英语专业必看小说David Copperfield大卫科波菲尔原著中英文对照在线阅读(1~2章）

 　　CHAPTER 1 - I AM BORN

　　Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whetherthat station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I wasborn (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelveo'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike,and I began to cry, simultaneously.

　　In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declaredby the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who hadtaken a lively interest in me several months before there was anypossibility of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that Iwas destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I wasprivileged to see ghosts and spirits; both these gifts inevitablyattaching, as they believed, to all unlucky infants of eithergender, born towards the small hours on a Friday night.

　　I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing canshow better than my history whether that prediction was verified orfalsified by the result. On the second branch of the question, Iwill only remark, that unless I ran through that part of myinheritance while I was still a baby, I have not come into it yet.But I do not at all complain of having been kept out of thisproperty; and if anybody else should be in the present enjoyment ofit, he is heartily welcome to keep it.

　　I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in thenewspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether sea-goingpeople were short of money about that time, or were short of faithand preferred cork jackets, I don't know; all I know is, that therewas but one solitary bidding, and that was from an attorneyconnected with the bill-broking business, who offered two pounds incash, and the balance in sherry, but declined to be guaranteed fromdrowning on any higher bargain. Consequently the advertisement waswithdrawn at a dead loss - for as to sherry, my poor dear mother'sown sherry was in the market then - and ten years afterwards, thecaul was put up in a raffle down in our part of the country, tofifty members at half-a-crown a head, the winner to spend fiveshillings. I was present myself, and I remember to have felt quiteuncomfortable and confused, at a part of myself being disposed ofin that way. The caul was won, I recollect, by an old lady with ahand-basket, who, very reluctantly, produced from it the stipulatedfive shillings, all in halfpence, and twopence halfpenny short - asit took an immense time and a great waste of arithmetic, toendeavour without any effect to prove to her. It is a fact whichwill be long remembered as remarkable down there, that she wasnever drowned, but died triumphantly in bed, at ninety-two. I haveunderstood that it was, to the last, her proudest boast, that shenever had been on the water in her life, except upon a bridge; andthat over her tea (to which she was extremely partial) she, to thelast, expressed her indignation at the impiety of mariners andothers, who had the presumption to go 'meandering' about the world.It was in vain to represent to her that some conveniences, teaperhaps included, resulted from this objectionable practice. Shealways returned, with greater emphasis and with an instinctiveknowledge of the strength of her objection, 'Let us have nomeandering.'

　　Not to meander myself, at present, I will go back to my birth.

　　I was born at Blunderstone, in Suffolk, or 'there by', as they sayin Scotland. I was a posthumous child. My father's eyes hadclosed upon the light of this world six months, when mine opened onit. There is something strange to me, even now, in the reflectionthat he never saw me; and something stranger yet in the shadowyremembrance that I have of my first childish associations with hiswhite grave-stone in the churchyard, and of the indefinablecompassion I used to feel for it lying out alone there in the darknight, when our little parlour was warm and bright with fire andcandle, and the doors of our house were - almost cruelly, it seemedto me sometimes - bolted and locked against it.

　　An aunt of my father's, and consequently a great-aunt of mine, ofwhom I shall have more to relate by and by, was the principalmagnate of our family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss Betsey, as my poormother always called her, when she sufficiently overcame her dreadof this formidable personage to mention her at all (which wasseldom), had been married to a husband younger than herself, whowas very handsome, except in the sense of the homely adage,'handsome is, that handsome does' - for he was strongly suspectedof having beaten Miss Betsey, and even of having once, on adisputed question of supplies, made some hasty but determinedarrangements to throw her out of a two pair of stairs' window.These evidences of an incompatibility of temper induced Miss Betseyto pay him off, and effect a separation by mutual consent. He wentto India with his capital, and there, according to a wild legend inour family, he was once seen riding on an elephant, in company witha Baboon; but I think it must have been a Baboo - or a Begum.Anyhow, from India tidings of his death reached home, within tenyears. How they affected my aunt, nobody knew; for immediatelyupon the separation, she took her maiden name again, bought acottage in a hamlet on the sea-coast a long way off, establishedherself there as a single woman with one servant, and wasunderstood to live secluded, ever afterwards, in an inflexibleretirement.

　　My father had once been a favourite of hers, I believe; but she wasmortally affronted by his marriage, on the ground that my motherwas 'a wax doll'. She had never seen my mother, but she knew herto be not yet twenty. My father and Miss Betsey never met again.He was double my mother's age when he married, and of but adelicate constitution. He died a year afterwards, and, as I havesaid, six months before I came into the world.

　　This was the state of matters, on the afternoon of, what I may beexcused for calling, that eventful and important Friday. I canmake no claim therefore to have known, at that time, how mattersstood; or to have any remembrance, founded on the evidence of myown senses, of what follows.

　　My mother was sitting by the fire, but poorly in health, and verylow in spirits, looking at it through her tears, and despondingheavily about herself and the fatherless little stranger, who wasalready welcomed by some grosses of prophetic pins, in a drawerupstairs, to a world not at all excited on the subject of hisarrival; my mother, I say, was sitting by the fire, that bright,windy March afternoon, very timid and sad, and very doubtful ofever coming alive out of the trial that was before her, when,lifting her eyes as she dried them, to the window opposite, she sawa strange lady coming up the garden.

　　MY mother had a sure foreboding at the second glance, that it wasMiss Betsey. The setting sun was glowing on the strange lady, overthe garden-fence, and she came walking up to the door with a fellrigidity of figure and composure of countenance that could havebelonged to nobody else.

　　When she reached the house, she gave another proof of her identity.My father had often hinted that she seldom conducted herself likeany ordinary Christian; and now, instead of ringing the bell, shecame and looked in at that identical window, pressing the end ofher nose against the glass to that extent, that my poor dear motherused to say it became perfectly flat and white in a moment.

　　She gave my mother such a turn, that I have always been convincedI am indebted to Miss Betsey for having been born on a Friday.

　　My mother had left her chair in her agitation, and gone behind itin the corner. Miss Betsey, looking round the room, slowly andinquiringly, began on the other side, and carried her eyes on, likea Saracen's Head in a Dutch clock, until they reached my mother.Then she made a frown and a gesture to my mother, like one who wasaccustomed to be obeyed, to come and open the door. My motherwent.

　　'Mrs. David Copperfield, I think,' said Miss Betsey; the emphasisreferring, perhaps, to my mother's mourning weeds, and hercondition.

　　'Yes,' said my mother, faintly.

　　'Miss Trotwood,' said the visitor. 'You have heard of her, I daresay?'

　　My mother answered she had had that pleasure. And she had adisagreeable consciousness of not appearing to imply that it hadbeen an overpowering pleasure.

　　'Now you see her,' said Miss Betsey. My mother bent her head, andbegged her to walk in.

　　They went into the parlour my mother had come from, the fire in thebest room on the other side of the passage not being lighted - nothaving been lighted, indeed, since my father's funeral; and whenthey were both seated, and Miss Betsey said nothing, my mother,after vainly trying to restrain herself, began to cry.'Oh tut, tut, tut!' said Miss Betsey, in a hurry. 'Don't do that!Come, come!'

　　My mother couldn't help it notwithstanding, so she cried until shehad had her cry out.

　　'Take off your cap, child,' said Miss Betsey, 'and let me see you.'

　　MY mother was too much afraid of her to refuse compliance with thisodd request, if she had any disposition to do so. Therefore shedid as she was told, and did it with such nervous hands that herhair (which was luxuriant and beautiful) fell all about her face.

　　'Why, bless my heart!' exclaimed Miss Betsey. 'You are a veryBaby!'

　　My mother was, no doubt, unusually youthful in appearance even forher years; she hung her head, as if it were her fault, poor thing,and said, sobbing, that indeed she was afraid she was but achildish widow, and would be but a childish mother if she lived.In a short pause which ensued, she had a fancy that she felt MissBetsey touch her hair, and that with no ungentle hand; but, lookingat her, in her timid hope, she found that lady sitting with theskirt of her dress tucked up, her hands folded on one knee, and herfeet upon the fender, frowning at the fire.

　　'In the name of Heaven,' said Miss Betsey, suddenly, 'why Rookery?'

　　'Do you mean the house, ma'am?' asked my mother.

　　'Why Rookery?' said Miss Betsey. 'Cookery would have been more tothe purpose, if you had had any practical ideas of life, either ofyou.'

　　'The name was Mr. Copperfield's choice,' returned my mother. 'Whenhe bought the house, he liked to think that there were rooks aboutit.'

　　The evening wind made such a disturbance just now, among some tallold elm-trees at the bottom of the garden, that neither my mothernor Miss Betsey could forbear glancing that way. As the elms bentto one another, like giants who were whispering secrets, and aftera few seconds of such repose, fell into a violent flurry, tossingtheir wild arms about, as if their late confidences were really toowicked for their peace of mind, some weatherbeaten ragged oldrooks'-nests, burdening their higher branches, swung like wrecksupon a stormy sea.

　　'Where are the birds?' asked Miss Betsey.

　　'The -? ' My mother had been thinking of something else.

　　'The rooks - what has become of them?' asked Miss Betsey.

　　'There have not been any since we have lived here,' said my mother.'We thought - Mr. Copperfield thought - it was quite a largerookery; but the nests were very old ones, and the birds havedeserted them a long while.'

　　'David Copperfield all over!' cried Miss Betsey. 'DavidCopperfield from head to foot! Calls a house a rookery whenthere's not a rook near it, and takes the birds on trust, becausehe sees the nests!'

　　'Mr. Copperfield,' returned my mother, 'is dead, and if you dare tospeak unkindly of him to me -'

　　My poor dear mother, I suppose, had some momentary intention ofcommitting an assault and battery upon my aunt, who could easilyhave settled her with one hand, even if my mother had been in farbetter training for such an encounter than she was that evening.But it passed with the action of rising from her chair; and she satdown again very meekly, and fainted.

　　When she came to herself, or when Miss Betsey had restored her,whichever it was, she found the latter standing at the window. Thetwilight was by this time shading down into darkness; and dimly asthey saw each other, they could not have done that without the aidof the fire.

　　'Well?' said Miss Betsey, coming back to her chair, as if she hadonly been taking a casual look at the prospect; 'and when do youexpect -'

　　'I am all in a tremble,' faltered my mother. 'I don't know what'sthe matter. I shall die, I am sure!'

　　'No, no, no,' said Miss Betsey. 'Have some tea.'

　　'Oh dear me, dear me, do you think it will do me any good?' criedmy mother in a helpless manner.

　　'Of course it will,' said Miss Betsey. 'It's nothing but fancy.What do you call your girl?'

　　'I don't know that it will be a girl, yet, ma'am,' said my motherinnocently.

　　'Bless the Baby!' exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously quoting thesecond sentiment of the pincushion in the drawer upstairs, butapplying it to my mother instead of me, 'I don't mean that. I meanyour servant-girl.'

　　'Peggotty,' said my mother.

　　'Peggotty!' repeated Miss Betsey, with some indignation. 'Do youmean to say, child, that any human being has gone into a Christianchurch, and got herself named Peggotty?''It's her surname,' said my mother, faintly. 'Mr. Copperfieldcalled her by it, because her Christian name was the same as mine.'

　　'Here! Peggotty!' cried Miss Betsey, opening the parlour door.'Tea. Your mistress is a little unwell. Don't dawdle.'

　　Having issued this mandate with as much potentiality as if she hadbeen a recognized authority in the house ever since it had been ahouse, and having looked out to confront the amazed Peggotty comingalong the passage with a candle at the sound of a strange voice,Miss Betsey shut the door again, and sat down as before: with herfeet on the fender, the skirt of her dress tucked up, and her handsfolded on one knee.

　　'You were speaking about its being a girl,' said Miss Betsey. 'Ihave no doubt it will be a girl. I have a presentiment that itmust be a girl. Now child, from the moment of the birth of thisgirl -'

　　'Perhaps boy,' my mother took the liberty of putting in.

　　'I tell you I have a presentiment that it must be a girl,' returnedMiss Betsey. 'Don't contradict. From the moment of this girl'sbirth, child, I intend to be her friend. I intend to be hergodmother, and I beg you'll call her Betsey Trotwood Copperfield.There must be no mistakes in life with THIS Betsey Trotwood. Theremust be no trifling with HER affections, poor dear. She must bewell brought up, and well guarded from reposing any foolishconfidences where they are not deserved. I must make that MYcare.'

　　There was a twitch of Miss Betsey's head, after each of thesesentences, as if her own old wrongs were working within her, andshe repressed any plainer reference to them by strong constraint.So my mother suspected, at least, as she observed her by the lowglimmer of the fire: too much scared by Miss Betsey, too uneasy inherself, and too subdued and bewildered altogether, to observeanything very clearly, or to know what to say.

　　'And was David good to you, child?' asked Miss Betsey, when she hadbeen silent for a little while, and these motions of her head hadgradually ceased. 'Were you comfortable together?'

　　'We were very happy,' said my mother. 'Mr. Copperfield was onlytoo good to me.'

　　'What, he spoilt you, I suppose?' returned Miss Betsey.

　　'For being quite alone and dependent on myself in this rough worldagain, yes, I fear he did indeed,' sobbed my mother.

　　'Well! Don't cry!' said Miss Betsey. 'You were not equallymatched, child - if any two people can be equally matched - and soI asked the question. You were an orphan, weren't you?''Yes.'

　　'And a governess?'

　　'I was nursery-governess in a family where Mr. Copperfield came tovisit. Mr. Copperfield was very kind to me, and took a great dealof notice of me, and paid me a good deal of attention, and at lastproposed to me. And I accepted him. And so we were married,' saidmy mother simply.

　　'Ha! Poor Baby!' mused Miss Betsey, with her frown still bent uponthe fire. 'Do you know anything?'

　　'I beg your pardon, ma'am,' faltered my mother.

　　'About keeping house, for instance,' said Miss Betsey.

　　'Not much, I fear,' returned my mother. 'Not so much as I couldwish. But Mr. Copperfield was teaching me -'

　　('Much he knew about it himself!') said Miss Betsey in aparenthesis.

　　- 'And I hope I should have improved, being very anxious to learn,and he very patient to teach me, if the great misfortune of hisdeath' - my mother broke down again here, and could get no farther.

　　'Well, well!' said Miss Betsey.

　　-'I kept my housekeeping-book regularly, and balanced it with Mr.Copperfield every night,' cried my mother in another burst ofdistress, and breaking down again.

　　'Well, well!' said Miss Betsey. 'Don't cry any more.'

　　- 'And I am sure we never had a word of difference respecting it,except when Mr. Copperfield objected to my threes and fives beingtoo much like each other, or to my putting curly tails to my sevensand nines,' resumed my mother in another burst, and breaking downagain.

　　'You'll make yourself ill,' said Miss Betsey, 'and you know thatwill not be good either for you or for my god-daughter. Come! Youmustn't do it!'

　　This argument had some share in quieting my mother, though herincreasing indisposition had a larger one. There was an intervalof silence, only broken by Miss Betsey's occasionally ejaculating'Ha!' as she sat with her feet upon the fender.

　　'David had bought an annuity for himself with his money, I know,'said she, by and by. 'What did he do for you?'

　　'Mr. Copperfield,' said my mother, answering with some difficulty,'was so considerate and good as to secure the reversion of a partof it to me.'

　　'How much?' asked Miss Betsey.

　　'A hundred and five pounds a year,' said my mother.

　　'He might have done worse,' said my aunt.

　　The word was appropriate to the moment. My mother was so muchworse that Peggotty, coming in with the teaboard and candles, andseeing at a glance how ill she was, - as Miss Betsey might havedone sooner if there had been light enough, - conveyed her upstairsto her own room with all speed; and immediately dispatched HamPeggotty, her nephew, who had been for some days past secreted inthe house, unknown to my mother, as a special messenger in case ofemergency, to fetch the nurse and doctor.

　　Those allied powers were considerably astonished, when they arrivedwithin a few minutes of each other, to find an unknown lady ofportentous appearance, sitting before the fire, with her bonnettied over her left arm, stopping her ears with jewellers' cotton.Peggotty knowing nothing about her, and my mother saying nothingabout her, she was quite a mystery in the parlour; and the fact ofher having a magazine of jewellers' cotton in her pocket, andsticking the article in her ears in that way, did not detract fromthe solemnity of her presence.

　　The doctor having been upstairs and come down again, and havingsatisfied himself, I suppose, that there was a probability of thisunknown lady and himself having to sit there, face to face, forsome hours, laid himself out to be polite and social. He was themeekest of his sex, the mildest of little men. He sidled in andout of a room, to take up the less space. He walked as softly asthe Ghost in Hamlet, and more slowly. He carried his head on oneside, partly in modest depreciation of himself, partly in modestpropitiation of everybody else. It is nothing to say that hehadn't a word to throw at a dog. He couldn't have thrown a word ata mad dog. He might have offered him one gently, or half a one, ora fragment of one; for he spoke as slowly as he walked; but hewouldn't have been rude to him, and he couldn't have been quickwith him, for any earthly consideration.

　　Mr. Chillip, looking mildly at my aunt with his head on one side,and making her a little bow, said, in allusion to the jewellers'cotton, as he softly touched his left ear:

　　'Some local irritation, ma'am?'

　　'What!' replied my aunt, pulling the cotton out of one ear like acork.

　　Mr. Chillip was so alarmed by her abruptness - as he told my motherafterwards - that it was a mercy he didn't lose his presence ofmind. But he repeated sweetly:

　　'Some local irritation, ma'am?'

　　'Nonsense!' replied my aunt, and corked herself again, at one blow.

　　Mr. Chillip could do nothing after this, but sit and look at herfeebly, as she sat and looked at the fire, until he was calledupstairs again. After some quarter of an hour's absence, hereturned.

　　'Well?' said my aunt, taking the cotton out of the ear nearest tohim.

　　'Well, ma'am,' returned Mr. Chillip, 'we are- we are progressingslowly, ma'am.'

　　'Ba--a--ah!' said my aunt, with a perfect shake on the contemptuousinterjection. And corked herself as before.

　　Really - really - as Mr. Chillip told my mother, he was almostshocked; speaking in a professional point of view alone, he wasalmost shocked. But he sat and looked at her, notwithstanding, fornearly two hours, as she sat looking at the fire, until he wasagain called out. After another absence, he again returned.

　　'Well?' said my aunt, taking out the cotton on that side again.

　　'Well, ma'am,' returned Mr. Chillip, 'we are - we are progressing

　　slowly, ma'am.'

　　'Ya--a--ah!' said my aunt. With such a snarl at him, that Mr.Chillip absolutely could not bear it. It was really calculated tobreak his spirit, he said afterwards. He preferred to go and situpon the stairs, in the dark and a strong draught, until he wasagain sent for.

　　Ham Peggotty, who went to the national school, and was a verydragon at his catechism, and who may therefore be regarded as acredible witness, reported next day, that happening to peep in atthe parlour-door an hour after this, he was instantly descried byMiss Betsey, then walking to and fro in a state of agitation, andpounced upon before he could make his escape. That there were nowoccasional sounds of feet and voices overhead which he inferred thecotton did not exclude, from the circumstance of his evidentlybeing clutched by the lady as a victim on whom to expend hersuperabundant agitation when the sounds were loudest. That,marching him constantly up and down by the collar (as if he hadbeen taking too much laudanum), she, at those times, shook him,rumpled his hair, made light of his linen, stopped his ears as ifshe confounded them with her own, and otherwise tousled andmaltreated him. This was in part confirmed by his aunt, who sawhim at half past twelve o'clock, soon after his release, andaffirmed that he was then as red as I was.

　　The mild Mr. Chillip could not possibly bear malice at such a time,if at any time. He sidled into the parlour as soon as he was atliberty, and said to my aunt in his meekest manner:

　　'Well, ma'am, I am happy to congratulate you.'

　　'What upon?' said my aunt, sharply.

　　Mr. Chillip was fluttered again, by the extreme severity of myaunt's manner; so he made her a little bow and gave her a littlesmile, to mollify her.

　　'Mercy on the man, what's he doing!' cried my aunt, impatiently.'Can't he speak?'

　　'Be calm, my dear ma'am,' said Mr. Chillip, in his softest accents.

　　'There is no longer any occasion for uneasiness, ma'am. Be calm.'

　　It has since been considered almost a miracle that my aunt didn'tshake him, and shake what he had to say, out of him. She onlyshook her own head at him, but in a way that made him quail.

　　'Well, ma'am,' resumed Mr. Chillip, as soon as he had courage, 'Iam happy to congratulate you. All is now over, ma'am, and wellover.'

　　During the five minutes or so that Mr. Chillip devoted to thedelivery of this oration, my aunt eyed him narrowly.

　　'How is she?' said my aunt, folding her arms with her bonnet stilltied on one of them.

　　'Well, ma'am, she will soon be quite comfortable, I hope,' returnedMr. Chillip. 'Quite as comfortable as we can expect a young motherto be, under these melancholy domestic circumstances. There cannotbe any objection to your seeing her presently, ma'am. It may doher good.'

　　'And SHE. How is SHE?' said my aunt, sharply.

　　Mr. Chillip laid his head a little more on one side, and looked atmy aunt like an amiable bird.

　　'The baby,' said my aunt. 'How is she?'

　　'Ma'am,' returned Mr. Chillip, 'I apprehended you had known. It'sa boy.'

　　My aunt said never a word, but took her bonnet by the strings, inthe manner of a sling, aimed a blow at Mr. Chillip's head with it,put it on bent, walked out, and never came back. She vanished likea discontented fairy; or like one of those supernatural beings,whom it was popularly supposed I was entitled to see; and nevercame back any more.

　　No. I lay in my basket, and my mother lay in her bed; but BetseyTrotwood Copperfield was for ever in the land of dreams andshadows, the tremendous region whence I had so lately travelled;and the light upon the window of our room shone out upon theearthly bourne of all such travellers, and the mound above theashes and the dust that once was he, without whom I had never been.