Дэвид Копперфильд

I Fall into Disgrace

           

           Thenaturalresultofthistreatment,continued,Isuppose,forsomesixmonthsormore,wastomakemesullen,dull,anddogged.Iwasnotmadethelesssobymysenseofbeingdailymoreandmoreshutoutandalienatedfrommymother.IbelieveIshouldhavebeenalmoststupefiedbutforonecircumstance.

           Itwasthis.Myfatherhadleftasmallcollectionofbooksinalittleroomupstairs,towhichIhadaccess(foritadjoinedmyown)andwhichnobodyelseinourhouseevertroubled.Fromthatblessedlittleroom,RoderickRandom,PeregrinePickle,HumphreyClinker,TomJones,theVicarofWakefield,DonQuixote,GilBlas,andRobinsonCrusoe,cameout,aglorioushost,tokeepmecompany.Theykeptalivemyfancy,andmyhopeofsomethingbeyondthatplaceandtime,—they,andtheArabianNights,andtheTalesoftheGenii,—anddidmenoharm;forwhateverharmwasinsomeofthemwasnotthereforme;Iknewnothingofit.Itisastonishingtomenow,howIfoundtime,inthemidstofmyporingsandblunderingsoverheavierthemes,toreadthosebooksasIdid.ItiscurioustomehowIcouldeverhaveconsoledmyselfundermysmalltroubles(whichweregreattroublestome),byimpersonatingmyfavouritecharactersinthem—asIdid—andbyputtingMr.andMissMurdstoneintoallthebadones—whichIdidtoo.IhavebeenTomJones(achild’sTomJones,aharmlesscreature)foraweektogether.IhavesustainedmyownideaofRoderickRandomforamonthatastretch,Iverilybelieve.

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