(8) CHARLES DICKENS: DAVID COPPERFIELD: CHAPTER 8: HAPPY HOLIDAYS

We arrived at an inn, before day, where the mail stopped.  It was not the inn of my previous journey, where my friend waiter lived.  This was a different one.  I was lead to a nice room, on the door of which was painted with the word DOLPHIN.  Downstairs, before a large  fire, they had given me a tea. Inspite of the tea I was cold.  I was very glad to turn into DOLPHIN's bed, pulled the blankets over my head and fell into sleep.

Mr Barkis, the carrier was to call for me at nine o'clock.  So I got up at eight.  I was giddy because of short sleep, but ready for him at the appointed time.  He received me exactly as if not five minutes had elapsed since we were last together, while I had only been to the counter to get change for sixpence.

I and my box in the cart, the carrier seated, and the lazy horse walked walked away.

'You look very well, Barkis,' I said, thinking he would like to know it.

'Mr Barkis rubbed his cheek with his cuff, and then he looked at his cuff, as if he expected to find some of the bloom upon it; but made no other acknowledgement of the compliment.

'I gave your message, Barkis,' I said, 'I wrote to Peggotty.'

'Ah,' said Barkis.  He seemed gruff and drily.

'Wasn't it right, Mr Barkis?' I asked after a little hesitation.

'Why, no' 

'Not the message?'

'The message was right enough, perhaps,' said Mr Barkis, 'but it came to end there.'

Not understanding what he meant, l asked inquisitively, 'Came to an end, Mr Barkis? 

'Nothing come of it,' he explained, looking at me sideways, 'no answer.'

'There was an answer expected, was there Mr Barkis?, I said opening my eyes.  For this was a new light to me.

'When a man saying he's willing,' said Mr Barkis, turning his eyes slowly on me again, 'it's as much as to say that he's wanting for an answer.'

'Well, Mr Barkis?'

'Well,' said Mr Barkis carrying his eyes back to his horse's ears, 'that man's been waiting for an answer ever since.'

'Have you told her so, Mr Barkis?'

'No,no,' growled Mr Barkis reflecting on it.  'I haven't got no call to go and tell her so.'

'Would you like me to do so, Mr Barkis?' said I doubtfully.

'You might tell her, if you would,' said Mr Barkis, with another slow look at me, 'that's Barkis was a- waiting for an answer. Says you. - what name is it?'

'Her name?'

'Ah,' said Mr Barkis, with a nod of his head. 

'Peggotty.'

'Chrisen name or nat'ral name?

'Oh it's not her natural name. Her Christian name is Clara.'

'Is it though,' said Mr Barkis.

He sat inwardly reflecting and whistling for some time.

'Well,' he resumed at length.  Says you, "Barkis's waiting for an answer.  Says she, perhaps, 'Answer to what?' Says you "What I told you. "What's that?" says she.  "Barkis is willing,' says you.'

This extremely artful suggestion of Mr Barkis, accompanied with a nudge of his elbow gave me a quite stitch in my side.  After that, he touched over his horse in his usual manner; and made no other reference to the subject, except half an hour afterwards, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, and writing up inside the tilt of the cart- 'Clara Peggotty,' apparantly as a private memorandum.

Ah, what a strange feeling it was to be going home, when it was not at home, and everything  reminded me of the happy old home, which was a dream I could never dream against.  The days my mother and I and Peggotty were all in all to one another, and there was no one to come among us, rose up so sorrowfully before me, that I was not sure I was glad there in the cart, I would have rather remained away, in Steerforth's company.  But there I was, soon at our house; the bare old elm trees wrung their heavy hands in the bleak wintry air, and shreds of old rooks nests drifted away upon the wind.

The carrier put my box down at garden gate, and left me.  I walked along the path, towards the house, glancing at the windows, fearing at every step to see Mr Murdstone or Miss Murdstone, lowering out of one of them.  No face appeared however; and being come to the house, and knowing how to open the door, before dark, without knocking, I went in with a quite, timid step.

God knows how infantine the memory have been, that was awakened within me by the voice of my mother in the old parlour, when I set foot in the hall.  She was singing in a low tone.  I think I must have lain in her arms, and heard her singing so to me I was but a baby.  The strain was new to me yet it was so old that it filled my heart full; like a friend came back after a long absence. She was alone, I think, from the solitary and thoughtful way in which my mother murmured her song, she was alone.  And I went softly into the room.  She was sitting by the fire, suckling an infant, whose tiny hand she held against her neck.  She was looking down upon it's face, and she sat singing to it.  I was right, that she had no companion.

I spoke to her.  She started, and cried out.  But seeing me, she called me her dear Davy, her own boy! and coming half accross the room to meet me, kneeled upon the ground, and kissed me, and laid down her head on my bosom, near the little creature that was nestling there and put its hands to my lips.  Davy, my poor boy! my pretty child!

I wish I had died.  I wished I had died then, with that feeling in my heart!  I should have been more fit for heaven than I ever have been since.  'He is your brother,' said she fondling me. Davy my poor boy! my pretty child!  Then she kissed me more and more and clasped me round the neck.  This she was doing when Peggotty came running in, and bounced down on the ground beside us, and went mad about us both for quarter of an hour.

It seemed that I had not been expected so soon, the carrier being much earlier before usual time. It seemed that Mr and Miss Murdstone had gone out upon a visit in the neighborhood and would not return before night.  I had never expected this.  I had never expected that we three could be together, undisturbed, and I felt for the time, the old days were back.

We dined together by the fireside.  Peggotty was in attendance to wait upon us, but my mother wouldn't let her do it, and made her dine with us.  I had my own old plate, with a brown view of mam of war in full sail upon it, which Peggotty had hoarded somewhere all the time I had been away, and would not had broken, she said, for hundred pounds.  I had my own old mug with David on it, and my own old little knife and fork, that wouldn't cut.

While we were at table, I found the occassion to tell Peggotty, about Barkis, but before I finished, she began to laugh, and threw her apron over her face.

'Peggotty,' said my mother, 'what's the matter?'.  Peggotty only laughed the more, and held the apron more tightly over her face when my mother tried to pull it away, and sat as if it were in a bag.

'What are you doing?, stupid creature,' said my mother laughing.

'Oh, that man, he wants to marry me.'

'It would be a very good match for you, wouldn't it? said my mother.

'Oh, I don't know,' said Peggotty. 'I don't know.  I wouldn't have him if he were made of gold.  Nor I won't have any body.'

'Then why don't you tell so, you ridiculous thing?, said my mother.

'Tell him so,' retorted Peggotty, looking out of her apron.  'He has never said a word to me about it. He knows better.  If he were so bold to say a word to me, I should slap his face.'

Her own was red as ever I saw it, she covered it for a few moments, when she was taken with violent laughter; after two or three of those attacks, she went on with her dinner.

My mother, though she smiled when Peggotty looked at her, became more serious and thoughtful.  At first she was changed.  Her face was very pretty still, but it looked careworn and too delicate; and her hand was so thin and white that it seemed to me almost transparent.  But there was a change in her manner.  She was anxious and fluttered.  At last she said, putting out her hand and laying it affectionately on the hand of her old servant, 'Peggotty, dear, you are not going to be married?'

'Me, ma'am?' returned Peggotty, staring. 'Lord bless you, no!'

'Not just yet? said my mother, tenderly.

'Never!' cried Peggotty.

My mother took her hand, and said, 'Don't leave me, Peggotty.  Stay with me.  It will not be for long, perhaps.  What should I ever do without you!'

'Me leave you my precious!' cried Peggotty, 'not for all the world and his wife.  Why, what's that put in your silly little head?- For Peggotty had been used of old to talk sometimes like a child to my mother.  

'Me leave you! I think I see myself. Peggotty go away from you?  I should like to catch her at it!  No,no,no,' said Peggotty shaking her head, and folding her arms; 'not she my dear.  It's n't that there ain't some cats that would be well enough pleased if she did, but they shan't be pleased.  They shall be aggravated.  I'll stay with you till I am crank old woman.  And when I'm too deaf and too lame, and too blind, and too mumbly for want of teeth, to be of any use at all, even to be found fault with, then I shall go to my Davy, and ask him to take me in.' 

'And, Peggotty,' said I, 'I shall be glad to see you, and I will make you as welcome as a queen.'

'Bless your dear heart,' cried Peggotty, I know you will.'  And she kissed me beforehand, in grateful acknowledgement of my hospitality.  After that, she covered her head up with apron again, and had another laugh about Mr Barkis.  Then she took the baby out of its cradle, and nursed it.  She cleared the dinner table, came in with another cap on, and her work box, and the yard measure, and the bit of wax candle all just the same as ever.

We sat round the fire, and talked delightfully.  I told them what hard master Mr Creakle was, and they pitied me very much.  I told them what a fine fellow Steerforth was, and what a patron of mine, and Peggotty said she would walk a score of miles to see him.  I took the little baby in my arms, when it was awake, and nursed him lovingly.  When he was asleep again, I crept close to my mother's side according to my old custom, broken now a long time, and sat with my arms embracing her waist, and my little red cheek on her shoulder, and once more felt her beautiful hair drooping over me- like an angel's wing as I used to think, I recollect- and was very happy indeed.

When I sat thus, looking at the fire, and seeing pictures in the red-hot coals, I almost believed that I had never been away; that Mr and Miss Murdstone were such pictures, and would vanish when the fire got low, and that there was nothing real in all that I remembered, save my mother, Peggotty and I.

Peggotty darned away at a stocking as long as she could see, and then sat with it drawn on her left hand like a glove, and her needle in her right, ready to take another stitch whenever there was a blaze.  I cannot conceive whose stockings they could have been, that Peggotty was always used to darn, or where such an unfailing supply of stockings for want of darn came from.  From my earliest infancy she seemed to have been always employed in that class of needle work, and never by another.

'I wonder,' said Peggotty, who was sometimes seized with a fit of wondering on some unexpected topic, 'What's become of Davy's great aunt?'

'Lord, Peggotty!' observed my mother rising from a reverie, 'What nonsense are you talking?'

'Well, but I really do wonder, ma'am,' said Peggotty.

'What can have put such a person in your head?' asked my mother.  'Is there anybody else in the world to come there?'

'I don't know how it is,' said Peggotty, 'unless it is on account of being stupid, but my head never can pick and choose it's people.  They come and go.  And they don't come and they don't go,  just as they like.  I wonder what's become of her.'

'How absurd you are, Peggotty! One would suppose you wanted a second visit from her,' said my mother.

'Lord forbid!' cried Peggotty.

'Well then, don't ask such uncomfortable things, there's a good soul,' said my mother.  Miss Betsy is shut up in her cottage by sea, no doubt, and will remain there.  At all events she is not likely ever trouble us again.

'No,' mused Peggotty, 'that ain't likely at all- I wonder if she was to die whether she would leave Davy anything? 

'Good gracious me, Peggotty,' cried my mother, 'what nonsensical woman you are! when you know that she took offence at the poor dear boy being born at all.'

'I suppose, she wouldn't be inclined to forgive him now,' hinted Peggotty. 

'Why should she be be inclined to forgive him now,' said my mother sharply.

'Now that he has got a brother, I mean,' said Peggotty.

My mother immediately began to cry and wondered how Peggotty dared to say such a thing.  As this poor little innocent in its cradle had ever done any harm to you, or anybody else, you jealous thing!' said she 'you had much better go and marry Mr Barkis, the carrier. Why don't you?'

'I should make Miss Murdstone happy if I were to.' said Peggotty.

'What a bad disposition you have, Peggotty,' returned my mother.  'You are as jealous of Miss Murdstone.  You are jealous of her.  You want to keep the keys.  She does it only out of kindness, you know?  Out of best intentions, you know it well.'

Peggotty muttered, 'Bother the best intentions!'

'I know what you mean.' Have you heard her say that I am too thoughtless and too a-a-'

'Pretty,' suggested Peggotty.

'Well,' returned my mother, half laughing, 'as if she is so silly as to say so, am I to be blamed for it? 

'No one says you are.'

'No. I should hope not,' returned my mother.  'Have you heard her say that on this account she wished to spare a good deal, which she thinks I am not suited for, and she does all sorts of things and grop into all sorts of things, coal holes and pantries and where not, and do you insinuate there is not a sort of devotion in it.'

'I don't insinuate at all,' said Peggotty.

'You do Peggotty.  You never do anything except your work.  You are always insinuating.  And when you talk of Mr Murdstone's intentions-' 

'I never talked of them,' said Peggotty.

'No Peggotty, you insinuate them,' returned my mother. 'That's the worst of you.  You pretend to slight the good intentions of Mr Murdstone.  If he is stern with any person, it is for the benefit of that person.  He naturally loves a person on my account, and acts solely for that person's benifit.  He is better able to judge it than I am, for I am weak and girlish.  And he takes great pains with me, and I ought to be thankful to him, submissive to him.  When I am not, I feel condemned.'  

Peggotty sat with her chin on the foot of her stocking, looking silently at the fire.

'There Peggotty, don't let us fall out one another,' said my mother changing her tone, 'for I couldn't bear it.  You are my true friend.  When I call you ridiculous creature, or something like that, I only mean that you are my true friend, and always have been, ever since the night, Mr Copperfield brought me here, and you came out to the gate to meet me.'

Peggotty was not slow to respond, and ratify the friendship, by giving me one of her best hugs.  I had some glimpses of the real character of this conversation at the time; but I am sure the poor creature originated it and took her part in it, that my mother got some comfort herself with some contradictory statements.  My mother seemed more at ease during the rest of the evening, and Peggotty observed her less.

When we had our tea, and the ashes were thrown up, and the candles snuffed, I read Peggotty a chapter out of the Crocodile Book, and then we talked about Salem House, which brought me round again to Steerforth, who was my great subject.  We were very happy that evening as the last of such evenings and will never pass out of my memory.

It was almost ten o'clock before we heard the sound of wheels.  We all got up then; my mother said hurriedly that I had better go to bed.  Mr and Miss Murdstone never approved young people going late to bed.  I kissed her, went  upstairs with my candles, before they came in.  As I ascended to my bedroom where I had been imprisoned, I felt that they had brought a cold blast of air into the house which blew away the old familiar feeling like a feather.

I was uncomfortable about going down to breakfast in the morning.  I had never set down my eyes on Mr Murdstone, since the day of my offence.  However as it must be done, I went down after two or three false starts half way, and as many runs back on tip-toe to my own room and presented myself in the parlour.  He was standing before the fire with his back to it, while Miss Murdstone made the tea.  He looked at me steadily as I entered, but made no sign of recognition whatever.  I went upto him, after a moment of confusion, and said, 'I beg your pardon, sir.  I am very sorry for what I did, and I hope you will forgive me.'

'I an glad to hear you are sorry, David,' he replied.

The hand he gave me was the hand I had bitten.  I could not restrain my eye from resting for an instant on a red spot upon it; but it was not so red as I turned, when I met that sinister expression in his face. 

"How do you do, Ma'am?' I said to Miss Murdstone.

'Ah, dear! sighed Miss Murdstone, giving me the tea-caddy scoop, instead of her fingers.  'How long are the holidays?'

'A month, ma'am.'

'Counting from when?'

'From today ma'am.'

'Oh, then here is one day off.'

She kept a calander of holidays in this way, and every morning checked a day off in exactly the same manner.  She did it gloomily until she came to ten, but when she got into two figures, she became more hopeful, and, as time advanced, even more jocular. 

It was on this very first day that I had the misfortune to throw her, though she was not subject to such weakness in general, into a state of violent consternation.  I came into the room where she and my mother were sitting, and the baby ( who was only a few weeks old) being on my mother's lap, I took it very carefully in my arms.  Suddenly Miss Murdstone gave such a scream that I all but dropped it.

'My dear Jane,' cried my mother.

'Good heavens, Clara, do you see,' exclaimed Miss Murdstone. 

'See what, my dear Jane,' said my mother, 'Where?'

'He has got it!' cried Miss Murdstone.  'The boy has got the baby!'

She was limp with horror; but stiffened herself to make a dart at me, and take out of my arms.  Then, she turned faint, and was so very ill that they were obliged to give her cherry brandy.  I was inter-dicted by her, on her recovery, from touching my brother anymore on any pretence whatever; and my poor mother, who I could see, wished otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict, by saying 'no doubt, you are right Jane.'

On another occasion when we three were together, this dear baby- truly it was dear to me for our mother's sake- Miss Murdstone went into a passion.  My mother, had been looking into its eyes as it lay upon her lap said : 'Davy! Come here!' and looked at mine.

I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down. 

'I declare,' said my mother, gently, 'they are exactly alike, they are mine.  I think they are the colour of mine.  But they are wonderfully alike.'

'What are you talking about, Clara?' said Miss Murdstone.

'My dear Jane,' faltered my mother, a little abashed by the dark tone of this enquiry, 'I find that Davy's eyes and the baby's eyes are exactly alike.' 

'Clara!' said Miss Murdstone rising angrily, 'you are a positive fool sometimes.'

'My dear Jane,' demonstrated my mother.

'A positive fool,' said Miss Murdstone.  'Who else could compare my brother's baby with your boy? They are not alike.  They are exactly unlike.  They are utterly dissimilar in all respects.  I hope they will ever remain so.  I will not sit here, and heat such comparisons made.'  With these words, she walked out, and made the door bang after her.

In short I was not a favourite with Miss Murdstone.  I was not a favourite with anybody.  Those who liked me could not show it.  Those who did not like me showed it plainly that I had a sensitive consciousness of always appearing constrained, boorish and dull.

I made them as uncomfortable as they made me. If I came into the room where they were, and they were talking together, and my mother seemed cheerful, an anxious cloud would steal over her face from the moment of my entrance.  If Mr Murdstone were in the best humour, I checked him.  If Miss Murdstone were in her worst, I intensified it.  I had perception enough to know that my mother was the victim always.  She was afraid to speak to me or to be kind to me.  These would offend them.  Then they would give a long lecture.  She would my movements with uneasiness.  I resolved to keep out myself as much out of their way as I could.  Many a wintry hour I could hear the church clock strike when I was sitting cheer-less in my bedroom, wrapped in my little overcoat poring over a book.

In the evening, sometimes, I went and sat with Peggotty in the kitchen.  There I was comfortable, and not afraid of being myself.  But neither of these resources was approved in the parlour.  The tormenting humour which was dominant there stopped them both.  I was still held to be necessary to my poor mother's training, and, as one of her trials, could not be suffered to absent myself.

'David,' said Mr Murdstone, one day after dinner when I was going to leave the room as usual; 'I am sorry to observe that you are of a sullen disposition.'

'As sulky as a bear,' said Miss Murdstone 

I stood still and hung my head.

'Now, David,' said Mr Murdstone, 'a sullen obdurate disposition is, of all tempers, the worst.'

'And the boy's is of all such disposition that ever I have seen,' remarked his sister, 'the most confirmed and stubborn. I think, my dear Clara, even you must observe it?'

'I beg your pardon, my dear Jane,' said my mother 'but are you quite sure- I am certain you'll excuse me my dear Jane- that you understand Davy?'

'I should be somewhat ashamed of myself, Clara,' returned Miss Murdstone, 'if I could not understand the boy, or any boy, I don't profess to be profound; but I lay claim to commonsense.'

'No doubt, my dear Jane,' returned my mother, 'your understanding is vigorous-' 

'Oh dear no! Pray don't say that, clara,' interposed Miss Murdstone, angrily.

'But I am sure it is,' resumed my mother, 'and everybody knows it is.  I profit so much by itself, in many ways- at least I ought to- than no one can be more convinced of it than myself; and therefore I speak with great insecurity, my dear Jane, I assure you.'

'We'll say I don't understand the boy, Clara,' returned Miss Murdstone, arranging the little fetters on her wrists.  'We'll agree if you please, that I don't understand him at all.  He is much too deep for me.  But perhaps my brother's penetration may enable him to have some insight into his character.  And I believe my brother was speaking on the subject when we- not very decently- interrupted him. 

'I think, Clara,' interrupted Mr Murdstone, in a low and grave voice, 'that there may be better and more dispassionate judges of such a question than you.' 

'Edward,' replied my mother timidly 'you are a far better judge of all questions than I pretend to be.  Both you and Jane are, I only said-' 

'You only said something weak and inconsiderate,' he replied, 'try not to do it again, my dear Clara, and keep a watch on yourself.' 

My mother's lips moved as if she answered, 'Yes, Edward,' but she said nothing aloud.

'I am sorry David, I remarked' said Mr Murdstone, turning his head and eyes stiffly towards me, 'to observe that you are of a sullen disposition.  This is not a character that I can suffer to develop itself beneath my eyes without an effort at improvement. You must endeavour, sir, to change it, we must endeavour to change it for you.'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' I faltered.  'I have never meant to be sullen, since I came back.'

'Don't take refuge in a lie, sir,' he returned so fiercely that my mother involuntarily put out her trembling hand  between us.  'You have withdrawn yourself to your own room.  You have kept to your own room when you ought to have been here.  You know now, once for all, that I require you to be here, and not there.  Further, that I require you to bring obedience here.  You know me, David, I will have it done.'

Miss Murdstone gave a hoarse chuckle.

'I will have a respectful, prompt, and ready bearing towards myself,' he continued, 'and towards Miss Jane Murdstone, and towards your mother.  I will not have this room shunned as if it were infected, at the pleasure of a child.  Sit down.'

He ordered me like a dog, and I obeyed him like a dog.

'One thing more,' he said, 'I observe that you have an attachment to low and common company.  You are not to associate with the servants.  The kitchen will not improve you, in the many respects, in which you need improvement.  Of the woman who assists you, I say nothing- since you, Clara,' addressing my mother in a lower voice, 'from old associations and long established fancies, have a weakness respecting her which is not yet overcome.'

'A most unaccountable delusion it is!' said Miss Murdstone.

'I only say,' he resumed, addressing me, 'that I disapprove of you prefer such a company, as mistress Peggotty, that it is to be abandoned.  Now, David, you understand me, and you know what will be the consequence if you fail to obey me to the letter.'

I knew well, better perhaps than he thought, as far as my poor mother was concerned- and I obeyed him to the letter.  No more I retreated to my own room, no more I sought the company of Peggotty, but sat tired in the parlour day after day, looking towards the night, the bed time.

With irksome constraint I sat hours and hours, afraid to move an arm or leg, lest Miss Murdstone would complain of my restlessness, and afraid to move my eyes, lest she would light on some dislike.  What a dullness to listening to the ticking of clock, and watch Miss Murdstone's little shiny beads as she strung them; and wondering whether ever she would be married, and if so, what sort of unhappy man, and counting the divisions in the moulding of chimney-piece, and my eyes wandering away to the ceiling, among the curls and windings in the paper on the wall!

What walks I took alone, down the muddy lanes, in the bad winter, carrying that parlour, and Mr and Miss Murdstone in it everywhere: a monstrous load it was, a nightmare unbreakable, a heavy weight on my wits.

The meals I had in silence and embarassment, with a knife and too many forks, an appetite too many, a plate and chair too many, a somebody too many and I.

The evenings.  The candles came in.  I was expected to employ myself, not daring to read an entertaining book, but came, hard headed treatise on maths, tables on weights and measures.  What yawns and doze I lapsed into, inspite of all my care, what starts I came out of concealed sleep with, what answers I never got, to little observations I rarely made, what blank space I saw but everybody overlooked, and yet was in everybody's way, what a heavy relief it was to hear Miss Murdstone hail the first stroke of nine at night, and order me to bed!

Thus the holidays lagged away, until the morning came when Miss Murdstone said, 'Here is the last day off!' and gave me closing cup of tea of vacation.

I was not sorry to go.  I had lapsed into a stupid state; but I was recovering a little, and looking forward to Steerforth, albeit Mr Creakle loomed behind him.  Again Mr Barkis appeared at the gate, and again Miss Murdstone in her warning voice said,'Clara!' when my mother bent over me, to bid me farewell.

I kissed her, and my baby brother, and was very sorry then; but not sorry to go away, for the gulf between us was there, and the parting was there, every day.  And it is not so much the embrace, she gave me, that lives in my mind, though it was as fervent as could be as what followed the embrace.

I was in the carrier's cart when I heard her calling to me.  I looked out, and she stood at the garden gate alone, holding her baby up in her arms for me to see.  It was cold still weather, and not a hair of her head, nor a fold of her dress, was stirred, as she  looked intently at me, holding up her child.

So I lost her.  So I saw her afterwards, in my sleep at school- a silent presence near my bed- looking at me with the same intent face- holding up her baby in her arms.

THE END OF CHAPTER 8