In the preface to the first edition of this book, I said that the feelings I experience after finishing a work prevent me from retreating far enough from it and treating my work with the composure that such formal preparations require. My interest in her was so fresh and strong, and my heart was so torn between joy and sorrow - the joy of achieving a long-planned goal, the sorrow of separation from many companions and comrades - that I was afraid of burdening the reader with too confidential messages and relating only to me one emotion.
Everything that I could say about this narrative besides this, I tried to say in it.
Perhaps the reader will not be too curious to know how sad it is to lay down the pen when two years' work of imagination is completed; or that it seems to the author that he is releasing a piece of himself into the gloomy world, when the crowd of living beings created by the power of his mind goes away forever. And yet I have nothing to add to this; unless it would also be necessary to admit (although, perhaps, this is not so important) that not a single person is able, reading this story, to believe in it more than I believed when I wrote it.
What has been said above remains valid today to such an extent that it remains for me to give the reader only one more confidential message. Of all my books, I love this one the most. They will easily believe me if I say that I treat all the children of my fantasy like a tender father and that no one has ever loved this family as dearly as I love them. But there is one child who is especially dear to me, and, like many tender fathers, I cherish him in the deepest recesses of my heart. His name is "David Copperfield".
The Life of David Copperfield as Told by Himself
Will I become the hero of a story about my own life, or someone else will take this place - the following pages should show. I’ll start the story about my life from the very beginning and say that I was born on Friday at twelve o’clock at night (that’s what I was told, and I believe it). It was noted that my first cry coincided with the first strike of the clock.
Taking into account the day and hour of my birth, my mother’s nurse and some experienced neighbors, who had a keen interest in me many months before our personal acquaintance, announced, firstly, that I was destined to experience misfortunes in life and, secondly, secondly, that I have been given the privilege of seeing ghosts and spirits; in their opinion, all ill-fated male and female babies born on Friday around midnight inevitably receive both these gifts.
There is no need for me to dwell here on the first prediction, for the history of my life itself will best show whether it came true or not. Regarding the second prediction, I can only declare that if I did not squander this part of my inheritance in infancy, then, therefore, I have not yet come into possession of it. However, having lost my property, I do not complain at all, and if it is currently in other hands, I sincerely wish the owner to keep it.
I was born wearing a shirt, and an advertisement appeared in the newspapers about its sale at a cheap price - for fifteen guineas. But either at that time the sailors had little money, or little faith and they preferred cork belts - I don’t know; I only know that there was only one offer from a certain solicitor connected with stockbrokers, who offered two pounds in cash (intending to make up the rest in sherry), but did not want to give more, and thereby protect himself from the danger of drowning. Following this, advertisements were no longer given, being considered a waste of money - as for the sherry, my poor mother was then selling her own sherry - and ten years later the shirt was raffled off in our area in a lottery between fifty participants who contributed half a crown, and the winner must pay an additional five shillings. I myself was present at this and, I remember, felt some awkwardness and embarrassment, seeing how a part of myself was being disposed of. I remember the shirt was won by an old lady with a small basket, from which she very reluctantly took out the required five shillings in halfpenny pieces, without paying two and a half pence; a lot of time was spent in unsuccessful attempts to prove this to her arithmetic. In our area they will long remember the remarkable fact that she actually did not drown, but solemnly rested for ninety-two years in her own bed. As I was told, she last days She was especially proud and boasted that she had never been on the water, except when crossing a bridge, and over a cup of tea (to which she had a passion) until her last breath she reviled the wicked sailors and all people in general who arrogantly “travel” around the world. In vain they explained to her that we owe many pleasant things to this reprehensible custom, including, perhaps, drinking tea. She answered even more energetically and with full faith in the strength of her objection:
- Let's not drive around!
So that I don’t have to travel around, I’m going back to my birth.
I was born in Suffolk, in Blunderstone or "around there" as they say in Scotland. I was born after my father's death. My father's eyes closed six months before the day mine opened and saw the light. Even now it’s strange to me that he never saw me, and what seems even stranger to me is the vague memory that I have with him. early childhood, about his white tombstone in the cemetery and about the feeling of inexpressible pity that I used to feel at the thought of this slab lying there alone on dark evenings, when in our small living room the fireplace was blazing and candles were burning, and the doors of our house were locked. and on the bolt - sometimes it seemed to me that there was something cruel in this.
My father's aunt, and therefore my great-aunt, who will be discussed later, was the most significant person in our family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss Betsy, as my poor mother called her, when she happened to overcome her fear of this formidable person and mention her (this happened rarely), Miss Betsy married a man younger than herself, who was very handsome, although It was by no means possible to apply to him the simple saying: “He who is good is beautiful.” It was not without reason suspected that he beat Miss Betsy and even once, during an argument about household expenses, took urgent and decisive measures to throw her out of a second-story window. Such signs of an uncooperative character prompted Miss Betsy to buy him off and part by mutual agreement. He went with his capital to India, where (if we believe our amazing family legend) he was seen riding an elephant in the company of a baboon; I think that it was probably a babu or a begum. Be that as it may, ten years later news came from India of his death. No one knew how it affected my grandmother: immediately after separation from him she again began to wear her maiden name, bought a cottage far from our place, in a village on the sea coast, settled there with a single maid and, according to rumors, lived in complete solitude.
It seems that my father was once her favorite, but his marriage mortally insulted her, because my mother was a “wax doll.” She had never seen my mother, but she knew that she was not yet twenty years old. My father and Miss Betsy never met again. He was twice my mother's age when he married her, and was not very strong. A year later he died - as I already said, six months before I was born.
"The Life of David Copperfield" is the eighth novel by the famous English writer Charles Dickens. At the time of publication of the work, Dickens's star was already shining brightly in the firmament of world literature. The public read his “Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club”, “Oliver Twist” and “Nicholas Nickleby”, “Barnaby Rudge” and “Martin Chuzzlewit”, “Dombey and Son”, as well as “The Antiquities Shop”.
The first chapters of the life story of David Copperfield began to be published in 1849. The last, fifth, publication was made in 1850. Main character, who is also the narrator, begins the story from the moment of his own birth, and we are parting with a mature man, successful, in demand in his business, a loving and beloved family man.
Knowing Dickens' biography, you can find many autobiographical moments in the novel. This is also indicated by the form of the narration - the story is told in the first person. Of course, you shouldn’t completely identify the author and the main character. David Copperfield - first of all artistic image, inspired by the author’s memories and the uncontrollable imagination of the great prose writer.
Let's remember how David Copperfield's life turned out.
David Copperfield was born on Friday at twelve o'clock at night. The baby's first cry coincided with the first strike of the clock. The nurse and some experienced neighbors saw in this a number of mystical omens. Firstly, the boy was promised a difficult fate, full of trials and suffering, and, secondly, they assured the mother in labor that her son would see spirits and ghosts.
Years later, Copperfield analyzes that the first part of the dubious “inheritance” went to him in full, but the second has not yet passed into his possession, which, by the way, he does not regret at all.
David's young mother did not care much about the neighbors' predictions. At that moment, she was occupied with absolutely uninteresting everyday problems. For example, how to feed your son and yourself. The thing is that David's father died suddenly four months before his birth, and the young Mrs. Copperfield, who was not adapted to life, absolutely did not know what to do next.
Just before the birth, the sister of her late husband, Miss Betsy Trotwood, came to her house. This bossy one strong woman volunteered to help my daughter-in-law and her girl. For some reason Miss Betsy was convinced that Mrs. Copperfield would certainly have a daughter. With his birth, David upset his aunt so much that without saying goodbye, she ran out of her daughter-in-law’s house and never appeared there again.
Meanwhile, young David Copperfield was growing up. She took care of him loving mother and the caring maid Peggotty. But soon the happy times in David’s life came to an end - his mother remarried. Her chosen one, Mr. Murdstone, turned out to be a most disgusting person. He controlled absolutely everything, not excluding the relationship between mother and son. Any manifestation of affection and tenderness towards a boy was considered unacceptable.
Soon Mr. Murdstone's sister joined the family. David remembers very well the day when a stroller stopped at the threshold of their house, from which a prim lady with hair the same black as her brother stepped out. She had thick dark eyebrows that looked like a man's sideburns. Miss Murdstone brought two black chests, a copper purse and her icy voice. She was truly a “metal lady” who, from the very first day, began to rule the house as a mistress.
Little David's life was becoming a living hell. The main torture in the domestic underworld was the lessons taught by Mr. Murdstone himself. For any offense, the teacher severely punished the student. David was literally dumb with fear, every moment expecting another slap on the head. Once, during a pedagogical spanking, David bit his “tormentor.” For such inappropriate behavior, the boy was sent to the private school Salem House.
Luckily, the link turned out to be quite nice. Young Copperfield made friends he had never had before and unexpectedly showed himself to be a capable student. And most importantly, there were no hated Murdstones and their iron views at school.
David Copperfield's short-lived happiness ended on the day of his mother's death. Mr. Murdstone no longer saw the point in paying for the boy's education, informing him that he was old enough to earn his own living. At that time, David Copperfield was ten years old.
The stepfather assigns his stepson to the Murdstone and Greenby trading house, of which he is a co-owner. Peggotty's favorite maid is being counted on. She leaves for her native Yarmouth, having persuaded Murdstone to let David go stay with her.
Working in a London trading house left David with the most terrible memories. Always hungry and cold, he collapsed after grueling work shifts. The only consolation is the Micawber family, from whom he rents an apartment. These good-natured losers surround him with warmth and care, which is so necessary for someone thrown into the world. adult life boy.
When Micawber is imprisoned as a debtor, David decides to flee London. The only hope for salvation is his grandmother, Miss Betsy Trotwood, who was once so disappointed by the fact that David was not born a girl.
Hungry, dirty, exhausted, the boy barely makes it to Miss Trotwood's house. He is ready for any twists of fate, but his grandmother, surprisingly, greets her grandson very cordially. He is immediately fed, bathed and put into a clean, warm bed. For the first time in many months, David Copperfield slept peacefully.
Ten-year-old Charles Dickens, like his hero, was forced to leave school and go to work in a blacking factory. This happened because his father (a kind but extremely impractical man) ended up in debtor's prison. During the months of working in the factory, Dickens tried to forget how bad dream. Since his dismissal, he never appeared at the factory again and always avoided the ill-fated street.
Finally, David Copperfield's life began to resemble that of children his age. He goes to school, eats home-cooked meals from his loving grandmother, who has become his full-time guardian, and even has a best friend - Agness Wickfield, the daughter of a local lawyer.
Agnes's father was once a successful lawyer. After the death of his wife, he seriously lost his temper, began to abuse alcohol, after which his affairs rapidly began to decline. Now he barely maintains his office, which is run by the vile swindler Uriah Heep. This adventurer carried out many vile machinations that almost ruined many of David’s loved ones, including his grandmother. Over time, Heap was brought to light, and his victims' fortunes were returned.
Meanwhile, young David Copperfield grew into a grown man. On the advice of his grandmother, he entered the Faculty of Law, but did not achieve much success in this field. But while practicing in Mr. Spenlow's office, he met Dora, the owner's daughter. David immediately fell in love with the pretty Dora and, despite the obstacles that arose in the path of the young people, he won the hand of his chosen one.
Unfortunately, the first years of their life together proved that there was nothing worthwhile behind Dora’s beautiful appearance. She never became David’s comrade-in-arms, like-minded person, friend, or soul mate.
Things didn’t work out with jurisprudence either. David begins to realize that this is not the occupation to which he would like to devote his life.
Unsuccessful marriage
The marriage of Charles Dickens and his wife Catherine was unsuccessful, despite the fact that at first the future wife also captivated the young Dickens with her beauty. Already in the first years of marriage, Charles clearly sympathized with her sister Mary, unexpected death which became a severe blow for him.
Happy ending
Life, however, put everything in its place. Silly Dora died suddenly, freeing David from the marriage that was weighing him down. He met his fate in the person of his childhood friend Agnes.
Having decisively broken with jurisprudence, Copperfield began to engage in reporting and made progress in this field. Soon he tries himself as a writer. His works are beginning to be in demand.
And most importantly, Grandma Trotwood is in seventh heaven because she has a great-granddaughter! The girl was named Betsy Trotwood Copperfield.
Having tried many professions, Dickens got a job as a reporter for a London newspaper and immediately began to make progress. Over time, he began to publish on the pages of periodicals short stories, which attracted the attention of major metropolitan publishing houses. Dickens gave up reporting and became a successful writer, the author of the best-selling novels in England.
Charles John Huffam Dickens, The Life of David Copperfield as Told by Himself
Charles John Huffam Dickens
(1812-1870)
"Sift world literature“Dickens will remain,” argued L.N. Tolstoy, who in his youth was greatly impressed by the masterpiece of the English prose writer Charles John Huffam Dickens (1812-1870) “The Personal History of David Copperfield” - “The Life of David Copperfield, Told by Himself” (1849-1850).
This novel, in which the writer gave a new understanding of the nature of good and evil for his time, became Dickens's first and only experience in the autobiographical genre and at the same time an example of social, everyday, psychological and philosophical novel, in which the conflict is not built around everyday secrets, but “is concentrated around the revelation of psychological secrets.”
It became the standard of an educational novel, which already contained all the innovations of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses by D. Joyce. But unlike Joyce, Dickens’s novel is permeated by genuine sympathy, sincere respect and love for ordinary people, especially to children.
It was after David Copperfield that the already “Inimitable” Dickens became “so popular that we, modern writers, we cannot even imagine how great his fame was. There is no such glory now” (G.K. Chesterton).
Critics began to call him a great poet for the ease with which he mastered words and images, comparing him in skill only to Shakespeare.
"The Life of David Copperfield as Told by Himself"
(1849-1850)
"David Copperfield" was created by a writer in the so-called. the third period of his work was in the 1850s, when he lost all his illusions and, continuing to believe only in the omnipotence of literature in exposing the vices of society, became an angry satirist and pessimist.
The novel was published in monthly installments from May 1849 to November 1850 under the title "The Life, Adventures, Trials and Observations of David Copperfield, Jr., of Rookery, Blunderstone, as described by himself (and never in any case intended for publication)."
In his work, Dickens was one of the first in world literature to show how the personality and fate of the hero is shaped not only and not so much by the sequence of events, but by the time in which a person lived, his memories of this time and the rethinking of his entire life in connection with this.
And although the novel is autobiographical in nature, it is not the autobiography of the writer; his own childhood and youth served him only as a reason for writing the work and gave him the main plot moves and characters. And there are so many of them (characters) in the novel that in a tangle-labyrinth storylines It's easy to get confused.
It is impossible to retell the book without literally emasculating everything - from its style to the characters' characters - within the framework of an essay. However, despite all the apparent mosaic, the novel is very simple, and it is this simplicity that best testifies to its literary perfection.
The novel, narrated in the first person, which gives it intimacy and trust, is populated by heroes, many of whom have become household names.
The popularity of the name of the main character, David Copperfield, can be judged by the fact that the world-famous illusionist took his name as a pseudonym. Unless Dickens’s hero did not need to show tricks to humanity, since his inexhaustible faith in people, in goodness and justice was enough for him.
Uriah Heep became a symbol of sanctimonious humility and human insignificance; the young aristocrat Steerforth is a narcissistic, irresponsible snob. When people want to point out the inhumanity of the system and methods of education, they usually name the names of Murdstone, David's cruel and greedy stepfather, and Creakle, a former hop merchant turned headmaster of a boys' school who "knows nothing but the art of flogging, and is more ignorant than the most the last student in school." Nanny Peggotty and David's grandmother Betsy Trotwood became symbols of kindness, albeit somewhat fussy, businessman Micawber - a thoughtless talker and loser.
The book tells a story young man, who overcame many obstacles and endured many hardships, a desperate and courageous person, charming and sincere. The pages dedicated to David's childhood and youth remain unsurpassed in world literature to this day, a textbook picture inner world boy and youth.
Philologist E.Yu. Genieva drew attention to the psychological authenticity of the narrative, with which “the distance is maintained between the author, writing a novel, and a growing hero,” when “Dickens makes us see the world through the eyes of little David.”
It was from this novel that the writer began the evolution of his central theme - “great hopes” and the overcoming of self-deception and spiritual emptiness by his heroes, their comprehension throughout their lives of the main human skill - the ability to distinguish between good and evil.
If we omit the parallel plot lines and branches, the outline of the main character’s life is as follows. David, born six months after the death of his father, was surrounded as a child by the care and love of his mother and nanny Peggotty. But when his mother married the domineering and cruel Mr. Mardstone for the second time, the boy’s life became unbearable. It ended with him being sent to a school run by the fanatic Creakle.
After the death of his mother, his stepfather no longer wanted to pay for his education and made him a slave of his company. The teenager's life passed in hunger and cold, as well as in the monotony of washing bottles, until he, in despair, found his grandmother in Dover, who became his guardian.
David successfully completed school, then his grandmother paid for his training to become a lawyer. The young man fell in love with Dora, who became his first wife, but did not make him happy. After her death, Copperfield married for the second time to Agnes, who loved him all his life. David, meanwhile, mastered shorthand, wrote reports, and, having moved from journalism to fiction, became famous writer, possessing the main thing that a writer should possess, which Dickens himself possessed - “the instinct of universal humanity” (F.M. Dostoevsky).
The novel captivated not only readers and critics. He had a strong influence on many literary schools, became a textbook for a variety of writers: D. Conrad, G. James, F. Kafka, W. Faulkner, M. Proust, B. Shaw, I. Waugh and others. L.N. fell under his spell. Tolstoy, F.M. Dostoevsky, N.S. Leskov, I.S. Turgenev and many other Russian writers. The book had a huge resonance in Russia. “The Life of David Copperfield” is still Dickens’s most popular novel, translated into all languages of the world. Most famous translation into Russian belongs to A.V. Krivtsov and E.L. Lannu.
The novel has been filmed dozens of times. Silent and sound films and television series were created by filmmakers from England, the USA, Germany, France, Italy, and Brazil. Became legendary american film 1935, filmed by D. Zukor - “The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences and Observations of Young David Copperfield.”
Charles Dickens
David Copperfield
Chapter I
I AM BORN
At the very beginning of my life story, I must mention that I was born on Friday, at midnight. It was noticed that my first cry came when the clock began to strike. Taking into account the day and hour of my birth, the nurse and several wise neighbors, who were keenly interested in my person many months before possible personal acquaintance with me, announced that I was destined to be unhappy in life. They were convinced that this was the inevitable fate of all unfortunate babies of both sexes born on Friday at midnight.
There is no need for me to say anything about this here, for the history of my life itself will best show whether this prediction was justified or whether it was false.
I was born at Blonderstone, in Suffolk, after the death of my father, whose eyes were closed to earthly light six months before mine were opened. And now, even when I think about it, it seems strange to me that my father never saw me. And even stranger are my vague memories of early childhood associated with my father’s white tombstone in our village cemetery: I always felt some kind of inexpressible pity for this stone, lying lonely in the darkness of the night, while in our little living room it was so bright and warmth from lit candles and a burning fireplace. At times it even seemed cruel to me that the doors of our house were tightly locked, as if from this very stone.
Most important person in our family there was my father’s aunt, therefore my great-aunt, about whom I will soon have to talk a lot here. My aunt, Miss Trotwood, or Miss Betsy (as my mother called her in those rare moments when she managed, overcoming her fear, to mention this formidable person), married a man younger than herself, a handsome man, who, however, did not live up to the saying: “Beautiful is he who acts beautifully.” He was strongly suspected of sometimes beating Miss Betsy, and once, in the heat of an argument over money matters, he suddenly went so far as to almost throw her out of a second-story window. Such eloquent proof of the dissimilarity of characters prompted Miss Betsy to pay off her husband and obtain a divorce by mutual agreement. With the capital thus obtained, Miss Betsy's ex-husband went to India, and there, according to an absurd family legend, he was once seen riding an elephant in the company of a baboon. Be that as it may, ten years later rumors of his death came from India.
What impression these rumors made on the aunt remained a secret to everyone, for immediately after the divorce she again took her maiden name, bought herself a house somewhere far away, in a village on the seashore, settled there alone with a maid, and from then on led a real life. hermits.
It seems to me that my father was once my aunt’s favorite, but he mortally insulted her by marrying a “wax doll,” as Miss Betsy called my mother. She had never seen my mother, but knew that she was not even twenty years old. After getting married, my father never met my aunt again. He was twice as old as his mother and was far from in good health. My father died a year after the wedding and, as I already mentioned, six months before I was born.
This was the state of affairs on an important and fraught Friday afternoon for me. Mother was sitting by the fireplace; she was not feeling well and was in a very depressed mood. Looking through her tears at the fire, she thought in deep despondency about herself and about the tiny unknown orphan, whom the world, apparently, was not going to greet very hospitably.
So, on a clear, windy March day, mother was sitting by the fireplace, thinking with fear and anguish about whether she would be able to get out of the upcoming ordeal alive, when suddenly, wiping away her tears, she saw through the window an unfamiliar lady walking through the garden.
Mother looked at the lady again, and a sure premonition told her that it was Miss Betsy. The setting sun from behind the garden fence illuminated the stranger as she walked towards the door of the house, and she walked with such a self-confident air, with such stern determination in her gaze, which could not have been possessed by anyone except Miss Betsy. Approaching the house, my aunt presented further evidence that it was she: my father often said that his aunt rarely acted like ordinary mortals. And this time, instead of calling, she went to the window and began to look out of it, pressing her nose so hard against the glass that, according to my poor mother, it instantly flattened and turned completely white.
Her appearance frightened my mother extremely, and I was always convinced that it was Miss Betsy who was responsible for my being born on a Friday. The excited mother jumped up from her chair and hid in the corner behind him. Miss Betsy, slowly and inquiringly rolling her eyes, like a Turk on a Dutch clock, looked around the room with them; Finally her gaze settled on her mother, and she, frowning, ordered her to open the door with an imperious gesture. She obeyed.
You are Mrs. Copperfield, I suppose? - asked Miss Betsy.
Yes,” muttered my mother.
Miss Trotwood,” the guest introduced herself. - I hope you have heard of her?
Mother replied that she had this pleasure. But she had the unpleasant consciousness that this “great” pleasure was not at all reflected on her face.
So, now you see her in front of you,” said Miss Betsy.
Mother bowed and asked her to enter. They went into the small living room from which mother had just come out, for the fireplace in the front living room had not been lit, or rather, it had not been lit since the funeral of their father.
When they both sat down, and Miss Betsy still did not begin to speak, mother, after a vain effort to pull herself together, burst into tears.
Well, well, well,” said Miss Betsy hastily. - Leave it! Completeness! Come on!
However, mother could not control herself, and the tears continued to flow until she cried out.
Take off your cap, my child,” Miss Betsy suddenly said, “let me look at you.”
Mother was too frightened not to obey this strange demand, and immediately took off her cap, and at the same time she was so nervous that her thick, wonderful hair completely fell out.
My God! - exclaimed Miss Betsy. - Yes, you are just a child!
Undoubtedly, even for her age, mother was unusually youthful. The poor thing hung her head as if it were her fault, and, sobbing, she admitted that perhaps she was too young both to be a widow and to be a mother, if only, after becoming a mother, she remained alive.
There was another silence, during which it seemed to my mother that Miss Betsy touched her hair, and the touch seemed gentle. Mother looked at her husband’s aunt with timid hope, but she, lifting her dress a little, put her feet on the fireplace grate, wrapped her hands around her knee and, frowning, stared at the blazing fire...
