
thought；　since；　that　its　assuming　that　character　was　a　necessary　
consequence　of　Mr。　Murdstone’s　firmness；　which　wouldn’t　allow　
him　to　let　anybody　off　from　the　utmost　weight　of　the　severest　
penalties　he　could　find　any　excuse　for。　Be　this　as　it　may；　I　well　
remember　the　tremendous　visages　with　which　we　used　to　go　to　
church；　and　the　changed　air　of　the　place。　Again；　the　dreaded　
Sunday　comes　round；　and　I　file　into　the　old　pew　first；　like　a　
guarded　captive　brought　to　a　condemned　service。　Again；　Miss　
Murdstone；　in　a　black　velvet　gown；　that　looks　as　if　it　had　been　
made　out　of　a　pall；　follows　close　upon　me；　then　my　mother；　then　
her　husband。　There　is　no　Peggotty　now；　as　in　the　old　time。　Again；　I　
listen　to　Miss　Murdstone　mumbling　the　responses；　and　
emphasizing　all　the　dread　words　with　a　cruel　relish。　Again；　I　see　
her　dark　eyes　roll　round　the　church　when　she　says　‘miserable　
sinners’；　as　if　she　were　calling　all　the　congregation　names。　Again；　I　
catch　rare　glimpses　of　my　mother；　moving　her　lips　timidly　between　
the　two；　with　one　of　them　muttering　at　each　ear　like　low　thunder。　
Again；　I　wonder　with　a　sudden　fear　whether　it　is　likely　that　our　
good　old　clergyman　can　be　wrong；　and　Mr。　and　Miss　Murdstone　
right；　and　that　all　the　angels　in　Heaven　can　be　destroying　angels。　
Again；　if　I　move　a　finger　or　relax　a　muscle　of　my　face；　Miss　
Murdstone　pokes　me　with　her　prayer…book；　and　makes　my　side　
ache。　

Yes；　and　again；　as　we　walk　home；　I　note　some　neighbours　
looking　at　my　mother　and　at　me；　and　whispering。　Again；　as　the　
three　go　on　arm…in…arm；　and　I　linger　behind　alone；　I　follow　some　of　
those　looks；　and　wonder　if　my　mother’s　step　be　really　not　so　light　
as　I　have　seen　it；　and　if　the　gaiety　of　her　beauty　be　really　almost　

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David　Copperfield　

worried　away。　Again；　I　wonder　whether　any　of　the　neighbours　call　
to　mind；　as　I　do；　how　we　used　to　walk　home　together；　she　and　I；　
and　I　wonder　stupidly　about　that；　all　the　dreary　dismal　day。　

There　had　been　some　talk　on　occasions　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。　In　the　meantime；　I　learnt　
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　favourable　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　those；　I　remember　as　the　
death…blow　of　my　peace；　and　a　grievous　daily　drudgery　and　
misery。　They　were　very　long；　very　numerous；　very　hard—perfectly　
unintelligible；　some　of　them；　to　me—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。　

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David　Copperfield　

I　come　into　the　second…best　parlour　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　by？　

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　does　not　know　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。’　

I　obey　the　first　clause　of　the　injunction　by　trying　once　more；　but　
am　not　so　successful　with　the　second；　for　I　am　very　stupid。　I　

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David　Copperfield　

tumble　down　before　I　get　to　the　old　place；　at　a　point　where　I　was　
all　right　before；　and　stop　to　think。　But　I　can’t　think　about　the　
lesson。　I　think　of　the　number　of　yards　of　net　in　Miss　Murdstone’s　
cap；　or　of　the　price　of　Mr。　Murdstone’s　dressing…gown；　or　any　such　
ridiculous　problem　that　I　have　no　business　with；　and　don’t　want　to　
have　anything　at　all　to　do　with。　Mr。　Murdstone　makes　a　movement　
of　impatience　which　I　have　been　expecting　for　a　long　time。　Miss　
Murdstone　does　the　same。　My　mother　glances　submissively　at　
them；　shuts　the　book；　and　lays　it　by　as　an　arrear　to　be　worked　out　
when　my　other　tasks　are　done。　

There　is　a　pile　of　these　arrears　very　soon；　and　it　swells　like　a　
rolling　snowball。　The　bigger　it　gets；　the　more　stupid　I　get。　The　case　
is　so　hopeless；　and　I　feel　that　I　am　wallowing　in　such　a　bog　of　
nonsense；　that　I　give　up　all　idea　of　getting　out；　and　abandon　myself　
to　my　fate。　The　despairing　way　in　which　my　mother　and　I　look　at　
each　other；　as　I　blunder　on；　is　truly　melancholy。　But　the　greatest　
effect　in　these　miserable　lessons　is　when　my　mother　（thinking　
nobody　is　observing　her）　tries　to　give　me　the　cue　by　the　motion　of　
her　lips。　At　that　instant；　Miss　Murdstone；　who　has　been　lying　in　
wait　for　nothing　else　all　along；　says　in　a　deep　warning　voice：　

‘Clara！’　

My　mother　starts；　colours；　and　smiles　faintly。　Mr。　Murdstone　
comes　out　of　his　chair；　takes　the　book；　throws　it　at　me　or　boxes　my　
ears　with　it；　and　turns　me　out　of　the　room　by　the　shoulders。　

Even　when　the　lessons　are　done；　the　worst　is　yet　to　happen；　in　
the　shape　of　an　appalling　sum。　This　is　invented　for　me；　and　
delivered　to　me　orally　by　Mr。　Murdstone；　and　begins；　‘If　I　go　into　a　
cheesemonger’s　shop；　and　buy　five　thousand　double…Gloucester　
cheeses　at　fourpence…halfpenny　each；　present　payment’—at　which　

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David　Copperfield　

I　see　Miss　Murdstone　secretly　overjoyed。　I　pore　over　these　cheeses　
without　any　result　or　enlightenment　until　dinner…time；　when；　
having　made　a　Mulatto　of　myself　by　getting　the　dirt　of　the　slate　
into　the　pores