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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi there. Welcome back. I hope you had a nice Memorial Day. I don't know about where you are, but where I am it was very, very cold and very rainy. It was very strange. But now it's back to being lovely and warm and I'm appreciating it even more because of the strange col rainy weekend that we had. I hope that you had a nice time, whatever it was for you. And now it is Thursday, which means that it is tea time. So I want to remind you that today, tonight, if you are listening in real time, it is tea time at 8pm Eastern over in our online community which is called the Drawing Room. And if you are not yet a member of the drawing room or you are not a member of the landed gentry, but you are a member of the drawing room and you would like to join us for tea time tonight, there is still time if you are listening in real time. If it is not Thursday, May 28th and that time has passed, or if it is after 8pm Eastern on Thursday the 28th, then you're going to have to wait until next time. But if it's before that, you can just scroll into the show notes, click on the link that's there, sign up and join us to Tonight for Tea Time. I hope that you will, or I hope that you have signed up. I know some people have signed up between last tea time and this tea time. So I'm really hoping to meet some new friends today. And of course I'm always, as always, I'm looking forward to chatting with my old friends. It's always such a fun time. We talk about the book, so we'll talk about what we've read so far. We talk about things that the book is bringing up for us, questions we have. You can ask me anything, so please feel free to come with questions. I'm happy to answer anything that you would like about the show, about how I make the show, my other work or whatever it is that you want to know about. I'm happy to answer those questions. So that is happening tonight, Thursday, May 28th at 8pm Eastern. And if you'd like to learn more. There's a link in the show notes to tell you all about the Drawing Room, which is our wonderful online community. And I hope that you will become a part of it if you are not already. Other than that, before we get into the show, just all the usual reminders, please make sure that you're subscribed to the show. Please tap the five stars. If you've been enjoying the show and you haven't done that yet, leave a positive review in your podcast player. If you've been enjoying the show and haven't done that yet, and more importantly than anything else, please just tell people about the show. Tell them about it if you think that they would like it, tell them about the different books that we've read. And in addition to helping this show to grow, you might also come to find that now you know someone who's also listening to these books and this show and you can talk about that with them in real life. And that's amazing. But thank you for all the ways that you support the show. I mean, you support it just by listening to it. So you're already supporting it. And I'm so, so grateful to you because I don't know. This is. This is a labor of love. I love this show so much. I love doing it. I love you guys. I love these books and these characters and getting to walk around in these worlds with you. And I really hope that we can do this for years and years to come and books and books to come and there are book that are not yet even in the public domain that I want to do. I want to get there. So I want this podcast to still be happening in years and years from now so that we can read some books that we can't read yet but will be able to read in years from now. So the way to keep this going, the way to make sure that we can do that, is to have enough people listen to it so that it can keep going, so that it can sustain itself. And so I really, really appreciate you listening and I really appreciate you telling other people and bringing your friends on board, because the more the merrier, really. Trul, Truly, it's amazing that we are doing this and I just absolutely love it. I had no idea when I started it how much I would love it, but I just love doing it. So thank you. Thank you for being here. All right, well, let's do it right? I love doing it. I hope you love listening. So let's get into it. Last time we read chapter 40, today we're going to be reading chapter 41. I have some great comments to read. We'll chat for a bit and then we'll get into this next chapter. So first, let's just remind ourselves of what we read last time. Here is the the recap all right, so where we left off David tells Ms. Betsy all about what happened with Agnes and Mr. Wickfield and Uriah, and about Agnes's advice to write to Dora's aunts. Ms. Bestie is very sorry about all of it, but approves of the idea of writing the letter. So David writes the letter and sends it, but he doesn't get a reply yet. Later, as he's walking home from Dr. Strong's in the snow, he first sees Martha, the girl that little Emily gave money to to help her go to London, and then Mr. Peggotty. He takes Mr. Peggotty to an inn and learns that he's been searching for Emily all this time. He went to France and Italy and then to Switzerland, where he was told that people had seen her and Steerforth and Linar, but by the time he got there, they were gone. He came back to Yarmouth and found that Emily had sent several envelopes of money as well as a letter to Mrs. Gummage asking her to tell Emily how Mr. Peggotty was doing. Mr. Peggotty is adamant that he will give the money back to Steerforth, and he had Mrs. Gummage write back that Mr. Peggotty is looking for Emily to bring her home. Now Mr. Peggotty is on his way to the Rind to look for Emily because that's where the last letter was postmarked. Or while they're talking. Martha creeps into the inn and listens to the story, but leaves again before Mr. Peggy can see her. David goes with Mr. Peggoty as far as the shore and then leaves him to continue his journey. Okay, I'm going to read 3 comments today. The first one comes from Kate Copeland. She says, Poor Mr. Peggy. My heart is breaking for him. In this episode, he loves Emily so much that he would accept her back no matter what. We could all learn forgiveness from him. This next one comes from our online community, the Drawing Room. This person goes by the handle randygordon. He says, okay, Dickens finally got to my heart and moved me to tears. Mr. Peggotty is on an epic pilgrimage as the selfless father and incarnation of unconditional love. Unable to speak the language, his legend precedes him, and he is welcomed wordlessly into the homes of those who have experienced love and loss What a beautiful contrast this humble man is to the humble creature of the last chapter. And this last one also comes from our online community. And this person goes by the handle rachelsee. She says, I'm torn again about little Emily. I pity her, but I'm also a bit angry with her. I feel like her letter simply rubbed salt in the wound. Surely she should know her family, her uncle especially, would never turn her away. At least her letter proves she is alive and as well as could be expected. I get the feeling that this isn't the last we have heard of Martha either. Okay, so I actually love this chapter. There are some chapters in this book that feel to me like little vignettes in and of themselves, like little short stories almost. Right now I'm thinking of the chapter where David first meets Mr. Omer and he gets measured for his funeral clothes for his mother's funeral. And we talked then about how that chapter was a sort of story unto itself, all about life and death and the way that they are intertwined and all of this. And this Last chapter, chapter 40, it feels like another one of these. It feels like this beautiful little image in a snow globe almost. And I don't think it could really stand alone because there's a lot of backstory that you'd need to know to understand what's going on. But it does feel kind of like an enclosed thing to me, and I find it really, really beautiful and moving. So the last time that we saw Mr. Peggotty, we talked about the way in which this quest that he's on to find Emily and bring her home, it's become like a thing of legend, and that Mr. Peggy himself has started to seem like a sort of mythological figure or even a kind of biblical figure, like a saint or something. And I think that sense of him is really amped up even more in this chapter. Like Randy is saying in his letter, Mr. Peggotty is like a kind of incarnation of unconditional love. His who life and his whole person has been narrowed down to this one kind of laser focus. And somehow he's radiating that out into the world such that children are flocking to him, women are bringing him food, strangers are helping him on his way. He's become like Santa Claus or something. And I don't think it's wrong to say that there is Christ, like imagery going on here as well. So that's one thing that makes this chapter so lovely. And I'll talk more about that in a moment. But the other thing that I love about this chapter is this bit with Martha, it's so brilliant. So remember, Mr. Peggotty wouldn't allow Emily to be in the same room as Martha because Martha is a fallen woman. Right? She's sexually promiscuous. At this point she's probably a full on prostitute. And Mr. Peggotty felt that his Emily was too pure, too innocent, too wholesome to even know a person like Martha. But of course now Emily has done something that puts her basically in the same category as Martha in a lot of ways. Emily has run off with a man without marrying him. She slept with him without marrying him. And as far as we can tell, she is living with him as if they are married. But so far there's no indication that they actually will get married kind of ever. So Emily is also a fallen woman. I mean, true, she is not a prostitute. But by the standard of the day, Emily is ruined, just like Martha is ruined. So the fact that Dickens brings Martha into this scene in which Mr. Peggotty is expressing his kind of single minded desire to find Emily and bring her home, to forgive her and shelter her, the fact that Martha is there listening to this is so poignant, so beautiful because it's almost like Emily is in the room with them. It's almost like it's Emily there listening to Mr. Paggetty tell David all about his quest to bring back his fallen niece and love her and take care of her no matter what. And Martha's presence reminds us, the reader, of the magnitude of Mr. Peggotty's love and forgiveness, the magnitude of his unconditional love. Because here is this bedraggled, tattered prostitute, a person that most of society would either just ignore or kind of actively abuse. Here is the sort of person that Emily has become in the eyes of society. And it reminds us that it is this sort of person that Mr. Peggotty is wandering the world over in search of so that he can love her and bring her home. I mean, ugh, it's so moving. And David spends the whole conversation trying to make sure that Mr. Peggotty doesn't see Martha. Right? He says it was Martha at the door. I saw her haggard listening face distinctly. My dread was lest he should turn his head and see her too. So, I mean, why? Right? Well, I think David doesn't want Mr. Peggotty to make the connection between Martha and Em because that would be too distressing for him. But David is also clearly taking care of Martha because Martha seems very much to want to hear what Mr. Peggy is saying about Emily to Hear what the news is about this woman who was kind to her but has disgraced herself. It's almost like. And this is what I mean about this chapter being a sort of entity unto itself or like a kind of metaphorical image or something. Because it's almost like Martha is waiting to hear her own fate or like she's Emily's spirit hovering in the room or something. David says, here's a quote. The listening face, insensible to the inclement night, still drooped at the door. And the hands begged me, prayed me not to cast it forth, okay? And David remembers that Emily was kind to Martha and therefore that Emily would probably want Martha to be allowed to listen if she wanted to. So it's sort of like they're the same or like Martha represents Emily in this scene almost. And if that's true, then it's almost like Emily is there listening as her uncle describes the truly heroic, truly legendary, truly Christlike lengths that he's going to to find her and bring her home. And that, like I was saying before, is the other piece that makes this chapter feel like its own thing or feel like a sort of complete entity. It's the way in which Mr. Peggy has become a kind of figure of legend. I mean, Dickens clearly wants us to understand this right from the beginning of the scene. Listen to David's first impression of seeing Mr. Peggotty for the first time in a long while. Here's what he When I saw him in the light, I observed not only that his hair was long and ragged, but that his face was burnt dark by the sun. He was grayer, the lines in his face and forehead were deeper. And he had every appearance of having toiled and wandered through all varieties of weather. But he looked very strong and like a man upheld by steadfastness of purpose whom nothing could tire out. I mean, doesn't that just sound like a sort of character in a fable or a fairy tale or something? This kind of old weather beaten man upheld by things that can't actually sustain you physically or materially, but are keeping him going nonetheless. And then we get this description from Mr. Peggotty of the way that he's received into the various towns that he. He passes through. I mean, it's beautiful. Here's what he says. By little and little, When I come to a new village or that among the poor people, I found they knowed about me, they would set me down at their cottage doors and give me what not for to eat and drink and show me where to sleep and Many a woman, Master Davie, as has had a daughter of about em' ly's age. I've found a wadin for me at our saviour's cross outside the village for to do me similar kindnesses. Some has had daughters as was dead. And God only knows how good them mothers was to me. Okay, so again, he's like a sort of fairy tale character, this man that everyone's heard of wandering about the land, beloved by children and women. But of course, we also have the Christian imagery of all these people waiting for him at the cross. And I think it's like Randy is saying, we're meant to feel that Mr. Peggy is offering Christlike forgiveness to his wayward niece and is therefore being helped along his way and rewarded by people who need the protection of a man like that, namely women and children. And like Kate says In her letter, Mr. Peggotty's mission is to bring unconditional love and forgiveness to a person who at the time would have been considered by society at large to be a pariah. And many a father or father figure would have completely disowned a daughter who did what Emily did. They would have acted like she was dead in order to maintain their own status and the status of their other children so that no one would be associated with the taint of what the one child had done. But Mr. Peggoty never even thinks of that for one moment. He believes that if he can find Emily and show her that he forgives her, then she will come back to him and that is all that matters. And I think the feeling that Rachel is expressing in her letter, this feeling of being angry with Emily for not trusting her uncle and for assuming that Mr. Peggotty has behaved like those other fathers we were just talking about who just disown their kids if they behave badly. I think that feeling is totally justified, but also that it adds to Mr. Peggotty's mythicness because there is a whole set of practical details going on in this chapter as well, right? The fact that Emily has written and the letters have postmarks, the fact that she sent money, the fact that Mr. Peggotty thought he'd located her but she'd moved on. The fact that Mr. Peggotty is carrying the money around because he's dead set on returning it to. To Steerforth, all that stuff is very much grounded in reality and in the little details of this search that Mr. Peggotty is on and the situation that Emily has gotten herself into. But Mr. Peggotty is in a way, operating outside of that nitty gritty stuff. He's dealing with much higher, much more universal things like love and forgiveness and principle and right and wrong. And yes, Emily knows Mr. Peggotty, and maybe she ought to know that he wouldn't just abandon her. But also, I don't think that she could possibly have anticipated his transformation into, like, Forgiveness man or whatever we want this, his superhero name to be. And I think it's also hard when you're feeling very guilty yourself. It's hard to imagine that someone else might love you enough to forgive you. And again, it would have been totally normal to disown a daughter who behaved like Emily is behaving. So I don't think it's totally unreasonable that she would believe that she couldn't go home because she wouldn't be welcome. I. I don't think we're meant to view this as Emily assuming that Mr. Peggy isn't a kind and loving uncle, but rather as Emily being so consumed with the guilt of what she's done, and also of the realization that I imagine that she's coming to at this point, that Steerforth will never marry her and therefore she won't ever be able to come home a lady. It's her own guilt that is causing her to believe that she wouldn't be welcomed home again. Remember, she says to Mrs. Gummidge in her letter, try, pray, do to relent towards a miserable girl. And write down on a bit of paper whether he is well and what he said about me before you left off ever naming me among yourselves, and whether of a night when it is my old time of coming home, you ever see him look as if he thought of one he used to love so dear. So she's saying that she's absolutely certain that what she's done is so bad and has betrayed Mr. Peggotty's care and love of her. So much that she knows for certain that he has decided to. To disown her, which is kind of hard to stomach, knowing what we know about Mr. Peggotty and what he's become. But it also is kind of understandable, given Emily's circumstances and her own guilt at what she's done. And again, it's this juxtaposition of reality and the details and the nitty gritty of Emily's life with Steerforth, with the higher mythic certainty of Mr. Peggy's quest. And this whole chapter ends first with Martha sort of fading into the background again. So if she is Emily's proxy here, it's Kind of like Emily is fading away again, fading off into the ether for Mr. Peggy to go in search of. I mean, it's almost like Mr. Peggy is becoming a sort of immortal creature who will be searching for his niece for lifetimes and lifetimes until like some deity takes pity on him and turns him into a constellation or something like that. So Martha, as Emily proxy fades away and then larger than life, Mr. Peggotty walks off into the mists of time or wherever. And David says, everything seemed to my imagination to be hushed in reverence for him as he resumed his solitary journey through the snow. Okay, so it really is a beautiful chapter. It's so moving, it's so haunting. And as Rachel says, it seems like Martha will be back. We can be fairly certain that we'll learn more about Mr. Peggotty and Emily at some point, point in the story. But even if this story wasn't always kind of shifting topics and like spiraling back to things from several chapters ago and everything, I think that we would feel that that was what was going to happen now, that the next chapter probably won't be about Mr. Peggy, that he just sort of wandered through David's story for a moment on his perpetual search for his niece and then wandered out of his story again. And hopefully we'll catch up with him again later when he wanders back through it. But of course that begs the question, what will we be hearing about in the story now? And there is only one way to find out, which is to keep reading. So we're going to do that now. But of course, don't forget to write to me. It's faithkmoor.com and click on Contact. Send me all your questions and thoughts, all of your reactions to the chapter. I love to hear from you, so please do that. And if you are interested or able, please do join us tonight at 8pm Eastern for tea time over in the drawing room. I hope to see you there. There. Alright, let's get started with Chapter 41 of David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. It's story time. Chapter 41. Dora's aunts. At last an answer came from the two old ladies. They presented their compliments to Mr. Copperfield and informed him that they had given his letter their best consideration with a view to the happiness of both parties, which I thought rather an alarming expression, not only because of the use they had made of it in relation to the family difference before mentioned, but because I had and have all my life observed that conventional phrases are a sort of fireworks easily let off and liable to take a great variety of shapes and colours, not at all suggested by their original form. The Mrs. Spenlow added that they beg to forbear expressing, through the medium of correspondence, an opinion on the subject of Mr. Copperfield's communications, but that if Mr. Copperfield would do them the favour to call upon a certain day, accompanied, if he thought proper, by a confidential friend, they would be happy to hold some conversation on the subject. To this favour, Mr. Copperfield immediately replied with his respectful compliments that he would have the honour of waiting on the Mrs. Spenlow at the time appointed, accompanied, in accordance with their kind permission, by his friend, Mr. Thomas Treadle of the Inner Temple. Having dispatched which missive, Mr. Copperfield fell into a condition of strong nervous agitation, and so remained until the day arrived. It was a great augmentation of my uneasiness to be bereaved at this eventful crisis, of the inestimable services of Ms. Mills. But Mr. Mills, who was always doing something or other to annoy me, or I felt as if he were, which was the same thing, had brought his conduct to a climax by taking it into his head that he would go to India. Why should he go to India, except to harass me? To be sure he had nothing to do with any other part of the world, and had a good deal to do with that part being entirely in the India trade, whatever that was. I had floating dreams myself concerning golden shawls and elephants teeth, having been at Calcutta in his youth and designing now to go out there again in the capacity of resident partner. But this was nothing to me. However, it was so much to him that for India he was bound, and Julia with him. And Julia went into the country to take leave of her relations, and the house was put into a perfect suit of bills, announcing that it was to be let or sold, and that the furniture mangle and all was to be taken at a valuation. So here was another earthquake of which I became the sport before I had recovered from the shock of its predecessor. So Ms. Mills, who he's always felt was sort of connection to Dora, is going away to India, so he's losing that conduit to her. I was in several minds how to dress myself on the important day, being divided between my desire to appear to advantage and my apprehensions of putting on anything that might impair my severely practical character in the eyes of the Mrs. Spenlow. I mean, he wants to look nice, but he doesn't want to look foppish or unserious to the aunt. I endeavored to hit a happy medium between these two extremes. My aunt approved the result, and Mr. Dick threw one of his shoes after Traddles and me for luck as we went downstairs. Excellent fellow, as I knew Traddles to be, and warmly attached to him as I was, I could not help wishing on that delicate occasion that he had never contracted the habit of brushing his hair so very upright. It gave him a surprised look, not to say a hearth broomy kind of expression, which my apprehensions whispered might be fatal to us. I took the liberty of mentioning it to Traddles as we were walking to Putney and saying that if he would smooth it down a little. My dear Copperfield, said Traddles, lifting off his hat and rubbing his hair all kinds of ways, nothing would give me greater pleasure. But it won't, won't be smoothed down, said I. No, said Traddles, nothing will induce it. If I was to carry a half hundred weight upon it all the way to Putney, it would be up again the moment the weight was taken off. You have no idea what obstinate hare mine is, Copperfield. I am quite a fretful porcupine. I was a little disappointed, I must confess, but thoroughly charmed by his good nature, too. I told him how I esteemed his good nature and said that his hair must have taken all the obstinacy out of his character, for he had none. Oh, returned Traddles, laughing. I assure you, it's quite an old story. My unfortunate hair. My uncle's wife couldn't bear it. She said it exasperated her. It stood very much in my way, too. When I first fell in love with Sophie, very much. Did she object to it? It? She didn't, rejoined Traddles. But her eldest sister, the one that's the beauty, quite made game of it, I understand. In fact, all the sisters laugh at it. Agreeable, said I. Yes, returned Traddles with perfect innocence. It's a joke for us. They pretend that Sophie has a lock of it in her desk and is obliged to shut it in a clasped book to keep it down. We laugh about it, by the by, my dear Traddles, said I, your experience may suggest something to me. When you became engaged to the young lady whom you have just mentioned, did you make a regular proposal to her family? Was there anything like what we are going through today, for instance, I added nervously. Why? Replied Traddles, on whose attentive face a thoughtful shade had stolen, it was rather a painful transaction, Copperfield. In my case. You see, Sophie, being of so much use in the family none of them could endure the thought of her ever being married. Indeed, they had quite settled among themselves that she never was to be married, and they called her the old maid. Accordingly, when I mentioned it, with the greatest precaution to Mrs. Cruller, the mamma, said I. The mamma, said Traddles. Reverend Horace Cruller. When I mentioned it, with every possible precaution to Mrs. Cruller, the effect upon her was such that she gave a scream and became insensible. I couldn't approach the subject again for months. You did at last, said I. Well, the Reverend Horace did, said Traddles. He is an excellent man, most exemplary in every way. And he pointed out to her that she ought to, as a Christian, to reconcile herself to the sacrifice, especially as it was so uncertain, and to bear no uncharitable feeling towards me as to myself, Copperfield, I give you my word, I felt a perfect bird of prey towards the family. The sisters took your part, I hope, Traddles? Why, I can't say they did. He returned when we had comparatively reconciled Mrs. Cruller to it. We had to break it to Sarah. You recollect my mentioning Sara as the one that has something the matter with her spine perfectly. She clenched both her hands, said Traddles, looking at me in dismay, shut her eyes, turned lead color, became perfectly stiff, and took nothing for two days but toast and water administered with a teaspoon. What a very unpleasant girl, Traddles, I remarked. Oh, I beg your pardon, Copperfield, said Traddles. She is a very charming girl, but she has a great deal of feeling. In fact, they all have. Sophie told me afterwards that the self reproach she underwent while she was in attendance upon Sarah no words could describe. I know it must have been severe by my own feelings, Copperfield, which were like a criminal's. After Sara was restored, we still had to break it to the other eight, and it produced various effects upon them of a most pathetic nature. The two little ones whom Sophie educates have only just left off detesting me. At any rate, they are all reconciled to it now, I hope, said I. Yes, I should say they were, on the whole, resigned to it, said Traddles, doubtfully. The fact is, we avoid mentioning the subject, and my unsettled prospects and indifferent circumstances are a great consolation to them. There will be a deplorable scene whenever we are married. It will be much more like a funeral than a wedding, and they'll all hate me for taking her away. His honest face as he looked at Me, with a serio comic shake of his head, impresses me more in the remembrance than it did in the reality. For I was by this time in a state of such excessive trepidation and wandering of mind as to be quite unable to fix my attention on anything. On our approaching the house where the Mrs. Spenlow lived, I was at such a discount in respect of my personal looks and presence of mind that Traddles proposed a gentle stimulant in the form of a glass of ale. This having been administered at a neighbouring public house, he conducted me with tottering steps to the Mrs. Spenlow's door. I had a vague sensation of being, as it were, on view when the maid opened it, and of wavering somehow across a hall with a weather glass in it into a quiet little drawing room on the ground floor floor commanding a neat garden. Also of sitting down here on a sofa and seeing Traddles hair start up now his hat was removed, like one of those obtrusive little figures made of springs that fly out of fictitious snuff boxes when the lid is taken off. Also of hearing an old fashioned clock ticking away on the chimney piece and trying to make it keep time to the jerking of my heart, which it wouldn't. Also of looking round the room for any sign of Dora and seeing knots. Also of thinking that Gyp once barked in the distance and was instantly choked by somebody. Ultimately I found myself backing Traddles into the fireplace and bowing in great confusion to two dry little elderly ladies dressed in black and each looking wonderfully like a preparation in chip or tan of the late Mr. Spenlow. Pray, said one of the two little ladies, be seated. When I had done tumbling over Traddles and had sat upon something which was not a cat, my first seat was. I so far recovered my sight as to perceive that Mr. Spenlow had evidently been the youngest of the family, that there was a disparity of six or eight years between the two sisters, and that the younger appeared to be the manager of the conference, inasmuch as she had my letter in her hand, so familiar as it looked to me, and yet so odd, and was referring to it through an eye glass. They were dressed alike, but this sister wore her dress with a more youthful air than the other, and perhaps had a trifle frill or tucker or brooch or bracelet or some little thing of that kind which made her look more lively. They were both upright in their carriage, formal, precise, composed and quiet. The sister who had not my letter had her arms crossed on her breast and resting on each other like an idol. Mr. Copperfield, I believe, said the sister who had got my letter addressing herself to Traddles. This was a frightful beginning. Traddles had to indicate that I was Mr. Copperfield. And I had to lay claim to myself. And they had to divest themselves of a preconceived opinion that traddles was Mr. Copperfield. And altogether we were in a nice condition to improve it. We all distinctly heard Jip give two short barks and receive another choke. Mr. Copperfield, said the sister with the letter, I did something, bowed, I suppose, and was all attention when the other sister struck in. My sister Lavinia said, she, being conversant with matters of this nature, Will state what we consider most calculated to promote the happiness of both parties. I discovered afterwards that Miss Lavinia was an authority in affairs of the heart. By reason of there having anciently existed a certain Mr. Pidger who played short whist and was supposed to have been enamoured of her. My private opinion is that this was entirely a gratuitous assumption. And that Pidger was altogether innocent of any such sentiment. Sentiments to which he had never given any sort of expression that I could ever hear of. Both Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa had a superstition, however, that he would have declared his passion if he had not been cut short in his youth at about 60 by over drinking his constitution. And overdoing an attempt to set it right again by swilling bath water. They had a lurking suspicion even, that he died of secret love. Though I must say there was a picture of him in the house with a damask nose, which concealment did not appear to have ever preyed upon. Okay, so these two old ladies are spinsters. They've never been married or in love. But one of them thinks she once had a suitor, although David doubts it. And so that's the one that's going to discuss the situation with David. Because she knows more about love. We will not, said Ms. Lavinia, enter on the past history of this matter. Our poor brother Francis's death has cancelled that. We had not, said Ms. Clarissa, been in the habit of frequent association with our brother Francis. But there was no decided division or disunion between us. Frances took his road, we took ours. We considered it conducive to the happiness of all parties that it should be so. And it was so. Each of the sisters leaned a little forward to speak, shook her head after speaking and became upright again when silence silent. Ms. Clarissa never moved her arms. She sometimes played tunes upon them with her fingers. Minuets and marches, I should think, but never moved them. Our niece's position, or supposed position, is much changed by our brother Francis death, said Ms. Lavinia, and therefore we consider our brother's opinions as regarded her position as being changed too. We have no reason to doubt, Mr. Copperfield, that you are a young gentleman possessed of good qualities and honorable character, or that you have an affection or are fully persuaded that you have an affection for our niece. I replied as I usually did whenever I had a chance, that nobody had ever loved anybody else as I loved Dora. Traddles came to my assistance with a confirmatory murmur. Miss Lavinia was going on to make some rejoinder, when Miss Clarissa, who appeared to be incessantly beset by a desire to refer to her brother Francis, struck in again. If Dora's mama, she said, when she married our brother Frances had at once said that there was not room for the family at the dinner table. It would have been better for the happiness of all parties, Sister Clarissa, said Miss Lavinia. Perhaps we needn't mind that now, sister Lavinia, said Ms. Clarissa. It belongs to the subject with your branch of the subject on which alone you are competent to speak. I should not think of interfering on this branch of the subject. I have a voice and an opinion. It would have been better for the happiness of all parties if Dora's mama, when she married our brother Francis, had mentioned plainly what her intentions were. We should then have known what we had to expect. We should have said, pray, do not invite us at any time time, and all possibility of misunderstanding would have been avoided. Okay. So even though they keep saying that they didn't have any quarrel with Mr. Spenlow, they actually did. And they objected to the fact that they weren't invited to sit at the dinner table with the family when Mr. And Mrs. Spenlow got married. And since then they have stayed away. Because if they couldn't sit at the dinner table, then they don't want to ever sit at it. Ever. When Ms. Clarissa had shaken her head, Ms. Lavinia resumed again, referring to my letter through her eyeglass. They both had little bright round twinkling eyes, by the way, which were like birds eyes. They were not unlike birds altogether, having a sharp, brisk, sudden manner and a little short spruce way of adjusting themselves like canaries. Ms. Lavinia, as I have said, resumed, you ask permission of my sister Clarissa and myself, Mr. Copperfield, to visit here as the acceptance suitor of our niece. If our brother Francis, said Miss Clarissa, breaking out again, if I may call anything so calm breaking out, wished to surround himself with an atmosphere of doctors Commons and of Doctors Commons only. What right or desire had we to object? None, I am sure. We have never been far from wishing to obtrude ourselves on any one. But why not say so? Let our brother Francis and his wife have their society. Let my sister Lavinia and myself have our society. We can find it for ourselves, I hope. As this appeared to be addressed to Traddles and me, both Traddles and I made some sort of reply. Traddles was inaudible, I think. I observed myself that it was highly creditable to all concerned. I don't in the least know what I meant, Sister Lavinia, said Miss Clarissa, having now relieved her mind. You can go on, my dear Miss Lavinia, proceeded Mr. Copperfield. My sister Clarissa and I have been very careful indeed in considering this letter, and we have not considered it without finally showing it to our niece and discussing it with our niece. We have no doubt that you think you like her very much. Think, ma'? Am, I rapturously began. Oh, but Miss Clarissa gave me a look just like a sharp canary, as requesting that I would not interrupt the oracle, I begged pardon. Affection, said Miss Lavinia, glancing at her sister for corroboration, which she gave in the form of a little nod to every clause. Mature affection, homage, devotion, does not easily express itself. Its voice is low. It is modest and retiring. It lies in ambush, awaits and waits. Such is the mature fruit. Sometimes a life glides away and finds it still ripening in the shade. Of course, I did not understand then that this was an allusion to her supposed experience of the stricken pidger. But I saw from the gravity with which Miss Clarissa nodded her head that great weight was attached to these words. The light, for I call them, in comparison with such sentiments. The light inclinations of very young people pursued Miss Lavinia, are dust compared to rocks. It is owing to the difficulty of knowing whether they are likely to endure or have any real foundation that my sister Clarissa and myself have been very undecided how to act. Mr. Copperfield and Mr. Traddles said my friend, finding himself looked at. I beg pardon of the inner temple, I believe, said Miss Clarissa, again glancing at my letter. Traddles said exactly so, and became pretty red in the face. Now, although I had not received any express encouragement as yet, I fancied that I saw in the two little sisters, and particularly in Miss Lavinia an intensified enjoyment of this new and fruitful subject of domestic interest, a settling down to make the most of it, a disposition to pet it fit in which there was a good bright ray of hope. I thought I perceived that Miss Lavinia would have uncommon satisfaction in superintending two young lovers like Dora and me, and that Miss Clarissa would have hardly less satisfaction in seeing her superintend us, and in chiming in with her own particular department of the subject whenever the impulse was strong upon her. This gave me courage to protest most vehemently that I loved Dora better than I could tell or anyone believed. Leave. That all my friends knew how I loved her, that my Aunt Agnes Traddles, everyone who knew me knew how I loved her, and how earnest my love had made me. For the truth of this I appealed to Traddles. And Traddles, firing up as if he were plunging into a parliamentary debate, really did come out nobly confirming me in good round terms, and in a plain, sensible, practical manner that evidently made a favourable impression. I speak, if I may presume to say so, as one who has some little experience of such things, said Traddles, being myself engaged to a young lady, one of 10 down in Devonshire, and seeing no probability at present of our engagement coming to a termination. You may be able to confirm what I have said, Mr. Tradles, observed Ms. Lavinia, evidently taking a new interest in him of the affection that is modest and retiring. Then waits and waits entirely, ma', am, said Traddles. Miss Clarissa looked at Miss Lavinia and shook her head gravely. Miss Lavinia looked consciously at Miss Clarissa and heaved a sigh. Sister Lavinia, said Miss Clarissa, take my smelling bottle. Miss Lavinia revived herself with a few whiffs of aromatic vinegar. Traddles and I, looking on with great solicitude the while, and then went on to say rather faintly, my sister and myself have been in great doubt, Mr. Traddles, what course we ought to take in reference to the likings or imaginary likings of such very young people as your friend Mr. Copperfield and our niece, our brother Francis Child, remarked Miss Clarissa, if our brother Francis's wife had found it convenient in her lifetime, though she had an unquestionable right to act as she thought best to invite the family to her dinner table, we might have known our brother Francis child better at the present moment. Sister Lavinia, proceed. Miss Lavinia turned my letter so as to bring the superscription towards herself, and referred through her eye glass to Some orderly looking notes that she had made on that part of the seems to us, said she, prudent Mr. Traddles, to bring these feelings to the test of our own observation. At present we know nothing of them, and are not in a situation to judge how much reality there may be in them. Therefore we are inclined so far to accede to Mr. Copperfield's proposal as to admit his visits here. I shall never. Dear ladies, I exclaimed, relieved of an immense load of apprehension, forget your kindness, but pursued Miss Lavinia. But we would prefer to regard those visits, Mr. Traddles, as made at present to us. We must guard ourselves from recognizing any positive engagement between Mr. Copperfield and our niece until we have had an opportunity. Until you have had an opportunity, Sister Lavinia, said Miss Clarissa. Be it so ascended Miss Lavinia with a sigh. Until I have had an opportunity of observing them, Copperfield said, travels. Turning to me, you feel, I am sure, that nothing could be more reasonable or considerate. Nothing, Cried I. I am deeply sensible of it. In this position of affairs, said Miss Lavinia, again, referring to her notes and admitting his visits. On this understanding only, we must require from Mr. Copperfield a distinct assurance on his word of honour that no communication of any kind shall take place between him and our niece without our knowledge, that no project whatever shall be entertained with regard to our niece without being first submitted to us to you, Sister Lavinia, Miss Clarissa interposed. Be it so, Clarissa, assented Miss Lavinia, resignedly to me, and receiving our concurrence, we must make this a most express and serious stipulation, not to be broken on any account. We wished Mr. Copperfield to be accompanied by some confidential friend today, with an inclination of her head towards Traddles, who bowed in order that there might be no doubt or misconception on this subject. If Mr. Copperfield, or if you, Mr. Traddles, feel the least scruple in giving this promise, I beg you to take time to consider. I exclaimed in a state of high ecstatic fervour, that not a moment's consideration could be necessary. I bound myself by the required promise in a most impassioned manner, called upon Traddles to witness it, and denounced myself as the most atrocious of characters if I ever swerved from it in the least degree. Stay. Said Ms. Lavinia, holding up her hand. We resolved, before we had the pleasure of receiving you two gentlemen, to leave you alone for a quarter of an hour to consider this point. Point. You will allow us to retire It Was in vain for me to say that no consideration was necessary. They persisted in withdrawing for the specified time. Accordingly, these little birds hopped out with great dignity, leaving me to receive the congratulations of Traddles and to feel as if I were translated to regions of exquisite happiness. Exactly at the expiration of the quarter of an hour they reappeared with no less dignity than they had disappeared. Appeared they had gone rustling away as if their little dresses were made of autumn leaves, and they came rustling back in like manner. I then bound myself once more to the prescribed conditions. Sister Clarissa, said Miss Lavinia, the rest is with you. Miss Clarissa, unfolding her arms for the first time, took the notes and glanced at them. We shall be happy, said Miss Clarissa, to see Mr. Copperfield to dinner every Sunday if it should suit his convenience. Our hour is three. I bowed. In the course of the week, said Miss Clarissa, we shall be happy to see Mr. Copperfield to tea. Our hour is half past six. I bowed again twice in the week, said Miss Clarissa, but as a rule, not oftener. I bowed again. Miss Trotwood, said Miss Clarissa, mentioned in Mr. Copperfield's letter, will perhaps, perhaps call upon us. When visiting is better for the happiness of all parties, we are glad to receive visits and return them. When it is better for the happiness of all parties that no visiting should take place, as in the case of our brother Francis and his establishment, that is quite different. I intimated that my aunt would be proud and delighted to make their acquaintance, Though I must say I was not quite sure of their getting on very satisfactorily together, the conditions being now closed, I expressed my acknowledgments in the warmest manner. Honour and taking the hand first of Miss Clarissa and then of Miss Lavinia, pressed it in each case to my lips. Ms. Lavinia then arose and, begging Mr. Traddles to excuse us for a minute, requested me to follow her. I obeyed, all in a tremble, and was conducted into another room. There I found my blessed darling stopping her ears behind the door with her dear little face against the wall and Gyp in the plate warmer with his head tied up in a towel. Okay, so Dora's been trying to listen to the whole conversation and keep Jip quiet. Oh, how beautiful she was in her black frock. And how she sobbed and cried at first and wouldn't come out from behind the door. How fond we were of one another when she did come out at last. And what a state of bliss I was in when we took Gyp out of the plate warmer and restored him to the light, sneezing very much. And were all three reunited. My dearest Dora, now indeed my own forever. Oh, don't, pleaded Dora, please. Are you not my own forever, Dora? Oh yes, of course I am, cried Dora. But I am so frightened. Frightened? My own. Oh, yes. I don't like him, said Dora. Why don't he go? Who? My life, your friend, said Dora. It isn't any business of his. What a stupid he must be. My love, there never was anything so coaxing as her childish ways. He is the best creature. Oh, but we don't want any best creatures, pouted. Dora, my dear, I argued. You will soon know him well and like him of all things. And here is my aunt coming soon. And you'll like her of all things too, when you know her. No, please don't bring her, said Dora, giving me a horrified little kiss and folding her hands. Don't I know she's a naughty, mischief making old thing. Don't let her come here, Dodie, which was a corruption of David Remonstrance, was of no use then. So I laughed and admired and was very much in love and very happy. And she showed me Gyp's new trick of standing on his hind legs in a corner, which he did for about the space of a flash of lightning and then fell down town. And I don't know how long I should have stayed there, oblivious of traddles, if Ms. Lavinia had not come in to take me away. Ms. Lavinia was very fond of Dora, she told me Dora was exactly like what she had been herself at her age. She must have altered a good deal, and she treated Dora just as if she had been a toy. I wanted to persuade Dora to come and see Traddles, but on my proposing it she ran off to her own room and locked herself in. So I went to Traddles without her and walked away with him on air. Nothing could be more satisfactory, said Traddles, as they are very agreeable old ladies, I am sure I shouldn't be at all surprised if you were to be married years before me. Copperfield. Does your sophy play on any instrument? Traddles? I inquired in the pride of my heart. She knows enough of the piano to teach it to her little sisters, said Traddles. Does she sing at all? I asked. Why, she sings ballads sometimes to freshen up the others a little when they're out of spirits, said Traddles. Nothing scientific. She doesn't sing to the guitar, said I. Oh dear, no, said Traddles. Paint at All. Not at all, said Traddles. I promised Traddles that he should hear Dora sing and see some of her flower paintings. He said he should like it very much, and we went home arm in arm, in great good humour and delight. I encouraged him to talk about Sophie on the way, which he did with a loving reliance on her that I very much admired. I compared her in my mind with Dora with considerable inward satisfaction. But I candidly admitted to myself that she seemed to be an excellent kind of girl for Traddles too. Of course, my aunt was immediately made acquainted with the successful issue of the conference and with all that had been said and done in the course of it. She was happy to see me so happy and promised to call on Dora's aunts without loss of time. But she took such a long walk up and down our rooms that night while I was writing to Agnes, that I began to think she meant to walk till morning. My letter to Agnes was a fervent and grateful one. Narrating all the good effects that had resulted from my following her advice, she wrote by return of post to me me. Her letter was hopeful, earnest and cheerful. She was always cheerful. From that time I had my hands more full than ever. Now my daily journeys to Highgate. Considered Putney was a long way off, and I naturally wanted to go there as often as I could. The proposed tea drinkings being quite impracticable. I compounded with Miss Lavinia for permission to visit every Saturday afternoon without detriment to my privilege. Village Sundays. So the close of every week was a delicious time for me, and I got through the rest of the week by looking forward to it. I was wonderfully relieved to find that my aunt and Dora's aunts rubbed on, all things considered, much more smoothly than I could have expected. Meaning Miss Betsy gets along pretty well with Dora's aunts. My aunt made her promised visit within a few days of the conference, and within a few more days Dora's aunts called upon her her in due state and form. Similar but more friendly exchanges took place afterwards, usually at intervals of three or four weeks. I know that my aunt distressed Dora's aunts very much by utterly setting at naught the dignity of fly conveyance and walking out to Putney at extraordinary times as shortly after breakfast or just before tea, meaning Dora's aunts find it very odd that Miss Betsy walks there instead of taking a cab. Likewise, by wearing her bonnet in any manner that happened to be comfortable to her head without at all deferring to the Prejudices of civilization on that subject. But Dora's aunt soon agreed to regard my aunt. As an eccentric and somewhat masculine lady with a strong understanding. And although my aunt occasionally ruffled the feathers of Dora's aunts. By expressing heretical opinions on various points of ceremony, she loved me too well not to sacrifice some of her little peculiarities to the general harmony. The only member of our small society. Who positively refused to adapt himself to circumstances was Gyp. He never saw my aunt without immediately displaying every tooth in his head, Retiring under a chair and growling incessantly with now and then a doleful howl. As if she really were too much for his feelings. All kinds of treatment were tried with him, coaxing, scolding, slapping, bringing him to Buckingham Street. Where he instantly dashed at the two cats to the terror of all beholders. But he never could prevail upon himself to bear my aunt's society. He would sometimes think he had got the better of his objection and be amiable for a few minutes. And then would put up his snub nose and howl to that extent that there was nothing for it but to blind him and put him in the plate warmer at length. Dora regularly muffled him in a towel and shut him up there. Whenever my aunt was reported at the door. Door. One thing troubled me much after we had fallen into this quiet train. It was that Dora seemed by one consent to be regarded like a pretty toy or plaything. My aunt, with whom she gradually became familiar, Always called her little blossom. And the pleasure of Miss Lavinia's life was to wait upon her, curl her hair, make ornaments for her, and treat her like a pet child. What Miss Lavinia did, her sister did as a matter of course. It was very odd to me. But they all seemed to treat Dora in her degree. Much as Dora treated Jip in his. I made up my mind to speak to Dora about this. And one day when we were out walking. For we were licensed by Miss Lavinia after a while to go out walking by ourselves. I said to her that I wish she could get them to behave towards her differently. Because, you know, my darling, I remonstrated, you are not a child there, said Dora. Now you are going to be cross. Cross, my love. I am sure they are very kind to me, said Dora, and I am very happy. Well, but my dearest life, said I, you might be very happy and yet be treated rationally. Dora gave me a reproachful look, the prettiest look. Look. And then began to sob, saying if I didn't like her. Why had I ever wanted so much to be engaged to her? And why didn't I go away now? If I couldn't bear her, what could I do but kiss away her tears and tell her how I doted on her. After that I am sure I am very affectionate, said Dora. You oughtn't to be cruel to me, Dodie. Cruel, my precious love? As if I would or could be cruel to you for the world. Then don't find fault with me, said Dora, making a rosebud of her mouth, and I'll be good. I was charmed by her presently asking me of her own accord, to give her that cookery book I had once spoken of, and to show her how to keep accounts as I had once promised I would, I brought the volume with me on my next visit. I got it prettily bound first, to make it look less dry and more inviting, and as we strolled about the common, I showed her an old housekeeping book of my aunt's and gave her a set of tablets and a pretty little pencil case and box of leads to practice housekeeping with. But the cookery book made Dora's head ache, and the figures made her cry. They wouldn't add up, she said, so she rubbed them out and drew little nosegays and likenesses of me and Jip all over the tablets. Then I playfully tried verbal instruction in domestic matters as we walked about on a Saturday afternoon. Sometimes, for example, when we passed a butcher's shop, I would say, now suppose, my pet, that we were married and you were going to buy a shoulder of mutton for dinner. Would you know how to buy it? My pretty little Dora's face would fall and she would make her mouth into a bud again, as if she would very much prefer to shut mine with a kiss. Would you know how to buy it, my darling? I would repeat. Perhaps if I were very inflexible, Dora would think a little, and then reply, perhaps with great triumph, why, the butcher would know how to sell it, and what need I know? Oh, you silly boy. So when I once asked Dora, with an eye to the cookery book, what she would do if we were married and I were to say I should like a nice Irish stew, she replied that she would tell the servant to make it, and then clapped her little hands together across my arm and laughed in such a charming manner that she was more delightful than ever. Consequently, the principal use to which the cookery book was devoted was being put down in the corner for Gyp to stand upon. But Dora was so pleased when she had trained him to stand upon it without offering to come off and at the same time to hold the pencil case in his mouth, that I was very glad I had bought it and we fell back on the guitar case and the flower painting and the songs about never leaving off dancing Tara la and were as happy as the week was long. I occasionally wished I could venture to hint to Ms. Lavinia that she treated the darling of my heart a little too much like a play thing and I sometimes awoke as it were wondering to find that I had fallen into the general fault and treated her like a plaything too, but not often. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmore.com click on contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the Show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the Show Notes. You can learn more about me, check out our Merch store, or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. 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