David Copperfield

by Charles Dickens

  "Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been inquiring for me at all," said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a glass of wine, and drinking to me. "As to understanding him, you are a cleverer fellow than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that."

  "That's true, indeed," said I, moving my chair to the table. "So you have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!"--interested to know all about it. "Have you been there long?"

  "No," he returned. "An escapade of a week or so."

  "And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married yet?"

  "Not yet. Going to be, I believe--in so many weeks, or months, or something or other. I have not seen much of 'em. By-the-by," he laid down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great diligence, and began feeling in his pockets, "I have a letter for you."

  "From whom?"

  "Why, from your old nurse," he returned, taking some papers out of his breast pocket. "'J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to the Willing Mind,' that's not it. Patience, and we'll find it presently. Old what's-his-name's in a bad way, and it's about that, I believe."

  "Barkis, do you mean?"

  "Yes!" still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents, "it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a little apothecary there--surgeon, or whatever he is--who brought your worship into the world. He was mighty learned about the case, to me, but the upshot of his opinion was that the carrier was making his last journey rather fast.--Put your hand into the breast pocket of my greatcoat on the chair yonder, and I think you'll find the letter. Is it there?"

  "Here it is!" said I.

  "That's right!"

  It was from Peggotty, something less legible than usual, and brief. It informed me of her husband's hopeless state, and hinted at his being "a little nearer" than heretofore, and consequently more difficult to manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of her weariness and watching, and praised him highly. It was written with a plain, unaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine, and ended with "my duty to my ever darling"--meaning myself.

  While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink.

  "It's a bad job," he said, when I had done, "but the sun sets every day, and people die every minute, and we mustn't be scared by the common lot. If we failed to hold our own, because that equal foot at all men's doors was heard knocking somewhere, every object in this world would slip from us. No! Ride on! Rough-shod if need be, smooth-shod if that will do, but ride on! Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!"

  "And win what race?" said I.

  "The race that one has started in," said he. "Ride on!"

  I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with his handsome head a little thrown back, and his glass raised in his hand, that, though the freshness of the sea-wind was on his face, and it was ruddy, there were traces in it, made since I last saw it, as if he had applied himself to some habitual strain of the fervent energy which, when roused, was so passionately roused within him. I had it in my thoughts to remonstrate with him upon his desperate way of pursuing any fancy that he took--such as this buffeting of rough seas, and braving of hard weather, for example--when my mind glanced off to the immediate subject of our conversation again, and pursued that instead.

  "I tell you what, Steerforth," said I, "if your high spirits will listen to me------"

  "They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like," he answered, moving from the table to the fireside again.

  "Then I tell you what, Steerforth. I think I will go down and see my old nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, or render her any real service, but she is so attached to me that my visit will have as much effect on her as if I could do both. She will take it so kindly, that it will be a comfort and support to her. It is no great effort to make, I am sure, for such a friend as she has been to me. Wouldn't you go a day's journey, if you were in my place?"

  His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a little before he answered, in a low voice, "Well! Go. You can do no harm."

  "You have just come back," said I, "and it would be in vain to ask you to go with me?"

  "Quite," he returned. "I am for Highgate tonight. I have not seen my mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for it's something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son.--Bah! Nonsense!--You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?" he said, holding me out at arm's length, with a hand on each of my shoulders.

  "Yes, I think so."

  "Well, then, don't go till next day. I wanted you to come and stay a few days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you fly off to Yarmouth!"

  "You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who are always running wild on some unknown expedition or other!"

  He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined, still holding me as before, and giving me a shake:

  "Come! Say the next day, and pass as much of tomorrow as you can with us! Who knows when we may meet again, else? Come! Say the next day! I want you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me, and keep us asunder."

  "Would you love each other too much, without me?"

  "Yes, or hate," laughed Steerforth, "no matter which. Come! Say the next day!"

  I said the next day, and he put on his greatcoat and lighted his cigar, and set off to walk home. Finding him in this intention, I put on my own greatcoat (but did not light my own cigar, having had enough of that for one while) and walked with him as far as the open road, a dull road, then, at night. He was in great spirits all the way, and, when we parted, and I looked after him going so gallantly and airily homeward, I thought of his saying, "Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!" and wished, for the first time, that he had some worthy race to run.

  I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's letter tumbled on the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seal and read as follows. It was dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not sure whether I have mentioned that, when Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology, which he seemed to think equivalent to winding up his affairs.

  "Sir--for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,

  "It is expedient that I should inform you that the undersigned is Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature knowledge of his calamitous position, you may observe in him this day, but hope has sunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed.

  "The present communication is penned within the personal range (I cannot call it the society) of an individual, in a state closely bordering on intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual is in legal possession of the premises, under a distress for rent. His inventory includes, not only the chattels and effects of every description belonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this habitation, but also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a member of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple.

  "If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which is now 'commended' (in the language of an immortal Writer) to the lips of the undersigned, it would be found in the fact that a friendly acceptance granted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned Mr. Thomas Traddles, for the sum of PS23 4s. 91/2d. is overdue, and is NOT provided for. Also in the fact that the living responsibilities clinging to the undersigned, will, in the course of nature, be increased by the sum of one more helpless victim, whose miserable appearance may be looked for--in round numbers --at the expiration of a period not exceeding six lunar months from the present date.

  "After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation to add that dust and dashes are for ever scattered "On

  "The

  "Head

  "Of

  "WILKINS MICAWBER."

  Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to foresee that he might be expected to recover the blow, but my night's rest was sorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of the curate's daughter, who was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and who was such a dear girl, and who would wait for
Traddles (ominous praise!) until she was sixty, or any age that could be mentioned.

  CHAPTER XXIX

  I Visit Steerforth at His Home Again

  I MENTIONED TO MR. SPENLOW IN THE MORNING THAT I wanted leave of absence for a short time, and, as I was not in receipt of any salary, and consequently was not obnoxious to the implacable Jorkins, there was no difficulty about it. I took that opportunity, with my voice sticking in my throat, and my sight failing as I uttered the words, to express my hope that Miss Spenlow was quite well, to which Mr. Spenlow replied, with no more emotion than if he had been speaking of an ordinary human being, that he was much obliged to me, and she was very well.

  We articled clerks, as germs of the patrician order of proctors, were treated with so much consideration that I was almost my own master at all times. As I did not care, however, to get to Highgate before one or two o'clock in the day, and, as we had another little excommunication case in court that morning, which was called The office of the Judge promoted by Tipkins against Bullock for his soul's correction, I passed an hour or two in attendance on it with Mr. Spenlow very agreeably. It arose out of a scuffle between two church-wardens, one of whom was alleged to have pushed the other against a pump, the handle of which pump projecting into a school-house, which school-house was under a gable of the church-roof, made the push an ecclesiastical offence. It was an amusing case, and sent me up to Highgate, on the box of the stage-coach, thinking about the Commons, and what Mr. Spenlow had said about touching the Commons and bringing down the country.

  Mrs. Steerforth was pleased to see me, and so was Rosa Dartle. I was agreeably surprised to find that Littimer was not there, and that we were attended by a modest little parlour-maid, with blue ribbons in her cap, whose eye it was much more pleasant, and much less disconcerting, to catch by accident, than the eye of that respectable man. But what I particularly observed, before I had been half-an-hour in the house, was the close and attentive watch Miss Dartle kept upon me, and the lurking manner in which she seemed to compare my face with Steerforth's, and Steerforth's with mine, and to lie in wait for something to come out between the two. So surely, as I looked towards her, did I see that eager visage, with its gaunt black eyes and searching brow, intent on mine, or passing suddenly from mine to Steerforth's, or comprehending both of us at once. In this lynx-like scrutiny she was so far from faltering when she saw I observed it, that at such a time she only fixed her piercing look upon me with a more intent expression still. Blameless as I was, and knew that I was, in reference to any wrong she could possibly suspect me of, I shrunk before her strange eyes, quite unable to endure their hungry lustre.

  All day, she seemed to pervade the whole house. If I talked to Steerforth in his room, I heard her dress rustle in the little gallery outside. When he and I engaged in some of our old exercises on the lawn behind the house, I saw her face pass from window to window, like a wandering light, until it fixed itself in one, and watched us. When we all four went out walking in the afternoon, she closed her thin hand on my arm like a spring, to keep me back, while Steerforth and his mother went on out of hearing, and then spoke to me.

  "You have been a long time," she said, "without coming here. Is your profession really so engaging and interesting as to absorb your whole attention? I ask because I always want to be informed, when I am ignorant. Is it really, though?"

  I replied that I liked it well enough, but that I certainly could not claim so much for it.

  "Oh! I am glad to know that, because I always like to be put right when I am wrong," said Rosa Dartle. "You mean it is a little dry, perhaps?"

  "Well," I replied, "perhaps it was a little dry."

  "Oh! and that's a reason why you want relief and change--excitement, and all that?" said she. "Ah! very true! But isn't it a little----Eh?--for him, I don't mean you?"

  A quick glance of her eye towards the spot where Steerforth was walking, with his mother leaning on his arm, showed me whom she meant, but beyond that, I was quite lost. And I looked so, I have no doubt.

  "Don't it--I don't say that it does, mind I want to know--don't it rather engross him? Don't it make him, perhaps; a little more remiss than usual in his visits to his blindly-doting --eh?" With another quick glance at them, and such a glance at me as seemed to look into my innermost thoughts.

  "Miss Dartle," I returned, "pray do not think----"

  "I don't!" she said. "Oh dear me, don't suppose that I think anything! I am not suspicious. I only ask a question. I don't state any opinion. I want to found an opinion on what you tell me. Then, it's not so? Well! I am very glad to know it."

  "It certainly is not the fact," said I, perplexed, "that I am accountable for Steerforth's having been away from home longer than usual--if he has been, which I really don't know at this moment, unless I understand it from you. I have not seen him this long while, until last night."

  "No?"

  "Indeed, Miss Dartle, no!"

  As she looked full at me, I saw her face grow sharper and paler, and the marks of the old wound lengthen out until it cut through the disfigured lip, and deep into the nether lip, and slanted down the face. There was something positively awful to me in this, and in the brightness of her eyes, as she said, looking fixedly at me:

  "What is he doing?"

  I repeated the words, more to myself than her, being so amazed.

  "What is he doing?" she said, with an eagerness that seemed enough to consume her like a fire. "In what is that man assisting him, who never looks at me without an inscrutable falsehood in his eyes? If you are honourable and faithful, I don't ask you to betray your friend. I ask you only to tell me, is it anger, is it hatred, is it pride, is it restlessness, is it some wild fancy, is it love, what is it, that is leading him?"

  "Miss Dartle," I returned, "how shall I tell you, so that you will believe me, that I know of nothing in Steerforth different from what there was when I first came here? I can think of nothing. I firmly believe there is nothing. I hardly understand even what you mean."

  As she still stood looking fixedly at me, a twitching or throbbing, from which I could not dissociate the idea of pain, came into that cruel mark, and lifted up the corner of her lip as if with scorn, or with a pity that despised its object. She put her hand upon it hurriedly--a hand so thin and delicate, that when I had seen her hold it up before the fire to shade her face, I had compared it in my thoughts to fine porcelain --and saying, in a quick, fierce, passionate way, "I swear you to secrecy about this!" said not a word more.

  Mrs. Steerforth was particularly happy in her son's society, and Steerforth was, on this occasion, particularly attentive and respectful to her. It was very interesting to me to see them together, not only on account of their mutual affection, but because of the strong personal resemblance between them, and the manner in which what was haughty or impetuous in him was softened by age and sex, in her, to a gracious dignity. I thought, more than once, that it was well no serious cause of division had ever come between them, or two such natures--I ought rather to express it, two such shades of the same nature--might have been harder to reconcile than the two extremest opposites in creation. The idea did not originate in my own discernment, I am bound to confess, but in a speech of Rosa Dartle's.

  She said at dinner:

  "Oh, but do tell me, though, somebody, because I have been thinking about it all day, and I want to know."

  "You want to know what, Rosa?" returned Mrs. Steerforth. "Pray, pray, Rosa, do not be mysterious."

  "Mysterious!" she cried. "Oh! really? Do you consider me so?"

  "Do I constantly entreat you," said Mrs. Steerforth, "to speak plainly, in your own natural manner?"

  "Oh! then this is not my natural manner?" she rejoined. "Now you must really bear with me, because I ask for information. We never know ourselves."

  "It has become a second nature," said Mrs. Steerforth, without any displeasure, "but I remember--and so must you, I think--when your manner was different, Rosa, when it was not so guarded,
and was more trustful."

  "I am sure you are right," she returned, "and so it is that bad habits grow upon one! Really? Less guarded and more trustful? How can I, imperceptibly, have changed, I wonder! Well, that's very odd! I must study to regain my former self."

  "I wish you would," said Mrs. Steerforth, with a smile.

  "Oh! I really will, you know!" she answered. "I will learn frankness from--let me see--front James."

  "You cannot learn frankness, Rosa," said Mrs. Steerforth quickly--for there was always some effect of sarcasm in what Rosa Dartle said, though it was said, as this was, in the most unconscious manner in the world--"in a better school."

  "That I am sure of," she answered, with uncommon fervour. "If I am sure of anything, of course, you know, I am sure of that."

  Mrs. Steerforth appeared to me to regret having been a little nettled, for she presently said, in a kind tone:

  "Well, my dear Rosa, we have not heard what it is that you want to be satisfied about?"

  "That I want to be satisfied about?" she replied, with provoking coldness. "Oh! It was only whether people, who are like each other in their moral constitution--is that the phrase?"

  "It's as good a phrase as another," said Steerforth.

  "Thank you--whether people, who are like each other in their moral constitution, are in greater danger than people not so circumstanced, supposing any serious cause of variance to arise between them, of being divided angrily and deeply?"

  "I should say yes," said Steerforth.

  "Should you?" she retorted. "Dear me! Supposing then, for instance--any unlikely thing will do for a supposition--that you and your mother were to have a serious quarrel."

  "My dear Rosa," interposed Mrs. Steerforth, laughing good-naturedly, "suggest some other supposition! James and I know our duty to each other better, I pray Heaven!"

  "Oh!" said Miss Dartle, nodding her head thoughtfully. "To be sure. That would prevent it? Why, of course it would. Ex-actly. Now, I am glad I have been so foolish as to put the case, for it is so very good to know that your duty to each other would prevent it! Thank you very much."