david copperfield(大卫.科波维尔)-第22部分

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that　Mrs。　and　Miss　Creakle　had　been　in　a　sad　way；　ever　since。　

But　the　greatest　wonder　that　I　heard　of　Mr。　Creakle　was；　there　
being　one　boy　in　the　school　on　whom　he　never　ventured　to　lay　a　
hand；　and　that　boy　being　J。　Steerforth。　Steerforth　himself　
confirmed　this　when　it　was　stated；　and　said　that　he　should　like　to　

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David　Copperfield　

begin　to　see　him　do　it。　On　being　asked　by　a　mild　boy　（not　me）　how　
he　would　proceed　if　he　did　begin　to　see　him　do　it；　he　dipped　a　
match　into　his　phosphorus…box　on　purpose　to　shed　a　glare　over　his　
reply；　and　said　he　would　commence　by　knocking　him　down　with　a　
blow　on　the　forehead　from　the　seven…and…sixpenny　ink…bottle　that　
was　always　on　the　mantelpiece。　We　sat　in　the　dark　for　some　time；　
breathless。　

I　heard　that　Mr。　Sharp　and　Mr。　Mell　were　both　supposed　to　be　
wretchedly　paid；　and　that　when　there　was　hot　and　cold　meat　for　
dinner　at　Mr。　Creakle’s　table；　Mr。　Sharp　was　always　expected　to　
say　he　preferred　cold；　which　was　again　corroborated　by　J。　
Steerforth；　the　only　parlour…boarder。　I　heard　that　Mr。　Sharp’s　wig　
didn’t　fit　him；　and　that　he　needn’t　be　so　‘bounceable’—somebody　
else　said　‘bumptious’—about　it；　because　his　own　red　hair　was　very　
plainly　to　be　seen　behind。　

I　heard　that　one　boy；　who　was　a　coal…merchant’s　son；　came　as　a　
set…off　against　the　coal…bill；　and　was　called；　on　that　account；　
‘Exchange　or　Barter’—a　name　selected　from　the　arithmetic　book　
as　expressing　this　arrangement。　I　heard　that　the　table　beer　was　a　
robbery　of　parents；　and　the　pudding　an　imposition。　I　heard　that　
Miss　Creakle　was　regarded　by　the　school　in　general　as　being　in　
love　with　Steerforth；　and　I　am　sure；　as　I　sat　in　the　dark；　thinking　of　
his　nice　voice；　and　his　fine　face；　and　his　easy　manner；　and　his　
curling　hair；　I　thought　it　very　likely。　I　heard　that　Mr。　Mell　was　not　
a　bad　sort　of　fellow；　but　hadn’t　a　sixpence　to　bless　himself　with；　
and　that　there　was　no　doubt　that　old　Mrs。　Mell；　his　mother；　was　as　
poor　as　job。　I　thought　of　my　breakfast　then；　and　what　had　sounded　
like　‘My　Charley！’　but　I　was；　I　am　glad　to　remember；　as　mute　as　a　
mouse　about　it。　

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The　hearing　of　all　this；　and　a　good　deal　more；　outlasted　the　
banquet　some　time。　The　greater　part　of　the　guests　had　gone　to　bed　
as　soon　as　the　eating　and　drinking　were　over；　and　we；　who　had　
remained　whispering　and　listening　half…undressed；　at　last　betook　
ourselves　to　bed；　too。　

‘Good　night；　young　Copperfield；’　said　Steerforth。　‘I’ll　take　care　
of　you。’　

‘You’re　very　kind；’　I　gratefully　returned。　‘I　am　very　much　
obliged　to　you。’　

‘You　haven’t　got　a　sister；　have　you？’　said　Steerforth；　yawning。　

‘No；’　I　answered。　

‘That’s　a　pity；’　said　Steerforth。　‘If　you　had　had　one；　I　should　
think　she　would　have　been　a　pretty；　timid；　little；　bright…eyed　sort　
of　girl。　I　should　have　liked　to　know　her。　Good　night；　young　
Copperfield。’　

‘Good　night；　sir；’　I　replied。　

I　thought　of　him　very　much　after　I　went　to　bed；　and　raised　
myself；　I　recollect；　to　look　at　him　where　he　lay　in　the　moonlight；　
with　his　handsome　face　turned　up；　and　his　head　reclining　easily　on　
his　arm。　He　was　a　person　of　great　power　in　my　eyes；　that　was；　of　
course；　the　reason　of　my　mind　running　on　him。　No　veiled　future　
dimly　glanced　upon　him　in　the　moonbeams。　There　was　no　
shadowy　picture　of　his　footsteps；　in　the　garden　that　I　dreamed　of　
walking　in　all　night。　

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David　Copperfield　

Chapter　7　

MY　‘FIRST　HALF’　AT　SALEM　HOUSE　

School　began　in　earnest　next　day。　A　profound　impression　
was　made　upon　me；　I　remember；　by　the　roar　of　voices　in　
the　schoolroom　suddenly　becoming　hushed　as　death　when　
Mr。　Creakle　entered　after　breakfast；　and　stood　in　the　doorway　
looking　round　upon　us　like　a　giant　in　a　story…book　surveying　his　
captives。　

Tungay　stood　at　Mr。　Creakle’s　elbow。　He　had　no　occasion；　I　
thought；　to　cry　out　‘Silence！’　so　ferociously；　for　the　boys　were　all　
struck　speechless　and　motionless。　

Mr。　Creakle　was　seen　to　speak；　and　Tungay　was　heard；　to　this　
effect。　

‘Now；　boys；　this　is　a　new　half。　Take　care　what　you’re　about；　in　
this　new　half。　Come　fresh　up　to　the　lessons；　I　advise　you；　for　I　
come　fresh　up　to　the　punishment。　I　won’t　flinch。　It　will　be　of　no　
use　your　rubbing　yourselves；　you　won’t　rub　the　marks　out　that　I　
shall　give　you。　Now　get　to　work；　every　boy！’　

When　this　dreadful　exordium　was　over；　and　Tungay　had　
stumped　out　again；　Mr。　Creakle　came　to　where　I　sat；　and　told　me　
that　if　I　were　famous　for　biting；　he　was　famous　for　biting；　too。　He　
then　showed　me　the　cane；　and　asked　me　what　I　thought　of　that；　for　
a　tooth？　Was　it　a　sharp　tooth；　hey？　Was　it　a　double　tooth；　hey？　
Had　it　a　deep　prong；　hey？　Did　it　bite；　hey？　Did　it　bite？　At　every　
question　he　gave　me　a　fleshy　cut　with　it　that　made　me　writhe；　so　I　
was　very　soon　made　free　of　Salem　House　（as　Steerforth　said）；　and　

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was　very　soon　in　tears　also。　

Not　that　I　mean　to　say　these　were　special　marks　of　distinction；　
which　only　I　received。　On　the　contrary；　a　large　majority　of　the　boys　
（especially　the　smaller　ones）　were　visited　with　similar　instances　of　
notice；　as　Mr。　Creakle　made　the　round　of　the　schoolroom。　Half　the　
establishment　was　writhing　and　crying；　before　the　day’s　work　
began；　and　how　much　of　it　had　writhed　and　cried　before　the　day’s　
work　was　over；　I　am　really　afraid　to　recollect；　lest　I　should　seem　to　
exaggerate。　

I　should　think　there　never　can　have　been　a　man　who　enjoyed　
his　profession　more　than　Mr。　Creakle　did。　He　had　a　delight　in　
cutting　at　the　boys；　which　was　like　the　satisfaction　of　a　craving　
appetite。　I　am　confident　that　he　couldn’t　resist　a　chubby　boy；　
especially；　that　there　was　a　fascination　in　such　a　subject；　which　
made　him　restless　in　his　mind；　until　he　had　scored　and　marked　
him　for　the　day。　I　was　chubby　myself；　and　ought　to　know。　I　am　
sure　when　I　think　of　the　fellow　now；　my　blood　rises　against　him　
with　the　disinterested　indignation　I　should　feel　if　I　could　have　
known　all　about　him　without　having　ever　been　in　his　power；　but　it　
rises　hotly；　because　I　know　him　to　have　been　an　incapable　brute；　
who　had　no　more　right　to　be　possessed　of　the　great　trust　he　held；　
than　to　be　Lord　High　Admiral；　or　Commander…in…Chief—in　either　
of　which　capacities　it　is　probable　that　he　would　have　done　
infinitely　less　mischief。　

Miserable　little　propitiators　of　a　remorseless　Idol；　how　abject　we　
were　to　him！　What　a　launch　in　life　I　think　it　now；　on　looking　back；　
to　be　so　mean　and　servile　to　a　man　of　such　parts　and　pretensions！　

Here　I　sit　at　the　desk　again；　watching　his　eye—humbly　
watching　his　eye；　as　he　rules　a　ciphering…book　for　another　victim　

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whose　hands　have　just　been　flattened　by　that　identical　ruler；　and　
who　is　trying　to　wipe　the　sting　out　with　a　pocket…handkerchief。　I　
have　plenty　to　do。　I　don’t　watch　his　eye　in　idleness；　but　because　I　
am　morbidly　attracted　to　it；　in　a　dread　desire　to　know　what　he　will　
do　next；　and　whether　it　will　be　my　turn　to　suffer；　or　somebody　
else’s。　A　lane　of　small　boys　beyond　me；　with　the　same　interest　in　
his　eye；　watch　it　too。　I　think　he　knows　it；　though　he　pretends　he　
don’t。　He　makes　dreadful　mouths　as　he　rules　the　ciphering…book；　
and　now　he　throws　his　eye　sideways　down　our　lane；　and　we　all　
droop　over　our　books　and　tremble。　A　moment　afterwards　we　are　
again　eyeing　him。　An　unhappy　culprit；　found　guilty　of　imperfect　
exercise；　approaches　at　his　command。　The　culprit　falters　excuses；　
and　professes　a　determination　to　do　better　tomorrow。　Mr。　Creakle　
cuts　a　joke　before　he　beats　him；　and　we　laugh　at　it；—miserable　
little　dogs；　we　laugh；　with　our　visages　as　white　as　ashes；　and　our　
hearts　sinking　into　our　boots。　

Here　I　sit　at　the　desk　again；　on　a　drowsy　summer　afternoon。　A　
buzz　and　hum　go　up　around　me；　as　if　the　boys　were　so　many　
bluebottles。　A　cloggy　sensation　of　the　lukewarm　fat　of　meat　is　upon　
me　（we　dined　an　hour　or　two　ago）；　and　my　head　is　as　heavy　as　so　
much　lead。　I　would　give　the　world　to　go　to　sleep。　I　sit　with　my　eye　
on　Mr。　Creakle；　blinking　at　him　like　a　young　owl；　when　sleep　
overpowers　me　for　a　minute；　he　still　looms　through　my　slumber；　
ruling　those　ciphering…books；　until　he　softly　comes　behind　me　and　
wakes　me　to　plainer　perception　of　him；　with　a　red　ridge　across　my　
back。　

Here　I　am　in　the　playground；　with　my　eye　still　fascinated　by　
him；　though　I　can’t　see　him。　The　window　at　a　little　distance　from　
which　I　know　he　is　having　his　dinner；　stands　for　him；　and　I　eye　

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that　instead。　If　he　shows　his　face　near　it；　mine　assumes　an　
imploring　and　submissive　expression。　If　he　looks　out　through　the　
glass；　the　boldest　boy　（Steerforth　excepted）　stops　in　the　middle　of　
a　shout　or　yell；　and　becomes　contemplative。　One　day；　Traddles　
（the　most　unfortunate　boy　in　the　world）　breaks　that　window　
accidentally；　with　a　ball。　I　shudder　at　this　moment　with　the　
tremendous　sensation　of　seeing　it　done；　and　feeling　that　the　ball　
has　bounded　on　to　Mr。　Creakle’s　sacred　head。　

Poor　Traddles！　In　a　tight　sky…blue　suit　that　made　his　arms　and　
legs　like　German　sausages；　or　roly…poly　puddings；　he　was　the　
merriest　and　most　miserable　of　all　the　boys。　He　was　always　being　
caned—I　think　he　was　caned　every　day　that　half…year；　except　one　
holiday　Monday　when　he　was　only　ruler’d　on　both　hands—and　
was　always　going　to　write　to　his　uncle　about　it；　and　never　did。　
After　laying　his　head　on　the　desk　for　a　little　while；　he　would　cheer　
up；　somehow；　begin　to　laugh　again；　and　draw　skeletons　all　over　his　
slate；　before　his　eyes　were　dry。　I　used　at　first　to　wonder　what　
comfort　Traddles　found　in　drawing　skeletons；　and　for　some　time　
looked　upon　him　as　a　sort　of　hermit；　who　reminded　himself　by　
those　symbols　of　mortality　that　caning　couldn’t　last　for　ever。　But　I　
believe　he　only　did　it　because　they　were　easy；　and　didn’t　want　any　
features。　

He　was　ve