(2) CHARLES DICKENS: DAVID COPPERFIELD: CHAPTER 2: I OBSERVE

 I OBSERVE

Into the blank of my infancy came the first impressions - my mother and Peggotty.  My mother with her beautiful hair and youthful shape.  Peggotty with no shape at all, but her dark eyes red and hard arms and cheeks.   I remember them at a little distance stooping or kneeling down, and I walking unsteadily from one to the other.  I can feel the touch of Peggotty's forefinger as she used to hold it towards me.  A forefinger roughened by needlework.  I think most of us inherit this faculty to observe, but later loose it.  First and foremost, my mother and Peggotty stand out clear in my infant memory.  What else do I remember? Let me see.

There comes our house, quite familiar.   On the ground floor is Peggotty's kitchen opening to a backyard; with a pigeon house on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeon in it; a great dog kennel in a corner without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, walking about, in a menacing and ferocious manner.   There is one cock who gets upon a post to crow and seems to take particular notice of me as I look at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is something fierce.   Of the gees outside the side-gate who come waddling after me with their long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream at night; as a man surrounded by wild beasts in dream.

Here is a long passage- what an enormous perspective I make of it- leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front door.   A dark store-room opens out of it, and that is a place to be run past at night; for I don't know what may be among those tubs and jars and old tea chests in dim light, the smell of soap, pickles, candles, coffee all at one whiff in the air.  There are two parlours; the parlour which we sit of in the evening where Peggotty join us in free time, and the best parlour we sit on Sundays, this one very grand but not comfortable, a sad air about that room- Peggotty told me, it was where my father lay, relatives and friends around him, in mourning.  One Sunday night my mother reads to  Peggotty and me in there,  how Lazarus was raised up from the dead.

And I am so frightened that they took me out of bed and show me the churchyard, out of the bedroom window, the dead in their graves under solemn moon.  

The quiet tombstones on the green grass under the shady trees.  The sheep are feeding on the green grass,when I kneel up, early in the morning in my little bed in a closet within my mother's room to look out at it, and I see the red light shining on the sun dial.

Peggotty  sits on the high pew by the window during service and look at our house as if to make sure it is there, that it is not robbed or in flames.  Though her eyes wandered, she frowns at me standing on the pew to look at the clergy man. I can't always look at him.  I am afraid of his wondering why I stare.  It is a dreadful thing to gape, but I must do something.  I look at my mother but she pretends not to see me.  I look at the boy in the aisle, and he makes faces at me.  I look at the sunlight coming at the open door through the porch, and there I see a stray sheep - I don't mean a sinner, but mutton - half making up his mind to come into the church.  If I looked at him longer, I might say something aloud; and what would become of me then!  I look up at the monumental tablets on the wall, and try to think of Mr Bodgers late of this parish, and what the feelings of Mrs Bodgers must have been, when affliction sore, longtime Mr Bodgers bore, and physicians were in vain.  I wonder whether they called in Mr Chillip, and he was in vain.  I look from Mr Chillip in his Sunday neck cloth, to the pulpit; and I think what a good place it would be to play in, and what a castle it would make, with another boy coming up the stairs to attack it, and having the velvet cushion with tassels thrown down on his head.  My eyes gradually shut up, and I see the clergyman singing a drowsy song in the heat, I hear nothing, until I fall off the seat with a crash, and am taken out, more dead than alive, by Peggotty.

The out side of my house.  The latticed bedroom windows of my house, standing open let in sweet smelling air.  The old ragged nests still dangling in the elm trees at the bottom of front garden.  Now I am in the garden at the back, beyond the empty pigeon house and the dog kennel.  A very preserve of butterflies, with a high fence, a gate and padlock; where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer, and my mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by bolting furtive gooseberries, and trying to look unmoved.  A great wind rises and the summer is gone in a moment.  We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlour.  My mother rests herself in the elbow chair, winding her bright curls round her fingers, and straightening her waist, and nobody knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being pretty.  We were both a little afraid of Peggotty and followed her directions.

One night, by the parlour fire, Peggotty and I were sitting alone.  I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles.  I was not clear in my reading, and Peggotty got cloudy, and took vegetables for crocodiles, and I felt sleepy, but I must not sleep till the return of my mother who had gone to a neighbour.  The sleep crept into my eyes.  Peggotty seemed to swell and grow.  I propped up my eyelids open with my two fore-fingers; and looked at her as she sat at work; at the little bit of wax candle she kept for her thread- how old it looked being wrinkled in all directions! - at the little house with a thatched roof, where the yard measure lived; at her work box with a sliding lid, with view of St Paul's cathedral, with a pink dome painted on the top; at the brass thimble on her finger; at herself, whom I thought so lovely.  l got so sleepy and to check it I said suddenly,  'Peggotty, were

 you ever married?'

'Lord, Master Davy, what's put marriage in your head? 

Her question was with such a start that it woke me up.  She stopped her work and looked at me, with her needle drawn out to its thread's length.

'But were you ever married Peggotty? You are a handsome woman a'nt you?' was my reply.

My mother was a beauty.  Peggotty was another beauty of another kind.  There was a velvet footstool in our best parlour on which my mother had painted a bunch of sweet smelling flower.  The ground work of that stool and Peggotty's complexion appeared to me the same. 

The stool was smooth and Peggotty was rough.

'Me handsome, Davy! Look, no, my dear. But what put marriage in your head?'

'I don't know.  But you mustn't marry more than one at a time.  May you Peggotty?'

'Certainly not.'

'But if you marry a person and that person dies, you may marry another, may not you Peggotty?'

'You may, if you choose, my dear.  That's a matter of opinion'

'But what is your opinion, Peggotty?'

'My opinion is,' said Peggotty taking her eyes from me, and after a little indecision and going on with her work, 'that I never was married myself, and that I don't expect to be.  That's all I know about the subject.'

You aren't cross, I suppose, Peggotty, are you?' said I, after sitting quiet for a minute.

I really thought she was, she had been so short with me, but I was quite mistaken; she laid aside her work ( which was a stocking of her own), and opening her arms wide, took my curly head within them, and gave it a good squeeze.  I know it was a good squeeze, because, being very plumb, whenever she made a little exertion after she was dressed some of the buttons on the back of her gown flew off.  And I recollect the two bursting to the opposite side of the parlour, while she was hugging me.

'Now let me hear some more about crorkindills, for l haven't heard half enough,' said Peggotty

I couldn't understand why Peggotty looked so queer, or why she was ready to go back to crocodiles.  However we returned to those monsters with fresh wakefulness and we left their eggs in the sands to hatch in the sun; and we ran away from them, and baffled them by constantly turning, which they could not, and we went into the water after them, as natives, and put sharp pieces of timber into their throats, and in short we ran the whole crocodiles gauntlet.  But I had my doubts of Peggotty, who was thoughtful, sticking her needles to here and there on her arms and face.

We had exhausted crocodiles, and begun with alligators, when the garden bell rang.  We went out to the door, and there was my mother, looking unusually pretty, and with her a gentleman with beautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last Sunday

As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms, and kiss me, the gentleman said I was more highly privileged little fellow than a monarch- or something like that.

'What does that mean,' I asked over her shoulder

He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn't like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hands should touch my mother's in touching me- which it did.  I put it away as well as I could.

'Oh, Davy!' remonstrate  my mother.

'Dear boy!' said the gentleman, 'I cannot wonder at his devotion'.

I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother's face before.  She gently chide me for being rude; and keeping me close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for taking so much trouble to bring her home.  She put out her hand to him as she spoke, and, he met it with his own, she glanced, I thought, at me.

'Let us say good night, my boy,' said the gentleman, when he bent his head- I saw him - over my mother's little glove.

'Good night,' said I

 

'Come! let us be the best friends in the world', said the gentleman laughing.  'Shake hands.'

My right hand was in my mother's left.  So I gave him the other.

'Why, that's the wrong hand, Davy!' laughed the gentleman.

My mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, for my former reason, not to give him, and I did not.  I gave him the other, and he shook it heartily, and said I was a brave fellow, and went away.

At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give us a last look with his ill- omen black eyes, before the door was shut.

Peggotty silently closed the door, and we all went into the parlour.  My mother instead of coming to the elbow chair, as her usual wont, remained at the other side of the room and sat singing to herself.

-'Hope you have had a pleasant evening ma'am,' said Peggotty, standing as stiff as a barrel in the middle of the room, with a candle in her hand.

'Much obliged to you, Peggotty,' returned my mother in a cheerful voice. 'I have had a very pleasant evening.'

'A stranger or so makes an agreeable change,' suggested Peggotty.

'A very agreeable change indeed,' returned my mother.

Then I fell asleep, but not a sound sleep, I could hear voices, as if from a distant place.  When out of this slumber I found both of them in tears, and both talking.

'Not such a one as this, Mr Copperfield would not have liked,' said Peggotty.

'Good heavens! You will drive me mad! Have I never been married, Peggotty?'

'God knows you have ma'am.'

'Then how can you dare? How can you have the heart to make me so uncomfortable? How can you say such bitter things to me?

'The more is the reason for saying that it won't do. That it won't do.'

'How can you be so aggravating? How can you go on as if it was all settled? Nothing passed between us beyond common civilities.  What do you expect of me. Am I to shave my head and shut myself in?'  Thus my mother raised a volley of questions to Peggotty.  She was touched by these aspersions.

My mother comes to my elbow chair,  and caress me and articulate ' My dear Davy' and asks Peggotty whether she's wanting in her love.

'Nobody hinted such thing,' said Peggotty.

'You did Peggotty!' returned my mother.  'I inferred it from what you said, you unkind creature.' And her curse flowed like a flood, and she grew hysterics,  and asked me questions portraying herself bad, cruel and selfish mania; but in fact was directed towards Peggotty.  'Peggotty will love you, and Peggotty's love is better than mine, Davy.  I don't love you at all, do I?'

At this we all fell crying together; I think I was loudest of the party.  I was quite heart-broken, and afraid that in the first transports of wounded tenderness I called Peggotty a beast.  The honest creature was in pain.

We went to bed greatly dejected.  My sobs kept waking me for a long time, and one strong sob lifted me up in the bed and I found my mother leaning over me.  I fell asleep in her arms, and had a sound sleep.

On one Sunday ( Which Sunday I do not remember exactly) the gentleman was in the church, and he walked home with us.  He came in, too, to look at a famous geranium we had in the parlour window.  It did not appear to me that he took much notice of it, but before he went he asked my mother to give him a bit of blossom.  She begged him to choose it for himself, but he refused to do that - I could not understand why- so she plucked it for him, and gave it into his hand.  He said he would never, never part with it anymore; and I thought he must be quite a fool, not to know that it would fall to pieces in a day or two.

Peggotty began to be less with us, of an evening, than she had always been.  My mother deferred to her very much - more than usual, it occurred to me - and we were all three excellent friends; still we were different from what we used to be, and so not comfortable among ourselves.  Sometimes I fancied that Peggotty perhaps objected to my mother's wearing all the pretty dresses she had in her drawers, or to her going so often to visit at that neighbour's; but I couldn't, to my satisfaction, make out how it was.

Gradually, I used to his visits, but my dislike of him continued, and I had the uneasy jealousy of him.

One autumn morning I was with my mother, in the front garden when Mr Murdstone - I knew him by that name now - came by on horseback.  He reined up his horse to salute my mother, and said he was going to Lowestoft to see some friends who were with a yacht, and merrily proposed to take me on the saddle before him if I would like to ride.

The air was clear and pleasant, and the horse seemed to like riding, and he stood snorting and pawing at the garden gate, that I had a desire to go.  So I was sent upstairs to Peggotty to get tidy and clean, and in the meantime Mr Murdstone dismounted, and, with his horse's bridle drawn over his arm, walked slowly up and down on the outer side of sweet briar fence, while my mother walked slowly up and down on the inner to keep him company.  I recollect Peggotty and I peeping out at them, as they strolled along.  Peggotty turned cross in a moment, and brushed my hair in the wrong way, excessively hard.

Mr Murdstone and I were soon off, and trolling along the green turf by the side of the road.  He held me quite easily with one arm, and I don't think I was restless usually, but I could not make up my mind to sit in front of him, without turning my head sometimes, and looking up in his face.  He had that kind of shallow eye, no depth in it.  Several times when I glanced at him I wondered what he was thinking about.  His hair and whiskers were blacker and thicker.  I found him very handsome.  I have no doubt that my mother thought the same.

We went to a hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen were smoking in a room by themselves.  Each of them was lying on at least four chairs, and had a large rough jacket on.  In a corner was a heap of coats, and boat cloaks, and a flag, all bundled up together.

They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of manner when we came in, and said, 'Hallo, Murdstone, we thought you were dead!'

'Not yet,' said Mr Murdstone.

'And who is the shaver?'said one of the gentleman taking hold of me.

'That's Davy,' returned Mr Murdstone

'Davy who?' said the gentleman. 'Jones?'

'Copperfield,' said Mr Murdstone

'What! Bewitching Mrs Copperfield's 

encumbrance,' cried the gentleman. 'The pretty little widow?'

'Qunion,' said Mr Murdstone. 'Take care if you please. Somebody's sharp'

'Who is,' asked the gentleman, laughing.

I looked up being curious to know.

'Only Brooks of Sheffield' ( An imaginary character, a code used by the friends to mislead David) I was quite relieved to find that it was Brooks of Sheffield, for, at first, I really thought it was I.  There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when he was mentioned and Murdstone was a good deal amused also.  After some laughing, Qunion said, 'and what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield in reference to the projected business?'

'Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much about it at present,' replied Mr Murdstone; 'but he is not generally favourable, I believe.

There was more laugh at this time, and Mr Qunion said he would ring the bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks.  This he did, and when the wine came, he made me have a little, with a biscuit, and, before I drank it, stand up and say, 'confusion to Brooks of Sheffield.' The toast was received with great applause, and such a hearty laughter that it made me laugh too; at which they laughed more.  In short we quite enjoyed ourselves.

After that we walked about on the cliff, and sat on grass, and looked at things through a telescope- I could make out nothing myself when it was put to my eye, but I had pretended I could - and then we came back to the hotel to an early dinner.  All the time we were out, the two gentlemen smoked incessantly - which, I thought, if I might judge from the smell of their rough coats, they must have been doing ever since the coats had first came home from the tailor's.  I must not forget that we went on board the yacht, where they all three descended into the cabin, and were busy with some papers.  I saw them quite hard at work, when I looked down through the open skylight.  They left me, during this time, with a very nice man with very large head of red hair and a very small shiny hat upon it, who had got a cross-barred shirt or waist-coat on, with a 'skylark' in capital letters accross the chest.  I thought it was his name; and that as he lived on board of ship and hadn't a street door to put his name on, he put it there instead, but when I called him Mr Skylark, he said it meant the vessel.

Mr Murdstone was grave and steady than the two gentlemen.  They were very gay and careless.  They joked freely with one another, but seldom with him.  It appeared to me that he was more clever and cold than they were, and they regarded him seriously.  Once or twice when Mr Qunion was talking, he looked at Mr Murdstone sideways, as if to make sure of his being not displeased, and that when Mr Passnidge ( the other gentleman ) was in high spirits, he trod upon his foot, and gave him a secrete caution with his eyes to observe Mr Murdstone who was sitting stern and silent.  Nor do I recollect that Mr Murdstone laughed at all that day, except at the Sheffield joke - and that by and by was his own.

We went home early in the evening.  It was a very fine evening, and my mother and he had another stroll by the sweet briar while I was sent in to get my tea. When he was gone my mother asked me all about the day I had had, and what they had said and done.  I mentioned what they had said about her, and she laughed, and told me they were impudent fellows who talked nonsense - but I know it pleased her. I know it quite well as I know it now.  I took the opportunity of asking if she was at all acquainted with Mr Brooks of Sheffield, but she answered No, only she supposed he must be manufacturer in the knife and fork way.

Can I say of her face - altered as I have reason to remember it.  Can I say of her innocent and girlish beauty, that it faded, and was no more, when its breath falls on my cheeks now, as it fell that night.

I write of her just as she was when I had gone to bed after this talk, and she came to bid me good night.  She kneeled down playfully by the side of the bed, and laying her chin up on her hands, and laughing said: ' Davy, tell me again, I can't believe it.'

'Bewitching.' I began.  My mother put her hands upon my lips to stop me

'It was never bewitching,' she said, laughing.  It never could have been bewitching, Davy.  Now I know it was not.' 

'Yes it was.  Bewitching Mrs Copperfield,' I repeated stoutly.  ' And pretty'

'No,no, it was never pretty,' interposed my mother laying her fingers on my lips again.

'Yes it was, pretty little widow.'

'What foolish impudent creatures!' cried my mother laughing and covering her face.

'What ridiculous men! An't they? Davy dear.

'Well ma.'

'Don't tell Peggotty; she might be angry with them.  I am dreadfully angry with them myself, I would rather Peggotty didn't know

I promised of course; and we kissed one another over and over again and I soon fell asleep.

One evening, we were sitting as before (my mother was out as before), Peggotty after looking me several times, and opening her mouth as if she were going to speak, but without doing it, said in a coaxing way 'Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me and spend a fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth? Wouldn't that be a treat'

'Is your brother an agreeable man Peggotty?,' I inquired.

'Oh, what an agreeable man he is!' cried Peggotty holding up her hands. 'Then there is sea; and the boats and ships; and the fishermen; and the beach and Am to play with.'

Peggotty mentioned her nephew Ham mentioned in the first chapter.  I was delighted and replied that it would be a treat.

'But what would my mother say?' said I

'That she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if you like as soon as she comes home. There now!'

'But what's she to do while we are away?' said a I putting my small elbows on the table to argue my point. 'She can't live by herself.'

'Oh! bless you,' said Peggotty.  'Don't you know she's going to stay a fortnight with Mrs Grayper's.  Mrs Grayper's going to have a lot of company.'

'Oh if that was it, I was quite ready to go.' I waited in the utmost impatience until my mother came home from Mrs Grayper's.  Without being much surprised my mother entered into it readily, and it was all arranged that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were to be paid for. I was eager to leave my happy home.  But I never suspected that I leave my happy home for ever.

When the carrier's cart was at the gate, my mother stood there kissing me, a fondness for her and for the home made me cry.  My mother cried too, and I felt her heart beat against mine. When the carrier began to move my mother ran out at the gate and called to stop.  She might kiss me once more, I thought.  She earnestly lifted up her face to mine.  Sudden and unexpected  appearance of Mr Murdstone, put a cut of the event.  He seemed to argue with her against being so moved.  I was looking back round the awning of the cart and Peggotty was looking the other way, and as she turned her eyes towards me, the carrier moved.  As it rattled along the track I cling to the tiny view of my mother by the side of Mr Murdstone.  I wondered what the business it was of his.

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