david copperfield(大卫.科波维尔)-第12章
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a shadow of protest。 One night when Miss Murdstone had been
developing certain household plans to her brother； of which he
signified his approbation； my mother suddenly began to cry； and
said she thought she might have been consulted。
‘Clara！’ said Mr。 Murdstone sternly。 ‘Clara！ I wonder at you。’
‘Oh； it’s very well to say you wonder； Edward！’ cried my mother；
‘and it’s very well for you to talk about firmness； but you wouldn’t
like it yourself。’
Firmness； I may observe； was the grand quality on which both
Mr。 and Miss Murdstone took their stand。 However I might have
expressed my comprehension of it at that time； if I had been called
upon； I nevertheless did clearly comprehend in my own way； that
it was another name for tyranny； and for a certain gloomy；
arrogant； devil’s humour； that was in them both。 The creed； as I
should state it now； was this。 Mr。 Murdstone was firm； nobody in
his world was to be so firm as Mr。 Murdstone； nobody else in his
world was to be firm at all； for everybody was to be bent to his
firmness。 Miss Murdstone was an exception。 She might be firm；
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David Copperfield
but only by relationship； and in an inferior and tributary degree。
My mother was another exception。 She might be firm； and must
be； but only in bearing their firmness； and firmly believing there
was no other firmness upon earth。
‘It’s very hard；’ said my mother； ‘that in my own house—’
‘My own house？’ repeated Mr。 Murdstone。 ‘Clara！’
‘Our own house； I mean；’ faltered my mother； evidently
frightened—‘I hope you must know what I mean； Edward—it’s
very hard that in your own house I may not have a word to say
about domestic matters。 I am sure I managed very well before we
were married。 There’s evidence；’ said my mother； sobbing； ‘ask
Peggotty if I didn’t do very well when I wasn’t interfered with！’
‘Edward；’ said Miss Murdstone； ‘let there be an end of this。 I go
tomorrow。’
‘Jane Murdstone；’ said her brother； ‘be silent！ How dare you to
insinuate that you don’t know my character better than your
words imply？’
‘I am sure；’ my poor mother went on； at a grievous
disadvantage； and with many tears； ‘I don’t want anybody to go。 I
should be very miserable and unhappy if anybody was to go。 I
don’t ask much。 I am not unreasonable。 I only want to be
consulted sometimes。 I am very much obliged to anybody who
assists me； and I only want to be consulted as a mere form；
sometimes。 I thought you were pleased； once； with my being a
little inexperienced and girlish； Edward—I am sure you said so—
but you seem to hate me for it now； you are so severe。’
‘Edward；’ said Miss Murdstone； again； ‘let there be an end of
this。 I go tomorrow。’
‘Jane Murdstone；’ thundered Mr。 Murdstone。 ‘Will you be
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David Copperfield
silent？ How dare you？’
Miss Murdstone made a jail…delivery of her pocket…
handkerchief； and held it before her eyes。
‘Clara；’ he continued； looking at my mother； ‘you surprise me！
You astound me！ Yes； I had a satisfaction in the thought of
marrying an inexperienced and artless person； and forming her
character； and infusing into it some amount of that firmness and
decision of which it stood in need。 But when Jane Murdstone is
kind enough to come to my assistance in this endeavour； and to
assume； for my sake； a condition something like a housekeeper’s；
and when she meets with a base return—’
‘Oh； pray； pray； Edward；’ cried my mother； ‘don’t accuse me of
being ungrateful。 I am sure I am not ungrateful。 No one ever said I
was before。 I have many faults； but not that。 Oh； don’t； my dear！’
‘When Jane Murdstone meets； I say；’ he went on； after waiting
until my mother was silent； ‘with a base return； that feeling of
mine is chilled and altered。’
‘Don’t； my love； say that！’ implored my mother very piteously。
‘Oh； don’t； Edward！ I can’t bear to hear it。 Whatever I am； I am
affectionate。 I know I am affectionate。 I wouldn’t say it； if I wasn’t
sure that I am。 Ask Peggotty。 I am sure she’ll tell you I’m
affectionate。’
‘There is no extent of mere weakness； Clara；’ said Mr。
Murdstone in reply； ‘that can have the least weight with me。 You
lose breath。’
‘Pray let us be friends；’ said my mother； ‘I couldn’t live under
coldness or unkindness。 I am so sorry。 I have a great many defects；
I know； and it’s very good of you； Edward； with your strength of
mind； to endeavour to correct them for me。 Jane； I don’t object to
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David Copperfield
anything。 I should be quite broken…hearted if you thought of
leaving—’ My mother was too much overcome to go on。
‘Jane Murdstone；’ said Mr。 Murdstone to his sister； ‘any harsh
words between us are； I hope； uncommon。 It is not my fault that so
unusual an occurrence has taken place tonight。 I was betrayed
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；
