David Copperfield

David Copperfield: Charles Dickens

Cover image: Kubilay Sak

Translation: Google/Gemini

E-isbn (İng): 978-625-6020-51-1

Year of Printing: 2025

It cannot be reproduced, published or distributed without permission from the publishing house, except for short quotations for promotional purposes, provided that the source is cited.

Publication and Distribution: Özlem Publishing House

Yenibati Mahallesi Uğrak İş Merkezi No: 61

Batıkent / Ankara Tel: 0505 346 6049

Trademark Registration: 2012 / 35576

Publisher Certificate: 53253

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David Copperfield

I was born in Blunderstone. My father died before I was born. What luck, right?

My name is David Copperfield. I'm going to tell you my life story.

Since I don't know anything about my birth or early days, I'll tell you exactly what I was told.

My father's death deeply affected my mother. For months, she grieved, thinking of herself and the child she was carrying me. How could she not grieve? She was a widow, and the child in her womb was destined to be unfortunate even before birth.

My mother was sitting sadly by the hearth, as usual, when Miss Betsey, instead of ringing the doorbell, pressed her forehead against the window and looked in. When my mother saw her at the window, she got up and opened the door.

Miss Betsey was my father's aunt. She lived in a cottage by the sea with her maid. The man she married turned out to be no good at all. She sent that bad man packing. Aunt Betsey loved my father very much but opposed his marriage to my mother. She always had bad thoughts about my mother. She saw her as someone to be trifled with.

My father, on the other hand, was very angry that someone he loved was thought of in such a way. Because she made such definitive judgments on matters that were not her concern, he had an argument with his aunt. After that day, they never saw each other again.

When my mother saw her deceased husband's aunt at the door, she said, “Please come in.” My aunt asked my mother, “You are Mrs. Copperfield, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am,” my mother replied.

Miss Betsey and my mother sat facing each other inside. My mother, remembering the old days, began to cry. Miss Betsey tried to comfort her.

“Oh, my dear,” she said. “Please don't cry. You must be strong. You must submit to fate.”

My mother had already submitted to her fate by becoming a widow at such a young age, but her crying didn't stop. Then Miss Betsey took my mother's face in her hands and said, “You're still just a child. It's not right to grieve so much at this age. Come on, have some tea.”

Aunt Betsey called the maid and asked her to make tea. Then she turned to my mother and said, “Let's talk about the baby you're going to have. I believe it will be a girl. You'll name her after me. I'll take her under my wing. Do you know anything about cooking and housework?”

“I know some things, but there's still a lot I need to learn,” my mother said, starting to cry again.

“Please don't do this. If you get sick from sadness, you'll harm the child in your womb too.”

Before the tea was even served, my mother felt unwell. My father's aunt immediately ran to call a doctor. The doctor who arrived went straight to my mother's room. Hours passed for the birth. Finally, when the doctor came out of the room, Aunt Betsey asked,

“How is the girl, Doctor?”

“Her health is good. Everything is normal.”

“I'm asking about the baby girl.”

“It's a boy, not a girl.”

Hearing the word “boy,” my great aunt left the house without even opening her mouth. That was the last of her. No one ever saw her face again, nor knew where she was...

That's how I was born.

My mother's beautiful face, wavy hair, and dark eyes hold a significant place among my earliest memories. Our maid Peggotty's red face is also among those I can't forget. I've never forgotten our kitchen at home or the chickens in the coop. The chickens seemed so big to me back then. And our garden with its long iron railings never leaves my mind. How could it? It's where I first opened my eyes to nature. After I started crawling, I spent time there playing in the dirt. I reached for the branches of the trees. When my mother filled a basket with the fruits of these trees and brought them home, I'd feel completely different. I remember everything as if it were yesterday.

One night, Peggotty and I were alone in the living room. I was reading to her while she hurriedly stitched a patch, pricking her needle. Suddenly, I asked, “Peggotty, have you ever been married?”

“Where did that come from, David?” she replied.

“You're a very beautiful woman. Haven't you ever been married?”

“Me, beautiful? It just seems that way to you, little one.”

“Peggotty, if the man you marry dies, you can marry someone else, right?”

“That's a matter of understanding. Some people can marry right after their husbands die.”

“What are your thoughts on this?”

There was a moment of silence. The needles began to go in and out of the patch faster. Peggotty said in a strange voice, “My only thought right now is for you to read and grow up.”

“Are you angry with me, Peggotty?” She kissed me on the forehead and said,

“No, little one. You keep reading. You must be learning all this from those books.”

As I continued to read and Peggotty continued to sew, the doorbell rang. It was my mother. That day, I found my mother even more beautiful. There was a man with her. I remembered seeing that man before. Last Sunday, he had walked home with my mother from church. His name was Moston, I think.

When I met them at the door, my mother bent down and kissed me on the forehead. Moston said, “This is a very lucky young man,” and placed his hand on my head.

I immediately pushed his hand away. A resentment formed inside me towards him.

Moston said, reacting to my action, “Good child. He loves his mother very much, so he's jealous. I'm not surprised by his reaction.”

Meanwhile, he mincingly kissed my mother's hand. This action almost drove me mad. My anger, which I didn't understand the reason for, increased even more. Moston grinned and said to me,

“Good night, dear child,” but I didn't respond.

As he walked out the garden gate, he turned and looked at me. I didn't like this man's gaze at all. I didn't like him.

When we went into the living room, Peggotty said to my mother,

“I suppose you had a good evening.”

“Indeed, it was a good night.”

“It must be nice to walk with a stranger once in a while.”

“Yes, it is.”

While they were talking, I had fallen asleep in my chair. When I woke up later, I saw that my mother and Peggotty were still talking. My mother's eyes were tearful. I couldn't figure out why she was crying. Were they talking about me? Peggotty was saying,

“David wouldn't like a man like that.”

My mother became very angry at this. Her crying increased.

“You'll drive me mad, Peggotty. I don't have another friend to confide in. And you're speaking very harshly to me,” she said.

“I'm telling you what's right. You shouldn't do this for David's sake.”

“What can I do if someone loves me? I can't make myself ugly. I can't send him away.”

Realizing I was awake, my mother came over and stroked my hair and face. She was still sighing. She said to me,

“According to Peggotty, I don't love you at all, David. How could that be?”

Peggotty explained that she didn't mean it that way. My mother was clearly very hurt. She said to her,

“You meant it exactly. Don't change your words now. Am I a cruel mother? Don't I love you at all, David? Please tell Peggotty,” and she started to cry again.

All three of us started crying. I went to my bed in deep sadness. I could feel the tears wetting my pillow. I don't know how long I cried. Finally, I fell asleep.

Moston walked home with my mother from church again one Sunday. When he entered the garden, he asked if he could pick one of the flowers. My mother, who loved flowers very much, didn't say anything, but I was irritated by his every movement.

This man I disliked began to visit our house more often after that. I had grown accustomed to his comings and goings, but my resentment also grew. I was saddened that I couldn't do anything to make him leave my mother alone.

One morning, when my mother and I were in the garden, Moston arrived on horseback. He announced that he was going to visit a friend with a sailboat in a nearby town. They sent me to Peggotty. Peggotty didn't like that man either. As my mother walked in the garden with Moston, Peggotty grumbled. She combed my hair roughly, hurting me.

During the days when Moston frequently visited our house, Peggotty suggested that I go see her brother. We would go together. My mother wasn't home. Peggotty and I were sitting by the hearth. She looked at me often. Then she opened her mouth to say something. Then, whatever she thought, she gave up. There was silence for a while. Then Peggotty asked,

“David, will you come with me and stay at my brother's place for two weeks?”

“Is your brother a good person, Peggotty?”

“Of course. In Yarmouth, there's the sea, ships, boats, and a beach where everyone walks. And there's a child named Ham you can play with.”

“Will my mother allow it?”

“Don't you worry about that. I'll ask for permission when we get home. My mother will stay with Mrs. Gummidge. We won't be leaving her alone.”

We made preparations for our trip. When the day of departure arrived, we boarded the stagecoach. I couldn't understand how eager we were to leave this charming house where I was born and raised. It was my first time leaving home. I could never forget my mother kissing me and holding me close at the garden gate. My mother had a different scent. In her arms, I felt as if I was lost in flower gardens. When my mother cried, I cried too. When the carriage moved a little further, my mother shrieked from behind. The carriage stopped. My mother came to us and kissed me once more.

After we had gone a little further, I looked back. My mother stood in the middle of the road like a statue, watching us. As we moved away, Moston approached my mother. It was clear he was angry with my mother for crying about me leaving.

Our carriage was moving very slowly. The horse pulling it must have been the laziest horse in the world. It seemed to be going slowly just to spite us.

The coachman stopped at a few places along the way to drop off a bed and a trunk. Peggotty and I ate the food from the basket throughout the journey. When we got bored, we often slept. This long journey had exhausted me, but when we arrived in Yarmouth, I forgot my fatigue.

Yarmouth was a flat place. I couldn't tell where the sea ended. We stopped when we entered a street that smelled of fish. We got off in front of the inn there. Peggotty exclaimed,

“There's Ham! How much he's grown!”

Ham ran towards us when he saw us. He was a tall, young man with curly blonde hair and a childlike face. He carried me on his back and my suitcase under his arm. We walked over sand dunes. Passing by boat building workshops and various shops, we reached the flat beach. Ham put me down and said,

“This is our house, David.”

I was surprised. There was nothing here that resembled a house. Everywhere was covered in sand. There was only a boat by the sea with thin smoke coming out of its chimney. I asked Ham,

“Is that boat what you call a house?”

“You guessed right,” he said. “This is our home.”

I hadn't expected to encounter such a house, but I was glad for this change. The boat had a door on its side. Its windows were tiny. Its roof was covered like a hut. The important thing was that this boat probably wasn't built just for land use. It could go out to sea whenever desired.

Upon entering this new house, we saw that the interior was very clean. Pictures were hanging on the walls. As for furniture, there was nothing but a table, chairs, a trunk, and a clock. Peggotty opened a small door and showed me where I would sleep. My room was in the back of the boat. I really liked the large mirror framed with oyster shells inside.

Inside, a kind lady greeted us. Her name was Gummidge. With her was a small but very beautiful girl. When she saw us, she kept peeking from behind the door and running away. This pretty little girl's name was Emily.

The inside of the house smelled of fish. We also ate fish for dinner. After the meal, a man with a long unshaven beard arrived. This man kissed Peggotty. I understood that he was her brother. Mr. Peggotty wanted to get to know me.

“I'm glad to see you,” he said.

“I hope you'll have a good time with Mrs. Gummidge and Emily.”

Then he went to wash his face. We sat by the hearth all evening. From what I understood from their conversations, Ham was the son of Peggotty's brother who had drowned at sea. Little Emily was the daughter of her brother in law who had died by drowning. Mrs. Gummidge's husband had also passed away. She was Mr. Peggotty's friend. They sold fish and oysters together.

When I went to bed, despite being tired, I couldn't sleep. I was affected by the sound of the sea and the wind. I imagined the boat I was in sailing out into the open sea. The sadness of leaving my mother and my home seemed to get lost in these sweet dreams. Finally, I fell asleep.

The next morning, Emily and I walked along the shore. The sea stretched on one side, and the beach on the other. I asked Emily,

“You love the sea very much, don't you?”

Emily's answer surprised me. Emily stated that she was very afraid of the sea:

“The sea has no mercy on people. I saw with my own eyes how the sea tore a ship apart,” she said.

Listening to the conversations about the drownings from the previous evening, I agreed with Emily. Apparently, these bad events had left deep marks on the little girl's mind.

We had walked to the pier. Emily went to the end of the pier that stretched out into the sea. I couldn't move as easily as she could. I seemed to be afraid of the waves hitting the pier's posts. I said to Emily,

“You said you were afraid of the sea. Yet, you don't show any fear.”

“Why should I be afraid of a calm sea? I'm very afraid when there's a storm. Because then ships break apart. People drown.”

I was also very scared when Emily ran on another plank extending into the sea. When I yelled at her, she came back. Later, I couldn't understand why we were afraid, but often afterwards, I wished that Emily had fallen into the sea at that moment. Why? I will explain the reason later.

I had taken a liking to Emily. We were both children, but there was a lot hidden in this pure and simple affection between us. In Yarmouth, we spent all day together. We never got tired of walking along the shore. We often heard Mrs. Gummidge and Peggotty whisper about us:

“How well they suit each other.”

Mr. Peggotty would watch us smiling from behind the smoke of his pipe.

After some time, I noticed changes in Mrs. Gummidge. One evening, Mr. Peggotty had gone out for a walk with a few friends. Mrs. Gummidge, looking very unhappy, grumbled,

“Everything is going wrong for me. I'm all alone. And I'm very cold.”

Peggotty replied to her,

“You're not the only one who's cold. We're all cold.”

The fish we ate that evening were very small and bony. Everyone was upset, but Mrs. Gummidge said she was more upset than anyone else and started to cry. When Mr. Peggotty returned home at nine in the evening, he asked her,

“What's wrong? Why are you crying? Try to be a little cheerful.”

Mrs. Gummidge wailed through her tears,

“You went to the tavern, didn't you? I forced you to go there.”

“Forced? I was eager to go anyway. Why are you talking like this?”

Mrs. Gummidge continued to cry in her corner. As she got up to go to bed, she complained,

“I'm all alone. Nobody loves me. Events affect me so much that I can't stay calm. I'm making everyone at home uneasy too.”

Mr. Peggotty muttered to himself,

“She's remembered the old man again,” and left it at that. When I asked Peggotty who this old man was, I received the answer:

“The old man is Mrs. Gummidge's deceased husband.”

We had spent two weeks in this interesting house by the sea. I was very sad to leave little Emily. On the other hand, I missed my mother very much. I was very happy that I would be reunited with her. Emily and I walked hand in hand to the place where the carriage would depart. As the carriage left, I felt an emptiness inside. Warm feelings spread within me as Emily waved goodbye.

On the way, I talked to Peggotty about my mother. I told her I considered myself happy to be reunited with her. Peggotty showed no interest. It was clear she was upset.

We returned by the same roads we came and finally arrived home. It was a cold afternoon. There were dark clouds in the sky. When the door opened, I ran in happily, but there was no one there except a maid I didn't recognize. My heart sank instantly.

“Peggotty, hasn't Mother come home yet?” I shouted.

Peggotty told me to be patient, that she would explain everything. I became even more curious.

“Is Mother dead? Why didn't she meet us at the door? I can't imagine such a thing. She's not dead, is she? Mother's not dead,” I began to cry.

“No, little one, she's not. I should have told you this earlier. You have a stepfather inside now.”

“A stepfather?”

“Go inside and see him.”

My face turned pale. It felt as if boiling water was poured over my head. I drifted into the living room. Peggotty left me and walked away. My mother and the detestable Moston were sitting kneecap to kneecap across from the hearth.

They had taken me to another room. I pulled the blanket over my head and started to cry in my bed. My world had darkened, just like the inside of the blanket. Now I had to act like a guest in my own home.

“He's here,” I woke up to a voice.

My mother and Peggotty had come to check on me. I pulled the blanket over my head. They tried to open it forcefully. My mother asked,

“Why are you sad, David?”

“For nothing,” I said, turning my back. I didn't even let them caress me. My mother yelled at Peggotty,

“You've done this to the child. You've poisoned my son against me. What if I got married? Don't I have the right to be happy too? You're a very bad woman, Peggotty!”

Soon, a hand reached into my bed. This hand was neither my mother's nor Peggotty's. Moston's hairy hands hurt me. Moston snapped,

“Clara, my dear. Have you forgotten my advice? What is the meaning of this?”

“I'm sorry, Moston. How can I be calm? It's such a difficult thing...”

Moston whispered something into my mother's ear. Then, he said loudly,

“You go downstairs, my dear. I'll talk to him.”

When my mother and Peggotty left, Moston said,

“David, listen to me carefully. Do you know how I turn a horse or a donkey into a lamb?”

“How would I know?” I said.

“I do it by whipping them. If I intimidate them, they become docile. I think you understand what I mean. Quickly wash your face and come downstairs with me. And don't forget how to be a lamb.”

We entered the living room, this time letting my tears flow inward. Moston said,

“Clara, my dear. You will no longer grieve over this child.”

My mother and I exchanged glances. We both understood what was happening.

After dinner that evening, a carriage stopped at the door. Moston's sister had arrived. She had brought two iron-banded trunks. She was a very stern woman. She was as dark haired as her brother. As soon as she saw me, she snapped,

“I don't like boys at all.”

To show my defiance, I ignored her arrival. She continued to provoke me: “He has no manners whatsoever,” she grumbled.

The next morning, we all sat down for breakfast. Moston's sister said,

“Look, Clara, I want to help you. You're beautiful, but that's all. You're not skillful enough. From now on, I'll manage the housework. You should give me the keys.”

As soon as my mother heard these words, she started to cry. Moston snapped,

“Clara, you've become very tearful. I'm amazed by this behavior.”

“You talk about calmness, but you don't act that way yourselves. How can I do this? In my own home...”

Moston interrupted her, as if he had caught my mother in a slip of the tongue:

“You said 'my own home,' didn't you? Yes, yes, you said 'my home'.”

“I meant 'our home'. It's so painful not to be able to manage our own home, not to be able to do anything. Before I got married, I managed the house very well. If you don't believe me, ask Peggotty.”

Moston's sister hadn't found what she hoped for. She couldn't tolerate even the slightest objection.

“I'm leaving this house tomorrow, Moston,” she said.

“Jane, will you please be quiet?”

“Am I wrong, Moston?” Moston turned to my mother and said,

“I thought you would be calm when you got married. My sister Jane came here to help. I thought you would thank her. I'm sad about how you're acting. My feelings for you have changed, Clara.”

“It's not right to talk about such things in front of a child like David,” Moston said, waving his hand for me to leave, as if shooing a dog.

Troubles had begun from the very first day. This certainly wasn't what my mother meant when she said,

“I want to be happy.”

I was so upset that I could barely find my way to my room. It was as if I was in another world. What had suddenly happened to our home, where I was born and raised, and which I loved every corner of with a different feeling? How had we been so quickly excluded in our own home?

From that day on, Miss Jane took over the management and supervision of the house. If my mother said anything, or made a suggestion, she would immediately reach for her purse.

“I'll give you the keys, mind you,” she would threaten my mother.

My mother would shrink and become silent whenever the keys in her purse were mentioned. I couldn't understand this key business, but I sensed it was a great source of pressure on my mother.

My mother started teaching me again, but those old lessons no longer had the same charm. My teacher was my mother, but Moston and his sister waited over me like hyenas ready to pounce. My mother was also very uncomfortable with this situation but couldn't say anything. Before my mother got married, I grasped lessons very easily. I was eager to learn. I even enjoyed studying instead of getting tired, but now everything had changed. Lessons had become an unbearable burden for both my mother and me. Having two people I disliked standing over me completely confused my mind. I felt as if I was becoming increasingly stupid.

One day, while studying, I handed the book to my mother. I then stood across from her and began to recite from memory. At first, I recited well, but after a while, I started to forget words. The parts I skipped caught the attention of Moston and his sister. I got completely confused because of Moston's harsh gaze at me. My mother tried to help me whisper the correct answers, but it was in vain. The more I got confused, the angrier Moston became. And the angrier he got, the more I messed up the lesson. Finally, Moston, seizing an opportunity to scold me, sprang up angrily. Of course, the issue wasn't my inability to progress in my studies. It was, as he had said before, to intimidate me at every opportunity, to turn me into a lamb. My mother, pitying me, wanted to help but didn't dare under her husband's gaze. She only groaned,

“Oh, David.”

Hearing this, Moston got angry at my mother too:

“Don't keep saying 'Oh, David' while he's studying. Just see if he's doing his lesson or not.”

Then his sister piped up:

“What a dull child this is. He's very spoiled, from what I can see,” she grumbled.

Moston kept grumbling that if I didn't know the lessons, I should take the book, go memorize it, and come back. He ordered me to go out and return after I had studied the lesson.

I went to my room and tried to memorize the lesson, but it was useless. My head was a complete mess. I would cry if someone touched me. How could I memorize lessons in this state? Finally, they called for me. The atmosphere was getting increasingly tense. Moston thundered,

“Tell it again. And tell it to me.”

My mother tried to rescue me from their hands, saying, “David knows his lesson, but he can't put it all together,” but Moston pressed on.

“Tell it... Come on, tell it,” he said.

When I skipped some parts due to nervousness while reciting, Moston got up and hit me on the head with the book. He almost put it under his foot. From that day on, lessons were so difficult, like torture. They gave me more lessons than I could handle. They didn't want me to be idle for a minute.

I had become withdrawn and had lost hope. How long could I endure this? My only comfort was my father's books. I felt as if I smelled my father, whose face I had never seen, as I leafed through those books. These books, consisting of many world classics, were my greatest refuge. By reading the adventures in those books, I could distance myself from this dull house.

One morning, I walked into the living room with my book. My mother was more anxious than usual. Moston stood facing me like a wolf ready to pounce on its prey. He held a thick stick in his hand. He said to my mother,

“Look, Clara, I used to get a lot of beatings,” and repeatedly hit the stick against his palm.

His sister confirmed him:

“It's true that Moston got a lot of beatings when he was little,” she said.

My mother was on the defensive.

“I don't believe that benefited Moston,” she said.

“Beatings make a person more aggressive. They destroy their good feelings.”

Moston wasn't even listening to what was being said. This meant that beating me was on the agenda for today. Whatever I did was futile, but to make it look legitimate, he said,

“Listen to me, David. Today, you must read more carefully than usual.”

I started to read, but the stick swinging over my head had instantly wiped everything from my mind. I read more haltingly and worse. Finally, my mother couldn't bear it and started to cry. Moston's sister, Jane, called out to my mother as if to say,

“Stay where you are!”

“Clara!”

“I don't feel well today,” my mother replied.

Moston, as usual, told my mother that she wasn't calm. Perhaps calmness meant letting everything happen. It meant submitting to these two cruel siblings. Moston said,

“You are not in a state to endure the pain this child will inflict on you today.”

Then, taking me by the arm, he dragged me:

“Come on up!”

As Moston dragged me to the upstairs room, my mother ran after us. Jane reprimanded my mother,

“Don't be foolish, Clara.”

My mother was sobbing. She was pleading with Moston:

“Mr. Moston, please don't hit the child.”

This cruel man had no intention of giving up what he had set his mind to. Still, because I was very afraid of a beating, I tried to soften him.

“Please don't hit me. I tried to memorize it, but with you and your sister waiting over me, not a single word comes to mind,” I said.

“Don't talk so much, you rascal,” was the reply.

I had started crying before he even hit me with his stick. He mercilessly began to strike my back and head with the thick stick. I put my head between my arms. When the pain was too much, lightning flashed before my eyes. I lost myself. That's when I unknowingly grabbed his hand and bit him. This enraged Moston even more. There were terrible noises in the house. He beat me half to death. From the crying at the door, I understood that my mother and Peggotty had come to rescue me, but Moston, after beating me until his anger subsided, kicked me to the ground. He also locked the door from the outside.

After a while, I came to. There was no sound in the house. When I looked in the mirror, I couldn't recognize myself. My face and eyes were swollen. I was covered in cuts and bruises. This situation made me feel guilty. Would they throw me in jail too? What would become of me now?

Three hours later, the door opened. Jane entered. She had a small piece of bread and cheese in her hand. After placing them on the table, she stared intently at my face. When she left the room, she locked the door from the outside.

The next day, I had recovered a little, but more than the pain in my face and head, I felt the spiritual pain of an undeserved beating in my heart. I was no longer the David I was before the beating. My world had collapsed. I didn't know what would happen to me.

They didn't let me out of the room where I had been beaten for five days. I also had no idea what was happening outside. I didn't know what my mother was doing. Each day felt as long as a year. During those five days, I heard no sound other than the ringing of the doorbell and footsteps from outside.

On the last day, when I heard my name whispered, I pressed my ear to the door. Quietly, I asked,

“Is that you, Peggotty?”

“Be quiet, David. Jane might hear us.”

“How's Mother? Is she angry with me?”

“No, she's not angry.”

“What are they going to do to me, Peggotty?”

“They're going to take you to a school near London.”

“When?”

“Probably tomorrow.”

“Dear David, did it hurt a lot?”

“It doesn't matter, Peggotty.”

“I couldn't take care of you during these bad days. It's not because I don't love you. You know the situation at home. I love you more than ever, David. This might be good for your mother and for you.”

“Thank you, Peggotty.”

“Don't be sad, David. Maybe the