*IV. I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT*
And now I fell into a state of neglect, which I cannot look back uponwithout sorrow. I was as one alone--apart from all friendly notice,apart from the society of all other boys of my own age, apart from allcompanionship but my own spiritless thoughts,--which seems to cast itsgloom upon this paper as I write.
What would I have given to have been sent to the hardest school thatever was kept--to have been taught something, anyhow, anywhere? No suchhope dawned upon me. They disliked me; and they steadily overlooked me.I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about this time; but itis little to the purpose. He could not bear me; and in putting me fromhim he tried, as I believe, to put away the notion that I had any claimupon him--and succeeded.
I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved; but day byday I was made to feel that I was in the way, and an altogether uselessmember of society. Finally Mr. Murdstone called me to him one day, andtold me that he could not afford to send me to school, but that I mustgo to work for myself. He had a partner in the wine trade in London,and I was to be given a position there.
Accordingly, Miss Murdstone packed me off without loss of time; and Iwent to work--at ten years old--washing bottles in a vile-smellingwarehouse down by the water-side.
There were three or four of us boys, counting me; and I was shown how towork by an older lad whose name was Mick Walker, and who wore a raggedapron and paper cap. He introduced me to another boy by the queer nameof Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, later, that this youth had started outwith another name, but had been given this one on account of a pale,mealy complexion.
No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sank into thiscompanionship; compared these associates with those of my happierchildhood--not to say with Steerforth, Traddles, and the rest of thoseboys; and felt my hopes of growing up to be a learned and distinguishedman crushed in my bosom. The feeling of being utterly without hope; ofthe shame I felt in my position; of the misery it was to believe thatwhat I had learned would pass away from me, little by little, never tobe brought back any more; cannot be written. As often as Mick Walkerwent away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled my tears with thewater in which I was washing the bottles. But I was careful never tolet the others see me in tears.
I was given the splendid salary of seven shillings[#] a week for myservices, and out of that I had to feed and clothe myself. My lodgingswere provided for, at the home of a Mr. Micawber, a portly, dignifiedman with a large, shiny bald head and rusty, genteel clothes. Mr.Micawber was perpetually dodging creditors while he waited for"something to turn up," as he expressed it. But in his way he was kindto me.
[#] About $1.68.
Still I had no one upon earth to go to for friendship or advice, I mustneeds skimp and save to be sure of having enough bread and cheese toeat; and no one lifted a finger to help me, a frightened little strangerin a large, terrifying city. I look back upon it now as a horribledream. I know that I worked from morning till night with common men andboys, a shabby child. I know that I lounged about the streets poorlyclothed and half starved. I know that but for the mercy of God, I mighteasily have been--for any other care that was taken of me--a littlethief or vagabond.
But in these darkest days a bright idea came to me--I don't know when orhow, but come it did, and refused to depart. I remembered having heardof an aunt, Miss Betsey Trotwood, my dear father's sister. I had heardboth my mother and Peggotty speak of her, with some awe, it is true, asbeing a rather eccentric woman, who did not like boys, but still Iresolved to find her. So I wrote to Peggotty and asked the address, andalso for the loan of half a guinea. I had resolved to run away andappeal to my aunt for protection.
Peggotty's answer soon came with much love and the half guinea. Shetold me that Miss Betsey lived near Dover, but she couldn't say exactlywhere. This was vague enough, but didn't deter me in the slightest. Iworked my week out at the warehouse, and, bidding Mick Walker and MealyPotatoes good-bye, ran away forthwith. I may have had the notion ofrunning all the way to Dover when I started. I had a small box ofclothes and the half guinea, but a carter robbed me of both of them thefirst day. So, reduced to a few odd pence, I made but slow progress onfoot, and sleeping out in the open by night.
For six days I trudged my weary way, pawning my coat for food, and notdaring to ask aid from any one, for fear of being seized and sent backto London. But at last I limped in upon the bare white downs nearDover, sunburnt and in rags.
By dint of inquiries I was directed to Miss Betsey Trotwood's house, andI lost no time in going there--a sorry enough figure, as you mayimagine. It was a neat little cottage looking out from some cliffs uponthe sea.
As I stood at the gate peeping in and wondering how I had best proceed,a tall, slim lady came out of the house. She had a handkerchief tiedover her cap, a pair of gardener's gloves on her hands, and carried apruning-knife.
"Go away!" said Miss Betsey (for it was none other), shaking her headwhen she saw me, and making a distant chop in the air with her knife."Go along! No boys here!"
I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched to a corner ofher garden, and stooped to dig a root. Then, without a scrap ofcourage, but with a great deal of desperation, I went softly in andstood beside her, touching her with my finger.
"If you please, ma'am," I began.
She started and looked up.
"If you please, aunt."
"EH?" exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I have never heardapproached.
"If you please, aunt, I am your nephew."
"Oh, Lord!" said my aunt, and sat flat down in the garden-path.
"I am David Copperfield, of the Rookery. I used to hear my dear mammaspeak of you before she died. I have been neglected and mistreated, andso I ran away and came to you. I was robbed at first setting out, andhave walked all the way, and have never slept in a bed since I began thejourney."
Here my self-support gave way all at once; and with a movement of myhands, intended to show her my ragged state, and call it to witness thatI had suffered something, I broke into a passion of crying, which Isuppose had been pent up within me all the week.
My aunt, with every sort of expression, sat on the gravel, staring atme, until I began to cry; when she got up in a great hurry, collared me,and took me into the parlor. Her first proceeding there was to unlock atall press, bring out several bottles, and pour some of the contents ofeach into my mouth. I think they must have been taken out at random,for I am sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing.Then she rang the bell.
"Janet," she said, when her servant came in, "go upstairs, give mycompliments to Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him."
Mr. Dick proved to be a pleasant-faced man of whimsical ways, but uponwhose advice my aunt greatly relied. As he proposed now that I be givena bath and put to bed, my aunt lost no time in following these ideas.
Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my aunt, to my greatalarm, became in one moment rigid with wrath, and had hardly voice tocry out, "Janet! Donkeys!"
Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the house were inflames, darted out on a little piece of green in front, and warned offtwo donkeys that had presumed to set hoof upon it; while my aunt,rushing out of the house, seized the bridle of a third animal, led himforth from those sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unluckyurchin in attendance.
To this hour I don't know whether my aunt had any lawful right of wayover that patch of green; but she had settled it in her own mind thatshe had, and it was all the same to her. The one great outrage of herlife, demanding to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkeyover that spot. No matter what she was doing or saying, a donkey turnedthe current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight.Jugs of water and watering-pots were kept in secret places ready to bedischarged on the offending boys; sticks were laid in ambush behind thedoor; sallies were made at all
hours; and incessant war prevailed.
Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys; or perhapsthe more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding how the case stood,stubbornly delighted in coming that way. I only know that there werethree alarms before the bath was ready; and that on the occasion of thelast and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single-handed,with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy head against herown gate, before he realized what was the matter. These interruptionswere the more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out of atablespoon at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I wasactually starving, and must receive food at first in very smallquantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, shewould put it back into the basin, cry "Janet! Donkeys!" and go out tothe assault.
The bath was a great comfort. For I began to be sensible of acute painsin my limbs from lying out in the fields, and was now so tired and lowthat I could hardly keep myself awake for five minutes together. When Ihad bathed they enrobed me in a shirt and a pair of trousers belongingto Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two or three great shawls. What sort ofbundle I looked like, I don't know, but I felt a very hot one. Feelingalso very faint and drowsy, I soon fell asleep.
The next morning at breakfast my aunt said, with a determined shake ofher head, "Well, I've written to him."
"To whom?" I ventured.
"To Mr. Murdstone."
"Does he know where I am, aunt?" I inquired, alarmed.
"I have told him," said my aunt, with a nod.
"Shall I--be--given up to him?" I faltered.
"I don't know," said my aunt. "We shall see."
"Oh! I can't think what I shall do," I exclaimed, "if I have to go backto Mr. Murdstone!"
"I don't know anything about it," said my aunt, shaking her head. "Ican't say, I am sure. We shall see."
My spirits sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavyof heart.
For the next few days I felt like a criminal condemned to die; althoughmy aunt and Mr. Dick both were very kind to me. Finally the day of theexpected visit from Mr. Murdstone arrived, but without bringing him tilllate in the afternoon. Our dinner had been postponed; but it wasgrowing so late that my aunt had ordered it to be got ready, when shegave a sudden alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation, I beheld MissMurdstone, on a side-saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece ofgreen, and stop in front of the house, looking about her.
"Go along with you!" cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist out ofthe window. "You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Goalong! Oh, you bold-faced thing!"
My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstonelooked about her, that I really believe she did not know what to do. Ihastened to tell her who it was, and that Mr. Murdstone was followingbehind, but it made no difference. She glared at them as they enteredthe room in a most terrible way.
"Oh!" said my aunt, "I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasureof objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I makeno exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it."
"Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers," said Miss Murdstone.
"_Is_ it!" said my aunt.
Mr. Murdstone here cleared his throat and began, "Miss Trotwood--"
"I beg your pardon," observed my aunt, with a keen look. "You are theMr. Murdstone."
"I am," said Mr. Murdstone.
"You'll excuse my saying, sir," returned my aunt, "that I think it wouldhave been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poorchild alone."
Mr. Murdstone colored, and Miss Murdstone looked as though she couldbite nails.
"I received your letter," said Mr. Murdstone, "and thought it best tosee you personally about this unhappy boy who has run away from hisfriends and his position. I need not tell you that he has always givenus great trouble and uneasiness. He is sullen and stubborn and has aviolent temper. I thought it best that you should know this."
"It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by mybrother," said Miss Murdstone; "but I beg to observe, that, of all theboys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy."
"Strong!" said my aunt, shortly.
"But not at all too strong for the facts," returned Miss Murdstone.
"Ha!" said my aunt. "Well, sir?"
"Upon the death of his mother," continued Mr. Murdstone, scowling, "Iobtained a respectable place for him--"
"Was it the sort of place you would have put a boy of your own in?"asked my aunt.
"If he had been my brother's own boy," returned Miss Murdstone, strikingin, "his character, I trust, would have been altogether different."
"Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would still havegone into the respectable business, would he?" said my aunt.
"I believe," said Mr. Murdstone, with a nod of his head, "that Clarawould have disputed nothing which myself and my sister were agreed wasfor the best."
"Humph!" said my aunt. "Well, sir, what next?"
"Merely this, Miss Trotwood," he returned. "I am here to take Davidback--to take him back unconditionally, and to deal with him as I thinkright. I am not here to make any promise to anybody. You may possiblyhave some idea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away.Your manner induces me to think it possible. Now I must caution youthat if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all. I cannottrifle, or be trifled with. I am here, for the first and last time, totake him away. Is he ready to go? If he is not, my doors are shutagainst him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are opened tohim."
To this address my aunt had listened with the closest attention, sittingperfectly upright, with her hands folded on one knee, and looking grimlyon the speaker. When he had finished, she turned her eyes so as tocommand Miss Murdstone, and said,
"Well, ma'am, have you got anything to remark?"
"Indeed, Miss Trotwood," said Miss Murdstone, "all that I could say hasbeen so well said by my brother, that I have nothing to add except mythanks for your politeness."
This ironical remark, however, was wholly lost.
"And what does the boy say?" said my aunt. "Are you ready to go, David?"
I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said that neitherMr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had ever been kind to me.That they had made my mamma, who always loved me dearly, unhappy aboutme, and that I knew it well, and that Peggotty knew it. And I begged andprayed my aunt--I forget in what terms now, but I remember that theyaffected me very much then--to befriend and protect me, for my father'ssake.
"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "what shall I do with this child?"
"Have him measured for a suit of clothes, directly," said Mr. Dick, inhis usual sudden way.
"Mr. Dick," said my aunt, triumphantly, "give me your hand, for yourcommon sense is invaluable."
Having shaken it with great cordiality, she pulled me towards her, andsaid to Mr. Murdstone:
"You can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy. If he'sall you say he is, at least I can do as much for him then as you havedone. But I don't believe a word of it."
"Miss Trotwood," rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders, as herose, "if you were a gentleman--"
"Bah! stuff and nonsense!" said my aunt. "Don't talk to me!"
"How exquisitely polite!" exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising."Overpowering, really!"
"Do you think I don't know," said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to thesister, and continuing to address the brother, and to shake her head athim, "what kind of life you must have led that poor, little woman youcajoled into marrying you? Do you think I don't know what a woeful dayit was for her and her boy when _you_ first came in her way?"
And thereupon she read him such a lecture as I warrant he had neverlistened to before in his life, nor ever would again. He bit his lip insilence while she lectured, and all the color left his face. MissMurdstone tried to interrupt the flow of
words repeatedly, with nosuccess at all. When she had ended--
"Good day, sir," said my aunt, "and good-bye! Good day to you, too,ma'am," turning suddenly upon his sister. "Let me see you ride a donkeyover _my_ green again, and as sure as you have a head upon yourshoulders, I'll knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it!"
It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict myaunt's face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected sentiment,and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard it. But the manner of thespeech, no less than the matter, was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone,without a word in answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother's,and walked haughtily out of the cottage; my aunt remaining in the windowlooking after them, prepared, I have no doubt, to carry her threat intoinstant execution.
No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face gradually relaxed,and became so pleasant that I was emboldened to kiss and thank her;which I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms clasped roundher neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me agreat many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings withrepeated bursts of laughter.
"You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of this child, Mr.Dick," said my aunt.
"I shall be delighted," said Mr. Dick, "to be the guardian of David'sson."
"Very good," returned my aunt, "that's settled. I have been thinking,do you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood?"
"Yes, to be sure. Trotwood Copperfield," said Mr. Dick.
My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready-made clothes,which were purchased for me the next day, were marked "TrotwoodCopperfield," in her own handwriting, and in indelible marking-ink,before I put them on.
Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new aboutme. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many days, likeone in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple ofguardians in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything aboutmyself, distinctly. While a remoteness had come upon the oldlife--which seemed to lie in the haze of an immeasurable distance.
In my new life I was to realize some of my youthful ambitions. I was tostruggle, perhaps, but I was to succeed. And I was to find that myaunt--for all her gruff exterior--had a heart of gold.
But whatever there was of happiness or of sorrow, of success or offailure, in my new life, does not belong to these pages. The identityof the child, and of the boy, David Copperfield, is now forever mergedin the personality of Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire, the ProspectiveMan.
* * * * * * * *
Stories from Dickens Page 22
