By the time I had returned, Joe had completed bandaging my sister and put her to bed, where she lay very ill. Her sight was disturbed, having been clawed across the face; her hearing was greatly impaired; her memory also; and her speech was unintelligible. When, at last, she came round so far as to be helped down-stairs, it was still necessary to keep a slate always by her, that she might indicate in writing what she could not indicate in speech.
However, her temper was greatly improved, and she was patient. A tremulous uncertainty of the action of all her limbs soon became a part of her regular state. We were at a loss to find a suitable attendant for her, until a circumstance happened conveniently to relieve us. Not two weeks after the attack, Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt conquered a confirmed habit of living into which she had fallen, and Biddy became a part of our establishment.
Biddy's first triumph was to solve a difficulty that had completely vanquished me. I had tried hard at it, but had made nothing of it. Thus it was:
Again and again and again, my sister had traced upon the slate, a character that looked like a curious T, and then with the utmost eagerness had called our attention to it as something she particularly wanted. I had in vain tried everything producible that began with a T, from tar to toast and tub. At length it had come into my head that the sign looked like a hammer, and on my lustily calling that word in my sister's ear, she had begun to hammer on the table and had expressed a qualified assent. Thereupon, I had brought in all our hammers, one after another, but without avail.
When my sister found that Biddy was very quick to understand her, this mysterious sign reappeared on the slate. Biddy looked thoughtfully at it, heard my explanation, looked thoughtfully at my sister, looked thoughtfully at Joe (who was always represented on the slate by his initial letter), and ran into the forge, followed by Joe and me.
"Why, of course!" cried Biddy, with an exultant face. "Don't you see? It's him!"
Orlick, without a doubt! She had lost his name, and could only signify him by his hammer. We told him why we wanted him to come into the kitchen, and he slowly laid down his hammer, wiped his brow with his arm, took another wipe at it with his apron, and came slouching out, with a curious loose vagabond bend in the knees that strongly distinguished him.
I confess that I expected to see my sister denounce him, and that I was disappointed by the different result. She manifested the greatest anxiety to be on good terms with him, was evidently much pleased by his being at length produced, and motioned that she would have him given something to drink. She watched his countenance as if she were particularly wishful to be assured that he took kindly to his reception, she showed every possible desire to conciliate him, and there was an air of humble propitiation in all she did, such as I have seen pervade the bearing of a child towards a hard master. After that day, a day rarely passed without her drawing the hammer on her slate, and without Orlick's slouching in and standing doggedly before her, as if he knew no more than I did what to make of it.
Chapter 16, Part 1
Joe had spent a sleepless night across town assisting a gang of Brutal Hunters. They had kept their weapons in poor repair, and had required Joe’s services throughout the entire Hunt. When Joe returned home the next morning at five minutes before seven, he found Mrs. Joe on the floor, and promptly called in assistance. As modesty dictated, the surgeon asked that Joe inspect the body of his wife for bite marks.
Had she been bitten and survived, the Howl Beast’s curse would have spread to her. It was, long ago, mandated that those who were bitten could not simply be executed, for they had yet committed no crime. Yet, since the public called for protection, those pitiable souls were carried away to the Hulks. They spent the remainder of their lives aboard those great floating cages, and once each month, the full moon transformed these innocents into the monsters that made them. Still, as I had learned at such a young age, they did not always remain bound, and sometimes escaped to terrorize the country.
As it happened, Joe reported no fang marks on Mrs. Joe. Her injuries were great indeed, but it seemed she had escaped the dreadful prospect of a cursed life. Seeing as this revelation extinguished any interest the community may have had in Mrs. Joe’s condition, and as Joe had not the money to pay the surgeon’s fees, the surgeon and onlookers were politely shuffled out. Joe tended to my sister’s wounds as best he could, while I commenced to put house into order.
It was not long before we heard the familiar clank outside our door. Two Brutal Hunters had appeared to interrogate us regarding the attack. Such “detective” work was the other facet of the Hunters’ trade. No one, to my knowledge, had ever requested that they adopt this role, and it seemed to come about as a result of their boredom alone, for their Hunts could only be carried out one night a month. They did not appear to regard highly the deductive aspect of this investigating, but did relish openly harassing townspeople and accusing them of being Howl Beasts.
Accordingly, there was a good deal of shoving, prodding, and finger-pointing; I suspect there would have been a great deal more had Joe not been present. At first it was not even clear why they were questioning me.
“You look like you’s got plenny ‘xperience with Howlers, boy. Too much.”
“And what could you mean by that?” I stammered.
“Mister Orlick says you’s gone all last night. You best tell us where you was.”
Mister! I almost laughed - that despicable rake! “I spent the evening up-town,” said I, “And why don’t you question Mister Orlick on his whereabouts as well?”
“Blaming the accuser,” one of them sneered, “oldest trick I seen. Well, just so’s you know, Mr. Orlick spent the night at the Jolly Hunter. Barkeep says he was there past closing and got hisself a room. An’ we know Joe here was ‘elping with the Hunt. Only one we don’t know about’s you.”
I could see that the matter would not be settled until my alibi received verification. So, the Hunters marched me through the town to Pumblechook’s, where I had the displeasure of having to ask for that imbecile’s saving grace a second time. How he enjoyed tormenting me:
“How should I know if the boy was here all of last night?” he asked with mock concern. “Did he appear at my door like a beggar? Yes. Did I grant him lodging out of the kindness of my heart? Yes again. And was he here in the morning? I seem to recall that it was so.”
One of Hunters scratched his oversized head and began to plod through a sentence: “But what if,” he said as if struggling to solve puzzle with but one piece, “he done snucked out at night, turned Howler, an’ then he come back.”
“Absurd!” I exclaimed and shot Pumblechook a hot look.
“Hm. An interesting theory Master Hunter,” said Pumblechook with a wide grin. I feared he would persist with this game, but thankfully he had enough anguish from me to repay his previous generosity, so he slapped me on the back, and told the Hunters that I had in fact been at his home the entire night, as evidenced by my possibly drunken snoring. As the word of an honorable corn-chandler was worth more than that of a blacksmith’s apprentice, the two Hunters let me go, with but a stiff grunt for my trouble.
Had she been bitten and survived, the Howl Beast’s curse would have spread to her. It was, long ago, mandated that those who were bitten could not simply be executed, for they had yet committed no crime. Yet, since the public called for protection, those pitiable souls were carried away to the Hulks. They spent the remainder of their lives aboard those great floating cages, and once each month, the full moon transformed these innocents into the monsters that made them. Still, as I had learned at such a young age, they did not always remain bound, and sometimes escaped to terrorize the country.
As it happened, Joe reported no fang marks on Mrs. Joe. Her injuries were great indeed, but it seemed she had escaped the dreadful prospect of a cursed life. Seeing as this revelation extinguished any interest the community may have had in Mrs. Joe’s condition, and as Joe had not the money to pay the surgeon’s fees, the surgeon and onlookers were politely shuffled out. Joe tended to my sister’s wounds as best he could, while I commenced to put house into order.
It was not long before we heard the familiar clank outside our door. Two Brutal Hunters had appeared to interrogate us regarding the attack. Such “detective” work was the other facet of the Hunters’ trade. No one, to my knowledge, had ever requested that they adopt this role, and it seemed to come about as a result of their boredom alone, for their Hunts could only be carried out one night a month. They did not appear to regard highly the deductive aspect of this investigating, but did relish openly harassing townspeople and accusing them of being Howl Beasts.
Accordingly, there was a good deal of shoving, prodding, and finger-pointing; I suspect there would have been a great deal more had Joe not been present. At first it was not even clear why they were questioning me.
“You look like you’s got plenny ‘xperience with Howlers, boy. Too much.”
“And what could you mean by that?” I stammered.
“Mister Orlick says you’s gone all last night. You best tell us where you was.”
Mister! I almost laughed - that despicable rake! “I spent the evening up-town,” said I, “And why don’t you question Mister Orlick on his whereabouts as well?”
“Blaming the accuser,” one of them sneered, “oldest trick I seen. Well, just so’s you know, Mr. Orlick spent the night at the Jolly Hunter. Barkeep says he was there past closing and got hisself a room. An’ we know Joe here was ‘elping with the Hunt. Only one we don’t know about’s you.”
I could see that the matter would not be settled until my alibi received verification. So, the Hunters marched me through the town to Pumblechook’s, where I had the displeasure of having to ask for that imbecile’s saving grace a second time. How he enjoyed tormenting me:
“How should I know if the boy was here all of last night?” he asked with mock concern. “Did he appear at my door like a beggar? Yes. Did I grant him lodging out of the kindness of my heart? Yes again. And was he here in the morning? I seem to recall that it was so.”
One of Hunters scratched his oversized head and began to plod through a sentence: “But what if,” he said as if struggling to solve puzzle with but one piece, “he done snucked out at night, turned Howler, an’ then he come back.”
“Absurd!” I exclaimed and shot Pumblechook a hot look.
“Hm. An interesting theory Master Hunter,” said Pumblechook with a wide grin. I feared he would persist with this game, but thankfully he had enough anguish from me to repay his previous generosity, so he slapped me on the back, and told the Hunters that I had in fact been at his home the entire night, as evidenced by my possibly drunken snoring. As the word of an honorable corn-chandler was worth more than that of a blacksmith’s apprentice, the two Hunters let me go, with but a stiff grunt for my trouble.
Chapter 15, Part 4
It was a very dark night, and when it was all over, I set out for home and the forge. Doubtless Mrs. Joe would accuse me of putting her through unspeakable anguish for my carelessness. Beyond town, I found a heavy mist out, and it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of the lamp's usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance on the fog. I was noticing this, and thinking how the mist rose with a change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when I came upon a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house.
"Halloa!" I said, stopping. "Orlick, there?"
"Ah!" he answered, slouching out. "I was standing by, a minute, on the chance of company."
"You are late," I remarked.
Orlick not unnaturally answered, "Well? And you're late."
"I had," I paused and selected my next words carefully, "I had indulged, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening up-town."
Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spent his half-holiday up and down town?
"Yes," said he, "all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn't see you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By-the-bye, the guns gone again last night."
"At the Hulks?" said I.
"Ay! Some of the birds flown from the cages."
The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in silence. Orlick, with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was still a very grey, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along.
Thus, we came to the village, which I was surprised to find - it being only 9 o'clock - in a state of commotion. Presently, I saw Mr. Wopsle running straight toward me.
"There's something wrong," said he, without stopping, "up at your place, Pip. Run all!"
"What is it?" I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.
"I can't quite understand. The house seems to have been violently entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by Howlers. Somebody has been attacked and hurt."
We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there was a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister - lying against the wall without sense or movement in puddle of drying blood.
She had been slashed all over her body, and one could scarcely find any portion of her that did not bear some mark of the attack. It had further appeared from the stain above her that she had been hurled into the walled and sustained a tremendous blow on the back of the head - destined never to be on the Ram-page again, while she was the wife of Joe.
"Halloa!" I said, stopping. "Orlick, there?"
"Ah!" he answered, slouching out. "I was standing by, a minute, on the chance of company."
"You are late," I remarked.
Orlick not unnaturally answered, "Well? And you're late."
"I had," I paused and selected my next words carefully, "I had indulged, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening up-town."
Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spent his half-holiday up and down town?
"Yes," said he, "all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn't see you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By-the-bye, the guns gone again last night."
"At the Hulks?" said I.
"Ay! Some of the birds flown from the cages."
The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in silence. Orlick, with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was still a very grey, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along.
Thus, we came to the village, which I was surprised to find - it being only 9 o'clock - in a state of commotion. Presently, I saw Mr. Wopsle running straight toward me.
"There's something wrong," said he, without stopping, "up at your place, Pip. Run all!"
"What is it?" I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.
"I can't quite understand. The house seems to have been violently entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by Howlers. Somebody has been attacked and hurt."
We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there was a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister - lying against the wall without sense or movement in puddle of drying blood.
She had been slashed all over her body, and one could scarcely find any portion of her that did not bear some mark of the attack. It had further appeared from the stain above her that she had been hurled into the walled and sustained a tremendous blow on the back of the head - destined never to be on the Ram-page again, while she was the wife of Joe.
Chapter 15, Part 3
When I came down again, I found Joe and Orlick sweeping up, without any other traces of discomposure than a slit in one of Orlick's nostrils, which was neither expressive nor ornamental. A pot of beer had appeared from the Jolly Hunter, and they were sharing it by turns in a peaceable manner. The lull had a sedative and philosophical influence on Joe, who followed me out into the road to say, as a parting observation that might do me good, "On the Ram-page, Pip, and off the Ram-page, Pip - such is Life!"
With what absurd emotions (for, we think the feelings that are very serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to Miss Havisham's, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.
A woman, whom I recognized as Miss Sarah Pocket, came to the gate. No Estella.
"How, then? You here again?" said Miss Pocket. "What do you want?"
When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my business. But, unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to "come up."
Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.
"Well?" said she, fixing her eyes upon me. "I hope you want nothing? You'll get nothing."
"No, indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you."
"There, there!" with the old restless fingers. "Come now and then; come on your birthday. - Ay!" she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, "You are looking round for Estella? Hey?"
I had been looking round - in fact, for Estella - and I stammered that I hoped she was well.
"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating with the great warriors of the East; far out of reach; prettier and stronger than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?"
There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by that motion.
I loitered along the High-street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman. In allowing my mind to abandon my commonness for that time, I also abandoned all sense of how long that time lasted. As I wandered about, I hardly noticed that most of the shops had begun to close and the streets had begun to empty. After what seemed to me but a moment, but in actuality had proved much longer, I came out of this fugue reverie to find myself alone and in darkness. My only company: a full moon.
Home was far, and the journey would take me too near to the marshes. Even far up-town, it could be dangerous to spend such a night on the streets. I knew what I had to do, and yet I considered for a moment whether it may be preferable to risk the onslaught of Howl Beasts than to do it. Begrudgingly, I chose the prudent course: I ran several blocks, swallowed what remained of my pride, and with the heaviest of sighs, knocked at Pumblechook’s door.
With what absurd emotions (for, we think the feelings that are very serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to Miss Havisham's, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.
A woman, whom I recognized as Miss Sarah Pocket, came to the gate. No Estella.
"How, then? You here again?" said Miss Pocket. "What do you want?"
When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my business. But, unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to "come up."
Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.
"Well?" said she, fixing her eyes upon me. "I hope you want nothing? You'll get nothing."
"No, indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you."
"There, there!" with the old restless fingers. "Come now and then; come on your birthday. - Ay!" she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, "You are looking round for Estella? Hey?"
I had been looking round - in fact, for Estella - and I stammered that I hoped she was well.
"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating with the great warriors of the East; far out of reach; prettier and stronger than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?"
There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by that motion.
I loitered along the High-street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman. In allowing my mind to abandon my commonness for that time, I also abandoned all sense of how long that time lasted. As I wandered about, I hardly noticed that most of the shops had begun to close and the streets had begun to empty. After what seemed to me but a moment, but in actuality had proved much longer, I came out of this fugue reverie to find myself alone and in darkness. My only company: a full moon.
Home was far, and the journey would take me too near to the marshes. Even far up-town, it could be dangerous to spend such a night on the streets. I knew what I had to do, and yet I considered for a moment whether it may be preferable to risk the onslaught of Howl Beasts than to do it. Begrudgingly, I chose the prudent course: I ran several blocks, swallowed what remained of my pride, and with the heaviest of sighs, knocked at Pumblechook’s door.
Chapter 15, Part 2
Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He was a broad-shouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of great size and strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention of ever coming back. He always slouched, locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half resentful, half puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had, was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking.
This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that a Howl Beast lived behind the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make him a sacrifice of a live boy, once in seven years. When I became Joe's 'prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction.
Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by-and-by he said, leaning on his hammer:
"Now, master! Sure you're not a-going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick." I suppose he looked about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.
"Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?" said Joe.
"What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as him," said Orlick.
"As to Pip, he's going up-town," said Joe.
"Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a-going up-town," retorted that worthy. "Two can go up-town. Tan't only one wot can go up-town.
"Don't lose your temper," said Joe.
"Shall if I like," growled Orlick. "Some and their up-towning! Now, master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!"
The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out - as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spurting blood - and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer:
"Now, master!"
"Are you all right now?" demanded Joe.
"Ah! I am all right," said gruff Old Orlick.
"Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men," said Joe, "let it be a half-holiday for all."
My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing - she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener - and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.
"Like you, you fool!" said she to Joe, "giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!"
"You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery, growled the journeyman. "If that makes a master, you ought to be a good'un."
("Let her alone, will you?" said Joe.)
"What did you say?" cried my sister, beginning to scream. "What did you say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, with my husband standing by? O! O! O!" Each of these exclamations was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; "what was the name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? O! Hold me! O!"
What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical interruption, but stand up to his journeyman. So, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighborhood could stand up long against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then, came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such a lull - namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead - I went up-stairs to dress myself.
This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that a Howl Beast lived behind the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make him a sacrifice of a live boy, once in seven years. When I became Joe's 'prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction.
Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by-and-by he said, leaning on his hammer:
"Now, master! Sure you're not a-going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick." I suppose he looked about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.
"Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?" said Joe.
"What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as him," said Orlick.
"As to Pip, he's going up-town," said Joe.
"Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a-going up-town," retorted that worthy. "Two can go up-town. Tan't only one wot can go up-town.
"Don't lose your temper," said Joe.
"Shall if I like," growled Orlick. "Some and their up-towning! Now, master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!"
The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out - as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spurting blood - and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer:
"Now, master!"
"Are you all right now?" demanded Joe.
"Ah! I am all right," said gruff Old Orlick.
"Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men," said Joe, "let it be a half-holiday for all."
My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing - she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener - and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.
"Like you, you fool!" said she to Joe, "giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!"
"You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery, growled the journeyman. "If that makes a master, you ought to be a good'un."
("Let her alone, will you?" said Joe.)
"What did you say?" cried my sister, beginning to scream. "What did you say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, with my husband standing by? O! O! O!" Each of these exclamations was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; "what was the name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? O! Hold me! O!"
What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical interruption, but stand up to his journeyman. So, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighborhood could stand up long against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then, came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such a lull - namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead - I went up-stairs to dress myself.
Chapter 15, Part 1
One evening when Joe was greatly enjoying his pipe, I lay on the ground in the parlor for some time with my chin on my hand, descrying traces of Miss Havisham and Estella all over the prospect, in the sky and in the water, until at last I resolved to mention a thought concerning them that had been much in my head.
"Joe," said I; "don't you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?"
"Well, Pip," returned Joe, slowly considering. "What for?"
"Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her."
"That's true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round - and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total vacancy of hoofs--"
"I don't mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don't mean a present."
But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. "Or even," said he, "if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door - or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for general use - or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins - or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such like--"
"My dear Joe," I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, "don't go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present."
"No, Pip," Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; "and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip."
"Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would go up-town and make a call on Miss Est - Havisham."
"Which her name," said Joe, gravely, "ain't Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris'ened."
"I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?"
In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a favor received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By these conditions I promised to abide.
"Joe," said I; "don't you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?"
"Well, Pip," returned Joe, slowly considering. "What for?"
"Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her."
"That's true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round - and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total vacancy of hoofs--"
"I don't mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don't mean a present."
But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. "Or even," said he, "if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door - or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for general use - or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins - or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such like--"
"My dear Joe," I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, "don't go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present."
"No, Pip," Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; "and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip."
"Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would go up-town and make a call on Miss Est - Havisham."
"Which her name," said Joe, gravely, "ain't Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris'ened."
"I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?"
In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a favor received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By these conditions I promised to abide.
Chapter 14, Part 4
It was only after Joe left me to clean up that I noticed queer markings etched onto the leather sheet that had held the sword. They were miniscule, but upon close inspection with a glass, it was possible to discern drawn panels depicting a figure in various combat postures with the blade. Underneath these diagrams, indecipherable hieroglyphs taunted my intellect; this was no writing that I had ever seen.
After securing an oath of secrecy from Biddy, I related Joe’s story and showed the katana and the leather sheet to her.
“Pip,” said Biddy as she inspected the pictures, “I do believe you have found your new manual.”
We worked together to decipher the drawings on the leather, and Biddy put me through the exercises and positions depicted. The training came slowly at first. The fighting style was completely unnatural, that is to say foreign, to me. It was nothing like the clumsy hacking of the spike-sword favored by the Brutal Hunters to inflict as much damage as possible before the Howl Beast’s flesh mended itself. Nor did it bear any semblance to the elegant thrusting of the sliver rapiers utilized by the Noble Hunters, which could kill a Howl Beast by piercing its heart with one well-placed blow. The katana’s technique was its very much its own, though it would, in time, become my own as well.
I was greatly indebted to Biddy for her patience and inexplicable dedication to me, as there appeared no clear benefit from our painstaking labor. I could not hope to sell replicas of the katana, as Joe had made clear that none would have them. I could not hope to employ the sword in battle, as I was bound (Pumblechook made sure of that) to my trade as a blacksmith; I was not now, nor could ever be, a Hunter. Even if it were otherwise, the very thought of running about the marshes with a band of barbaric miscreants turned my stomach like the tar Mrs. Joe remained so fond of.
And yet, the germ of an impossible hope was growing within me – one so ludicrous and unimaginable that I could not bring myself to share it with Biddy, Joe, or any living soul, save the crickets outside my window.
After securing an oath of secrecy from Biddy, I related Joe’s story and showed the katana and the leather sheet to her.
“Pip,” said Biddy as she inspected the pictures, “I do believe you have found your new manual.”
We worked together to decipher the drawings on the leather, and Biddy put me through the exercises and positions depicted. The training came slowly at first. The fighting style was completely unnatural, that is to say foreign, to me. It was nothing like the clumsy hacking of the spike-sword favored by the Brutal Hunters to inflict as much damage as possible before the Howl Beast’s flesh mended itself. Nor did it bear any semblance to the elegant thrusting of the sliver rapiers utilized by the Noble Hunters, which could kill a Howl Beast by piercing its heart with one well-placed blow. The katana’s technique was its very much its own, though it would, in time, become my own as well.
I was greatly indebted to Biddy for her patience and inexplicable dedication to me, as there appeared no clear benefit from our painstaking labor. I could not hope to sell replicas of the katana, as Joe had made clear that none would have them. I could not hope to employ the sword in battle, as I was bound (Pumblechook made sure of that) to my trade as a blacksmith; I was not now, nor could ever be, a Hunter. Even if it were otherwise, the very thought of running about the marshes with a band of barbaric miscreants turned my stomach like the tar Mrs. Joe remained so fond of.
And yet, the germ of an impossible hope was growing within me – one so ludicrous and unimaginable that I could not bring myself to share it with Biddy, Joe, or any living soul, save the crickets outside my window.
Chapter 14, Part 3
“What was that, Joe?” I asked, but the only response I received was a blank stare, as if Joe had not heard his own mouth speak the strange word, which had forced its way out of him.
“Joe!” I persisted in a tone verging on disrespectful, to my friend and master no less– so overwhelming was my curiosity. Had that bloviating churl, Pumblechook, been present, he would have no doubt marched me before the magistrate (or worse, my sister) for such an offense.
“Sorry, Pip, old chap,” said Joe catching himself out of his daze. “Which I meantersay that ‘that,’ by which what I mean ‘this,’ is called a kat-a-na sword.”
“But wherever did you acquire it?”
“Was ages, Pip. Long before you were born, or your sister married me by hand.”
I gingerly passed the sword to him in hopes that the tactile sensation would improve his memory. He held it high, inspected the straightness of the blade, and even gauged its balance, all the while I waited in agony for him to continue.
He finally did: “It were late one ev’ning, an’ a bit too close to a full moon to my liking, so I were running to get home. So there I were along the road an’ I see an ox cart broked on the side. Now, Pip, old chap, you know how I don’t pay no mind to no one’s business, ‘xcepting of course my own, you know that right?”
I nodded.
“But I got to thinking how this poor chap got stucked out there on his ownsome, and there was a Howler’s moon coming on and all. So’s I come up and offer a hand, or in actual, two. Well, I see that his wheel was cracked awful, and there was no use rolling it. So you know what I did, Pip, I picked up one side of the axel and walked that cart all the way to the forge. Next day, I fixed it all up nice and proper.” Joe now laughed at something in his story, though I could not discern what it was.
“The owner, of the ox cart I meantersay, were a strange one, I’ll tell you that, Pip. Little, he was, with a face like a cat. Never seen a man like that before and never again. Didn’t speak much in our tongue, but he were gentle as a lamb, an’ we got on famous. Now I apol’gize, Pip old chap, for I see that I’ve gone an’ rambled; so I’ll say it out now. The man he offered me some notes for my troubles, but I’d a have none of that. Was my duty help out, you see. So he goes an’ he reaches into his ox cart an’ pulls out this here sword what we’re spying at the present. He says this word ‘kat-a-na’ over and over. Then he wraps it in this leather here and puts it in my own hands. Before I could say another word, he were on his cart and off. And that were that.”
“And you kept it all this time?” I asked.
“Well,” said Joe a bit nervously, appearing more interested in his shoes than the conversation, “times got hard and I got to want for some necess’ries, so’s I tried to sell her, that is to say it, that is to mean this kat-a-na. But, as it goes, no Hunter were too eager to buy it. Little sword like that didn’t look like it’d do much to a Howler. It’d heal up right as you cut it. Now, if it were silver, of course – ah!”
He handed the sword back to me, though I was lost in thought. How could something so beautiful and seemingly useful be worthless?
Silver. It was what separated the Noble Hunters from the Brutal. In the early days of my apprenticeship, knowing nothing of the workings of the commodities market, I mentioned to Joe the idea that we should find some silver for ourselves and forge weapons therefrom. This evoked a shrieking laugh from Mrs. Joe, who suggested that I should climb up to the moon and see if I could find any silver there.
“Ain’t nobody like us has got silver, Pip;” said Joe, “them Nobles bought it all up ages ago. Couldn’t but get a scrap if we sold this ‘ole house.”
“Greedy buzzards,” spat Mrs. Joe, “They took the only thing that puts a Howler in the ground, and made it so most folks can’t even afford to think about it. Leave us here in the marshes to get ripped apart, while they play at Hunting for sport.”
Now, in the forge with Joe, I recalled the silver dagger I had seen – no, held! – on my first day with Miss Havisham. How elegant and graceful it seemed. What a marked contrast to the ugly, savage weapons Joe and I fabricated for the Brutal Hunters. And, how the beauty of this katana reminded me of that dagger – and of Estella.
“Joe!” I persisted in a tone verging on disrespectful, to my friend and master no less– so overwhelming was my curiosity. Had that bloviating churl, Pumblechook, been present, he would have no doubt marched me before the magistrate (or worse, my sister) for such an offense.
“Sorry, Pip, old chap,” said Joe catching himself out of his daze. “Which I meantersay that ‘that,’ by which what I mean ‘this,’ is called a kat-a-na sword.”
“But wherever did you acquire it?”
“Was ages, Pip. Long before you were born, or your sister married me by hand.”
I gingerly passed the sword to him in hopes that the tactile sensation would improve his memory. He held it high, inspected the straightness of the blade, and even gauged its balance, all the while I waited in agony for him to continue.
He finally did: “It were late one ev’ning, an’ a bit too close to a full moon to my liking, so I were running to get home. So there I were along the road an’ I see an ox cart broked on the side. Now, Pip, old chap, you know how I don’t pay no mind to no one’s business, ‘xcepting of course my own, you know that right?”
I nodded.
“But I got to thinking how this poor chap got stucked out there on his ownsome, and there was a Howler’s moon coming on and all. So’s I come up and offer a hand, or in actual, two. Well, I see that his wheel was cracked awful, and there was no use rolling it. So you know what I did, Pip, I picked up one side of the axel and walked that cart all the way to the forge. Next day, I fixed it all up nice and proper.” Joe now laughed at something in his story, though I could not discern what it was.
“The owner, of the ox cart I meantersay, were a strange one, I’ll tell you that, Pip. Little, he was, with a face like a cat. Never seen a man like that before and never again. Didn’t speak much in our tongue, but he were gentle as a lamb, an’ we got on famous. Now I apol’gize, Pip old chap, for I see that I’ve gone an’ rambled; so I’ll say it out now. The man he offered me some notes for my troubles, but I’d a have none of that. Was my duty help out, you see. So he goes an’ he reaches into his ox cart an’ pulls out this here sword what we’re spying at the present. He says this word ‘kat-a-na’ over and over. Then he wraps it in this leather here and puts it in my own hands. Before I could say another word, he were on his cart and off. And that were that.”
“And you kept it all this time?” I asked.
“Well,” said Joe a bit nervously, appearing more interested in his shoes than the conversation, “times got hard and I got to want for some necess’ries, so’s I tried to sell her, that is to say it, that is to mean this kat-a-na. But, as it goes, no Hunter were too eager to buy it. Little sword like that didn’t look like it’d do much to a Howler. It’d heal up right as you cut it. Now, if it were silver, of course – ah!”
He handed the sword back to me, though I was lost in thought. How could something so beautiful and seemingly useful be worthless?
Silver. It was what separated the Noble Hunters from the Brutal. In the early days of my apprenticeship, knowing nothing of the workings of the commodities market, I mentioned to Joe the idea that we should find some silver for ourselves and forge weapons therefrom. This evoked a shrieking laugh from Mrs. Joe, who suggested that I should climb up to the moon and see if I could find any silver there.
“Ain’t nobody like us has got silver, Pip;” said Joe, “them Nobles bought it all up ages ago. Couldn’t but get a scrap if we sold this ‘ole house.”
“Greedy buzzards,” spat Mrs. Joe, “They took the only thing that puts a Howler in the ground, and made it so most folks can’t even afford to think about it. Leave us here in the marshes to get ripped apart, while they play at Hunting for sport.”
Now, in the forge with Joe, I recalled the silver dagger I had seen – no, held! – on my first day with Miss Havisham. How elegant and graceful it seemed. What a marked contrast to the ugly, savage weapons Joe and I fabricated for the Brutal Hunters. And, how the beauty of this katana reminded me of that dagger – and of Estella.
Chapter 14, Part 2
I had still, even in this dark time, some brief moments of pleasure, though one in particular came from the most improbable source. Improbable it was, as I shall soon explain, as it came both from under my very nose and from halfway around the world.
For all my self-loathing as coarse and common, I toiled to become strong and skillful in combat with some delirious impression that such should prove my salvation and win the favor of Estella. I did not know how I would achieve this feat, only that I must achieve it. Accordingly, I still sparred with Biddy, from time to time, as well as practiced alone in Joe’s forge.
Once I mastered the rudimentary mechanics of Stamwick’s Forms of Combat, Biddy suggested that I graduate to more advanced exercises, which involved the use of real weaponry. I had long neglected to take this step, as every time that I held a spike-sword by the hilt, I was reminded of the barbarism of the Brutal Hunters in marshes those years ago, not to mention the sad events of Joe’s tale. As painful as it was to forge such instruments, wielding one even in mock-combat seemed all the more reprehensible.
It was entirely by accident - a serendipitous one to be sure - that I came upon that improbable object which proved the turning point of my education. I was laboring in the forge with Joe, when a wayward candle saw fit to roll under the heavy metal press. As a lit candle presented an unacceptable danger if left to its own, someone needed to fetch the errant waxen cylinder. And, since I happened to be the only someone whose arms were thin enough to reach under the press, the task fell to me.
I prostrated myself upon the floor of the forge - had Estella somehow seen me at this moment, I should have died on the very spot – and peered underneath the press. I could just barely see the candle and the fading orange glow of the cooling wick. Seeing no danger to myself or my arm, I groped blindly for the candle, only to have my fingers catch upon an unexpected texture. It felt of leather, but there was something turgid within it. I produced the candle first, for Joe’s peace of mind, and then mysterious item, for my own.
After securing and re-igniting the candle, I carefully placed the leather package on a work-bench. I glanced over my shoulder to Joe for the gentle encouragement he usually gave when I embarked on a new project, but found him dumb-struck as by some bewitching force. I unraveled the leather sheet and found that my tongue had forgotten how to operate as well.
It was a sword, to be sure, but unlike any I had ever seen in Joe’s forge or elsewhere. It was close to a meter in length, including the hilt. The blade was housed inside a black lacquered scabbard, which was carved out of a sturdy wood I did not recognize. I gripped the firm, yet slightly padded hilt to find that it could accommodate both of my hands, and yet the sword, when lifted, was light enough to be wielded in one. As I curled the fingers of my left hand round the scabbard, I looked back again to Joe for any sign of encouragement or remonstration. Seeing none in either direction, I pulled the sword from its resting place with a great “shink” that rang through the entire forge.
We stood there, Joe and I, I know not for how long, gazing at the gently curved blade. The silence was broken, quite unexpectedly, by Joe, who uttered a word with which I was unfamiliar: “Cat-Anna.”
For all my self-loathing as coarse and common, I toiled to become strong and skillful in combat with some delirious impression that such should prove my salvation and win the favor of Estella. I did not know how I would achieve this feat, only that I must achieve it. Accordingly, I still sparred with Biddy, from time to time, as well as practiced alone in Joe’s forge.
Once I mastered the rudimentary mechanics of Stamwick’s Forms of Combat, Biddy suggested that I graduate to more advanced exercises, which involved the use of real weaponry. I had long neglected to take this step, as every time that I held a spike-sword by the hilt, I was reminded of the barbarism of the Brutal Hunters in marshes those years ago, not to mention the sad events of Joe’s tale. As painful as it was to forge such instruments, wielding one even in mock-combat seemed all the more reprehensible.
It was entirely by accident - a serendipitous one to be sure - that I came upon that improbable object which proved the turning point of my education. I was laboring in the forge with Joe, when a wayward candle saw fit to roll under the heavy metal press. As a lit candle presented an unacceptable danger if left to its own, someone needed to fetch the errant waxen cylinder. And, since I happened to be the only someone whose arms were thin enough to reach under the press, the task fell to me.
I prostrated myself upon the floor of the forge - had Estella somehow seen me at this moment, I should have died on the very spot – and peered underneath the press. I could just barely see the candle and the fading orange glow of the cooling wick. Seeing no danger to myself or my arm, I groped blindly for the candle, only to have my fingers catch upon an unexpected texture. It felt of leather, but there was something turgid within it. I produced the candle first, for Joe’s peace of mind, and then mysterious item, for my own.
After securing and re-igniting the candle, I carefully placed the leather package on a work-bench. I glanced over my shoulder to Joe for the gentle encouragement he usually gave when I embarked on a new project, but found him dumb-struck as by some bewitching force. I unraveled the leather sheet and found that my tongue had forgotten how to operate as well.
It was a sword, to be sure, but unlike any I had ever seen in Joe’s forge or elsewhere. It was close to a meter in length, including the hilt. The blade was housed inside a black lacquered scabbard, which was carved out of a sturdy wood I did not recognize. I gripped the firm, yet slightly padded hilt to find that it could accommodate both of my hands, and yet the sword, when lifted, was light enough to be wielded in one. As I curled the fingers of my left hand round the scabbard, I looked back again to Joe for any sign of encouragement or remonstration. Seeing none in either direction, I pulled the sword from its resting place with a great “shink” that rang through the entire forge.
We stood there, Joe and I, I know not for how long, gazing at the gently curved blade. The silence was broken, quite unexpectedly, by Joe, who uttered a word with which I was unfamiliar: “Cat-Anna.”
Chapter 14, Part 1
It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home. There may be black ingratitude in the thing, and the punishment may be retributive and well deserved; but, that it is a miserable thing, I can testify.
Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister's temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it. I had believed in the best parlor as a most elegant saloon; I had believed in the forge as the glowing road to manhood and independence. Within a single year, all this was changed. Now, it was all coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and Estella see it on any account.
How much of my ungracious condition of mind may have been my own fault, how much Miss Havisham's, how much my sister's, is now of no moment to me or to any one. The change was made in me; the thing was done. Well or ill done, excusably or inexcusably, it was done.
Once, it had seemed to me that when I should at last roll up my shirt-sleeves and go into the forge, Joe's 'prentice, I should be distinguished and happy. Now the reality was in my hold, I only felt that I was dusty with the dust of small coal, and that I had a weight upon my daily remembrance to which the anvil was a feather. There have been occasions in my later life (I suppose as in most lives) when I have felt for a time as if a thick curtain had fallen on all its interest and romance, to shut me out from anything save dull endurance any more. Never has that curtain dropped so heavy and blank, as when my way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly-entered road of apprenticeship to Joe.
What I wanted, who can say? How can I say, when I never knew? What I dreaded was, that in some unlucky hour I, being at my grimiest and commonest, should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of the wooden windows of the forge. I was haunted by the fear that she would, sooner or later, find me out, with a black face and hands, doing the coarsest part of my work, and would exult over me and despise me.
I was quite as dejected on the first working-day of my apprenticeship as in that after-time; but I am glad to know that I never breathed a murmur to Joe while my indentures lasted.
After a day’s work, when we went in to supper, the place and the meal would have a more homely look than ever, and I would feel more ashamed of home than ever, in my own ungracious breast.
Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister's temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it. I had believed in the best parlor as a most elegant saloon; I had believed in the forge as the glowing road to manhood and independence. Within a single year, all this was changed. Now, it was all coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and Estella see it on any account.
How much of my ungracious condition of mind may have been my own fault, how much Miss Havisham's, how much my sister's, is now of no moment to me or to any one. The change was made in me; the thing was done. Well or ill done, excusably or inexcusably, it was done.
Once, it had seemed to me that when I should at last roll up my shirt-sleeves and go into the forge, Joe's 'prentice, I should be distinguished and happy. Now the reality was in my hold, I only felt that I was dusty with the dust of small coal, and that I had a weight upon my daily remembrance to which the anvil was a feather. There have been occasions in my later life (I suppose as in most lives) when I have felt for a time as if a thick curtain had fallen on all its interest and romance, to shut me out from anything save dull endurance any more. Never has that curtain dropped so heavy and blank, as when my way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly-entered road of apprenticeship to Joe.
What I wanted, who can say? How can I say, when I never knew? What I dreaded was, that in some unlucky hour I, being at my grimiest and commonest, should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of the wooden windows of the forge. I was haunted by the fear that she would, sooner or later, find me out, with a black face and hands, doing the coarsest part of my work, and would exult over me and despise me.
I was quite as dejected on the first working-day of my apprenticeship as in that after-time; but I am glad to know that I never breathed a murmur to Joe while my indentures lasted.
After a day’s work, when we went in to supper, the place and the meal would have a more homely look than ever, and I would feel more ashamed of home than ever, in my own ungracious breast.
Chapter 13, Part 3
The Justices were sitting in the Town Hall near at hand, and we at once went over to have me bound apprentice to Joe in the Magisterial presence. I say, we went over, but I was pushed over by Pumblechook, exactly as if I were a dangerous fugitive; indeed, it was the general impression in Court that I had been taken from the Brutal Hunters, for, as Pumblechook shoved me before him through the crowd, I heard some people say, "Howlers was out last night.” and “I bet he were bit.”
The Hall was a queer place, I thought, with higher pews in it than a church - and with people hanging over the pews looking on - and with mighty Justices (one with a powdered head) leaning back in chairs, with folded arms, or taking snuff, or going to sleep, or writing, or reading the newspapers - and with some shining black portraits on the walls. Here, in a corner, my indentures were duly signed and attested, and I was "bound."
When we had come out again, and had got rid of the boys who had been put into great spirits by the expectation of seeing me publicly chained and led to the Hulks, and who were much disappointed to find that my friends were merely rallying round me, we went back to Pumblechook's. And there my sister became so excited by the twenty-five pounds, that nothing would serve her but we must have a dinner out of that windfall, at the Blue Boar, and that Pumblechook must go over in his chaise-cart, and bring the Hubbles and Mr. Wopsle.
It was agreed to be done; and a most melancholy day I passed. For, it inscrutably appeared to stand to reason, in the minds of the whole company, that I was an excrescence on the entertainment. And to make it worse, they all asked me from time to time - in short, whenever they had nothing else to do - why I didn't enjoy myself. And what could I possibly do then, but say I was enjoying myself - when I wasn't?
I remember that when I finally got into my little bedroom, I was truly wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like Joe's trade. It was course and common, but above all, frightfully cruel – though not directly. What was once my greatest aspiration had become a vile, debased thing. I had liked it once, but once was not now.
The Hall was a queer place, I thought, with higher pews in it than a church - and with people hanging over the pews looking on - and with mighty Justices (one with a powdered head) leaning back in chairs, with folded arms, or taking snuff, or going to sleep, or writing, or reading the newspapers - and with some shining black portraits on the walls. Here, in a corner, my indentures were duly signed and attested, and I was "bound."
When we had come out again, and had got rid of the boys who had been put into great spirits by the expectation of seeing me publicly chained and led to the Hulks, and who were much disappointed to find that my friends were merely rallying round me, we went back to Pumblechook's. And there my sister became so excited by the twenty-five pounds, that nothing would serve her but we must have a dinner out of that windfall, at the Blue Boar, and that Pumblechook must go over in his chaise-cart, and bring the Hubbles and Mr. Wopsle.
It was agreed to be done; and a most melancholy day I passed. For, it inscrutably appeared to stand to reason, in the minds of the whole company, that I was an excrescence on the entertainment. And to make it worse, they all asked me from time to time - in short, whenever they had nothing else to do - why I didn't enjoy myself. And what could I possibly do then, but say I was enjoying myself - when I wasn't?
I remember that when I finally got into my little bedroom, I was truly wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like Joe's trade. It was course and common, but above all, frightfully cruel – though not directly. What was once my greatest aspiration had become a vile, debased thing. I had liked it once, but once was not now.
Chapter 13, Part 2
When we stood in the daylight alone again, Joe backed up against a wall, and said to me, "Astonishing!" And there he remained so long, saying "Astonishing" at intervals, so often, that I began to think his senses were never coming back. At length he prolonged his remark into "Pip, I do assure you this is as-TONishing!" and so, by degrees, became conversational and able to walk away.
"Well?" cried my sister, addressing us both at once when we returned to Mr. Pumblechook's parlor. "And what's happened to you? I wonder you condescend to come back to such poor society as this, I am sure I do!"
"Miss Havisham," said Joe, with a fixed look at me, like an effort of remembrance, "made it wery partick'ler that we should give her - were it compliments or respects, Pip?"
"Compliments," I said.
"Which that were my own belief," answered Joe - "her compliments to Mrs. J. Gargery--"
"Much good they'll do me!" observed my sister; but rather gratified too. “And what did she give young Rantipole here?"
"She giv' him," said Joe, "nothing."
Mrs. Joe was going to break out, but Joe went on.
"What she giv'," said Joe, "she giv' to his friends. 'And by his friends,' were her explanation, 'I mean into the hands of his sister Mrs. J. Gargery.'"
My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden armchair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all about it beforehand.
"And how much have you got?" asked my sister, laughing. Positively, laughing!
"What would present company say to five - ” he paused here for greater effect, “and twenty pound?" demanded Joe, delightedly handing the bag to my sister.
"Now you see, Joseph and wife," said that basest of swindlers, Pumblechook, as he took me by the arm above the elbow, "I am one of them that always go right through with what they've begun. This boy must be bound, out of hand. That's my way. Bound out of hand."
"Goodness knows, Uncle Pumblechook," said my sister (grasping the money), "we're deeply beholden to you."
"Never mind me, Mum, returned that diabolical corn-chandler. "A pleasure's a pleasure, all the world over. But this boy, you know; we must have him bound. I said I'd see to it - to tell you the truth."
"Well?" cried my sister, addressing us both at once when we returned to Mr. Pumblechook's parlor. "And what's happened to you? I wonder you condescend to come back to such poor society as this, I am sure I do!"
"Miss Havisham," said Joe, with a fixed look at me, like an effort of remembrance, "made it wery partick'ler that we should give her - were it compliments or respects, Pip?"
"Compliments," I said.
"Which that were my own belief," answered Joe - "her compliments to Mrs. J. Gargery--"
"Much good they'll do me!" observed my sister; but rather gratified too. “And what did she give young Rantipole here?"
"She giv' him," said Joe, "nothing."
Mrs. Joe was going to break out, but Joe went on.
"What she giv'," said Joe, "she giv' to his friends. 'And by his friends,' were her explanation, 'I mean into the hands of his sister Mrs. J. Gargery.'"
My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden armchair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all about it beforehand.
"And how much have you got?" asked my sister, laughing. Positively, laughing!
"What would present company say to five - ” he paused here for greater effect, “and twenty pound?" demanded Joe, delightedly handing the bag to my sister.
"Now you see, Joseph and wife," said that basest of swindlers, Pumblechook, as he took me by the arm above the elbow, "I am one of them that always go right through with what they've begun. This boy must be bound, out of hand. That's my way. Bound out of hand."
"Goodness knows, Uncle Pumblechook," said my sister (grasping the money), "we're deeply beholden to you."
"Never mind me, Mum, returned that diabolical corn-chandler. "A pleasure's a pleasure, all the world over. But this boy, you know; we must have him bound. I said I'd see to it - to tell you the truth."
Chapter 13, Part 1
It was a trial to my feelings, on the next day, to see Joe arraying himself in his Sunday clothes to accompany me to Miss Havisham's. However, as he thought his court-suit necessary to the occasion, it was not for me tell him that he looked far better in his working dress; the rather, because I knew he made himself so dreadfully uncomfortable, entirely on my account, and that it was for me he pulled up his shirt-collar so very high behind, that it made the hair on the crown of his head stand up like a tuft of feathers.
We walked to town, my sister leading the way in a very large beaver bonnet, and carrying a basket like the Great Seal of England in plaited straw, a pair of pattens, a spare shawl, and an umbrella, though it was a fine bright day. I am not quite clear whether these articles were carried penitentially or ostentatiously; but, I rather think they were displayed as articles of property - much as Cleopatra or any other sovereign lady on the Ram-page might exhibit her wealth in a pageant or procession.
When we came to Pumblechook's, my sister bounced in and left us. As it was almost noon, Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham's house. Estella opened the gate as usual, and, the moment she appeared, Joe took his hat off and stood weighing it by the brim in both his hands: as if he had some urgent reason in his mind for being particular to half a quarter of an ounce.
Estella told me we were both to go in, so I took Joe by the coat-cuff and conducted him into Miss Havisham's presence. She was seated at her dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.
"Oh!" said she to Joe. "You are the husband of the sister of this boy?"
It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.
"Which I meantersay, Pip," Joe now observed in a manner that was at once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great politeness, "as I hup and married your sister, and I were at the time what you might call (if you was anyways inclined) a single man."
"Well!" said Miss Havisham. "And you have reared the boy, with the intention of taking him for your apprentice; is that so, Mr. Gargery?"
"You know, Pip," replied Joe, "as you and me were ever friends, and it were looked for'ard to betwixt us, as being calc'lated to lead to larks. Not but what, Pip, if you had ever made objections to the business - such as its being cruel or open to sut, or such-like - not but what they would have been attended to, don't you see?"
"Has the boy," said Miss Havisham, "ever made any objection? Does he like the trade?"
"Which it is well beknown to yourself, Pip," returned Joe, strengthening his former mixture of argumentation, confidence, and politeness, "that it were the wish of your own hart. And there weren't no objection on your part, and Pip it were the great wish of your hart!"
It was quite in vain for me to endeavor to make him sensible that he ought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures to him to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite he persisted in being to Me.
"Have you brought his indentures with you?" asked Miss Havisham.
"Well, Pip, you know," replied Joe, as if that were a little unreasonable, "you yourself see me put 'em in my 'at, and therefore you know as they are here." With which he took them out, and gave them, not to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow - I know I was ashamed of him - when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed mischievously. I took the indentures out of his hand and gave them to Miss Havisham.
"You expected," said Miss Havisham, as she looked them over, "no premium with the boy?"
"Joe!" I remonstrated; for he made no reply at all. "Why don't you answer--"
"Pip," returned Joe, cutting me short as if he were hurt, "which I meantersay that were not a question requiring a answer betwixt yourself and me, and which you know the answer to be full well No. You know it to be No, Pip, and wherefore should I say it?"
Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she understood what he really was, better than I had thought possible, seeing what he was there; and took up a little bag from the table beside her.
"Pip has earned a premium here," she said, "and here it is. There are five-and-twenty pounds in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip."
"Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?" I asked.
"No. Gargery is your master now.”
We walked to town, my sister leading the way in a very large beaver bonnet, and carrying a basket like the Great Seal of England in plaited straw, a pair of pattens, a spare shawl, and an umbrella, though it was a fine bright day. I am not quite clear whether these articles were carried penitentially or ostentatiously; but, I rather think they were displayed as articles of property - much as Cleopatra or any other sovereign lady on the Ram-page might exhibit her wealth in a pageant or procession.
When we came to Pumblechook's, my sister bounced in and left us. As it was almost noon, Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham's house. Estella opened the gate as usual, and, the moment she appeared, Joe took his hat off and stood weighing it by the brim in both his hands: as if he had some urgent reason in his mind for being particular to half a quarter of an ounce.
Estella told me we were both to go in, so I took Joe by the coat-cuff and conducted him into Miss Havisham's presence. She was seated at her dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.
"Oh!" said she to Joe. "You are the husband of the sister of this boy?"
It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.
"Which I meantersay, Pip," Joe now observed in a manner that was at once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great politeness, "as I hup and married your sister, and I were at the time what you might call (if you was anyways inclined) a single man."
"Well!" said Miss Havisham. "And you have reared the boy, with the intention of taking him for your apprentice; is that so, Mr. Gargery?"
"You know, Pip," replied Joe, "as you and me were ever friends, and it were looked for'ard to betwixt us, as being calc'lated to lead to larks. Not but what, Pip, if you had ever made objections to the business - such as its being cruel or open to sut, or such-like - not but what they would have been attended to, don't you see?"
"Has the boy," said Miss Havisham, "ever made any objection? Does he like the trade?"
"Which it is well beknown to yourself, Pip," returned Joe, strengthening his former mixture of argumentation, confidence, and politeness, "that it were the wish of your own hart. And there weren't no objection on your part, and Pip it were the great wish of your hart!"
It was quite in vain for me to endeavor to make him sensible that he ought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures to him to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite he persisted in being to Me.
"Have you brought his indentures with you?" asked Miss Havisham.
"Well, Pip, you know," replied Joe, as if that were a little unreasonable, "you yourself see me put 'em in my 'at, and therefore you know as they are here." With which he took them out, and gave them, not to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow - I know I was ashamed of him - when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed mischievously. I took the indentures out of his hand and gave them to Miss Havisham.
"You expected," said Miss Havisham, as she looked them over, "no premium with the boy?"
"Joe!" I remonstrated; for he made no reply at all. "Why don't you answer--"
"Pip," returned Joe, cutting me short as if he were hurt, "which I meantersay that were not a question requiring a answer betwixt yourself and me, and which you know the answer to be full well No. You know it to be No, Pip, and wherefore should I say it?"
Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she understood what he really was, better than I had thought possible, seeing what he was there; and took up a little bag from the table beside her.
"Pip has earned a premium here," she said, "and here it is. There are five-and-twenty pounds in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip."
"Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?" I asked.
"No. Gargery is your master now.”
Chapter 12, Part 2
We went on in this way for a long time, and it seemed likely that we should continue to go on in this way for a long time, when, one day, Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking, she leaning on my shoulder; and said with some displeasure:
"You are growing tall, Pip!"
I thought it best to hint, through the medium of a meditative look, that this might be occasioned by circumstances over which I had no control.
She said no more at the time; but, she presently stopped and looked at me again; and presently again; and after that, looked frowning and moody. On the next day of my attendance when our usual exercise was over, and I had landed her at her dressing-table, she stayed me with a movement of her impatient fingers:
"Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours – the weapon maker."
"Joe Gargery, ma'am."
"Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?"
"Yes, Miss Havisham."
"You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with you, and bring your indentures, do you think?"
I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honor to be asked.
"Then let him come."
"At any particular time, Miss Havisham?"
"There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come along with you."
When I got home at night, and delivered this message for Joe, my sister "went on the Ram-page," in a more alarming degree than at any previous period. She asked me and Joe whether we supposed she was door-mats under our feet, and how we dared to use her so, and what company we graciously thought she was fit for? When she had exhausted a torrent of such inquiries, she threw a candlestick at Joe, burst into a loud sobbing, got out the dustpan - which was always a very bad sign - put on her coarse apron, and began cleaning up to a terrible extent. Not satisfied with a dry cleaning, she took to a pail and scrubbing-brush, and cleaned us out of house and home. We stood shivering in the back-yard, looking up at a menacingly full moon, with our ears perked and wits about us. It was ten o'clock at night before we ventured to creep in again, by which time we had already heard four distinct howls.
"You are growing tall, Pip!"
I thought it best to hint, through the medium of a meditative look, that this might be occasioned by circumstances over which I had no control.
She said no more at the time; but, she presently stopped and looked at me again; and presently again; and after that, looked frowning and moody. On the next day of my attendance when our usual exercise was over, and I had landed her at her dressing-table, she stayed me with a movement of her impatient fingers:
"Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours – the weapon maker."
"Joe Gargery, ma'am."
"Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?"
"Yes, Miss Havisham."
"You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with you, and bring your indentures, do you think?"
I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honor to be asked.
"Then let him come."
"At any particular time, Miss Havisham?"
"There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come along with you."
When I got home at night, and delivered this message for Joe, my sister "went on the Ram-page," in a more alarming degree than at any previous period. She asked me and Joe whether we supposed she was door-mats under our feet, and how we dared to use her so, and what company we graciously thought she was fit for? When she had exhausted a torrent of such inquiries, she threw a candlestick at Joe, burst into a loud sobbing, got out the dustpan - which was always a very bad sign - put on her coarse apron, and began cleaning up to a terrible extent. Not satisfied with a dry cleaning, she took to a pail and scrubbing-brush, and cleaned us out of house and home. We stood shivering in the back-yard, looking up at a menacingly full moon, with our ears perked and wits about us. It was ten o'clock at night before we ventured to creep in again, by which time we had already heard four distinct howls.
Chapter 12, Part 1
My mind grew very uneasy on the subject of the pale young gentleman. The more I thought of the fight, and recalled the pale young gentleman on his back in various stages of puffy and incrimsoned countenance, the more certain it appeared that something would be done to me. I felt that the pale young gentleman's blood was on my head, and that the Law would avenge it. Without having any definite idea of the penalties I had incurred, it was clear to me that village boys could not go stalking about the country, ravaging the houses of gentlefolks and pitching into the studious youth of England, without laying themselves open to severe punishment.
When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of violence, my terrors reached their height. The wounds I inflicted had become so exaggerated in my mind, that I began to have strange fantasies that, upon finding the pale young gentleman bloody and battered, his relatives would suspect that the injuries were caused by a Howl Beast. And, logically, that I myself must be one! What then? Would the myrmidons of Justice, those Noble Hunters, specially sent down from London, lie in ambush behind the gate? Would Miss Havisham, preferring to take personal vengeance for an outrage done to her house, rise in those grave-clothes of hers, draw her silver dagger, and pierce my heart? Or, would they deny the dignity of a noble death and engage that band of mercenaries, the Brutal Hunters, to fall upon me in the brewery, and cuff me until I was no more?
However, go to Miss Havisham's I must, and go I did. And behold! nothing came of the late struggle. It was not alluded to in any way, and no pale young gentleman was to be discovered on the premises. I found the same gate open, and I explored the garden, and even looked in at the windows of the detached house; but, my view was suddenly stopped by the closed shutters within, and all was lifeless.
On the broad landing between Miss Havisham's own room and that other room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair - a light chair on wheels that you pushed from behind. It had been placed there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten months.
As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But, she did not. Neither did she ever give me any money - or anything but my daily dinner - nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my services.
Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told me I might kiss her again. I would see her at times, practicing her martial arts in the garden – often by herself, but sometimes with instructors whom I noticed she bested in combat with some frequency. She was a marvel to observe, as she inexplicably seemed to have both the grace of Biddy and the strength of Joe.
Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were alone, "Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?" And when I said yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when we sparred, Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella's immaculate technique, and would embrace her with lavish fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like "Tear out their hearts my pride and hope, tear out their hearts and have no mercy!"
When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of violence, my terrors reached their height. The wounds I inflicted had become so exaggerated in my mind, that I began to have strange fantasies that, upon finding the pale young gentleman bloody and battered, his relatives would suspect that the injuries were caused by a Howl Beast. And, logically, that I myself must be one! What then? Would the myrmidons of Justice, those Noble Hunters, specially sent down from London, lie in ambush behind the gate? Would Miss Havisham, preferring to take personal vengeance for an outrage done to her house, rise in those grave-clothes of hers, draw her silver dagger, and pierce my heart? Or, would they deny the dignity of a noble death and engage that band of mercenaries, the Brutal Hunters, to fall upon me in the brewery, and cuff me until I was no more?
However, go to Miss Havisham's I must, and go I did. And behold! nothing came of the late struggle. It was not alluded to in any way, and no pale young gentleman was to be discovered on the premises. I found the same gate open, and I explored the garden, and even looked in at the windows of the detached house; but, my view was suddenly stopped by the closed shutters within, and all was lifeless.
On the broad landing between Miss Havisham's own room and that other room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair - a light chair on wheels that you pushed from behind. It had been placed there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten months.
As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But, she did not. Neither did she ever give me any money - or anything but my daily dinner - nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my services.
Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told me I might kiss her again. I would see her at times, practicing her martial arts in the garden – often by herself, but sometimes with instructors whom I noticed she bested in combat with some frequency. She was a marvel to observe, as she inexplicably seemed to have both the grace of Biddy and the strength of Joe.
Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were alone, "Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?" And when I said yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when we sparred, Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella's immaculate technique, and would embrace her with lavish fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like "Tear out their hearts my pride and hope, tear out their hearts and have no mercy!"
Chapter 11, Part 5
I have heard that natives in some parts of the Orient worship deities who possess a great multitude of arms, and it was precisely from such a creature that the pale young gentlemen must have derived his technique. It was all I could do to dip and weave to avoid the torrent of fists that came at me from every angle imaginable. Seeing that his blows were coming at a pattern, I waited until the right moment, shifted my weight, turned my heel, and struck forth. I never have been so surprised in my life, as I was when I let out my first offensive gesture toward another human being, and saw him lying on his back, looking up at me with a bloody nose and his face exceedingly fore-shortened.
But, he was on his feet directly, and with a great show of dexterity began squaring again with a series of kicks that came almost as rapidly has his punches. Again, I dodged and blocked to the best of my ability until I came to see a pattern in his blows. The second greatest surprise I have ever had in my life was seeing him on his back again, looking up at me out of a black eye.
His spirit inspired me with great respect. He seemed to have no strength, and he never once hit me hard, and he was always knocked down; but, he would be up again in a moment, with the greatest satisfaction in seconding himself according to form, and then came at me with an air and a show that made me believe he really was going to do for me at last. He got heavily bruised, for I am sorry to record that the more I hit him, the harder I hit him; but, he came up again and again and again, until at last he got a bad fall with the back of his head against the wall. Even after that crisis in our affairs, he got up and turned round and round confusedly a few times, not knowing where I was; but finally went on his knees to his shirt and threw it up: at the same time panting out, "That means you have won."
He seemed so brave and innocent, that although I had not proposed the contest I felt but a gloomy satisfaction in my victory. Still, the whole exercise seemed so cordial and proper, I imagined myself as having deployed a civilized sort of protective violence akin to the revered trade of a Noble Hunter. I got dressed, darkly wiping my sanguinary face at intervals, and I said, "Can I help you?" and he said "No thankee," and I said "Good afternoon," and he said "Same to you."
When I got into the court-yard, I found Estella waiting with the keys. But, she neither asked me where I had been, nor why I had kept her waiting; and there was a bright flush upon her face, as though something had happened to delight her. Instead of going straight to the gate, too, she stepped back into the passage, and beckoned me.
"Come here! You may kiss me, if you like."
I kissed her cheek as she turned it to me. I think I would have gone through a great deal to kiss her cheek. But, I felt that the kiss was given to the coarse common boy as a piece of money might have been, and that it was worth nothing.
But, he was on his feet directly, and with a great show of dexterity began squaring again with a series of kicks that came almost as rapidly has his punches. Again, I dodged and blocked to the best of my ability until I came to see a pattern in his blows. The second greatest surprise I have ever had in my life was seeing him on his back again, looking up at me out of a black eye.
His spirit inspired me with great respect. He seemed to have no strength, and he never once hit me hard, and he was always knocked down; but, he would be up again in a moment, with the greatest satisfaction in seconding himself according to form, and then came at me with an air and a show that made me believe he really was going to do for me at last. He got heavily bruised, for I am sorry to record that the more I hit him, the harder I hit him; but, he came up again and again and again, until at last he got a bad fall with the back of his head against the wall. Even after that crisis in our affairs, he got up and turned round and round confusedly a few times, not knowing where I was; but finally went on his knees to his shirt and threw it up: at the same time panting out, "That means you have won."
He seemed so brave and innocent, that although I had not proposed the contest I felt but a gloomy satisfaction in my victory. Still, the whole exercise seemed so cordial and proper, I imagined myself as having deployed a civilized sort of protective violence akin to the revered trade of a Noble Hunter. I got dressed, darkly wiping my sanguinary face at intervals, and I said, "Can I help you?" and he said "No thankee," and I said "Good afternoon," and he said "Same to you."
When I got into the court-yard, I found Estella waiting with the keys. But, she neither asked me where I had been, nor why I had kept her waiting; and there was a bright flush upon her face, as though something had happened to delight her. Instead of going straight to the gate, too, she stepped back into the passage, and beckoned me.
"Come here! You may kiss me, if you like."
I kissed her cheek as she turned it to me. I think I would have gone through a great deal to kiss her cheek. But, I felt that the kiss was given to the coarse common boy as a piece of money might have been, and that it was worth nothing.
Chapter 11, Part 4
I strolled into the garden and strolled all over it. It was quite a wilderness, and there were old melon-frames and cucumber-frames in it, which seemed in their decline to have produced a spontaneous growth of weak attempts at pieces of old hats and boots, with now and then a weedy offshoot into the likeness of a battered saucepan.
As I was casting my gaze over these grotesques of unrestrained vegetation, I suddenly found myself, to my great surprise, exchanging a broad stare with a pale young gentleman with red eyelids and light hair.
"Halloa!" said he, "young fellow!"
Halloa being a general observation which I had usually observed to be best answered by itself, I said, "Halloa!" politely omitting young fellow.
"Who let you in?" said he.
"Miss Estella."
"Who gave you leave to prowl about?"
"Miss Estella."
"Come and fight," said the pale young gentleman.
What could I do but follow him? I have often asked myself the question since: but, what else could I do? His manner was so final and I was so astonished, that I followed where he led, as if I had been under a spell.
"Stop a minute, though," he said, wheeling round before we had gone many paces. "I ought to give you a reason for fighting, too. There it is!" In a most baffling manner he instantly slapped his hands against one another, daintily jumped into the air, whirled around, and drove his foot into my stomach.
"Laws of the game!" said he. Here, he skipped from his left leg on to his right. "Regular rules!" Here, he skipped from his right leg on to his left. "Come to the ground, and go through the preliminaries!" Here, he dodged backwards and forwards, and did all sorts of things while I looked helplessly at him.
I was secretly afraid of him when I saw him so dexterous; but, I felt morally and physically convinced that his foot could have had no business in the pit of my stomach, and that I had a right to consider it irrelevant when so obtruded on my attention. Therefore, I followed him without a word, to a retired nook of the garden. Once determining that the environs were suitable for battle, he fell to pulling off, not only his jacket and waistcoat, but his shirt too, in a manner at once light-hearted, businesslike, and bloodthirsty.
Although he did not look very healthy - having pimples on his face, and a breaking out at his mouth - these dreadful preparations quite appalled me. I judged him to be about my own age, but he was much taller, and he had a way of spinning himself about that was full of appearance.
Despite his ostentatious maneuvering, he really was quite agile, and my heart failed me when I saw him squaring at me with every demonstration of mechanical nicety, and eying my anatomy as if he were minutely choosing his bone. I called to mind a defensive stance that Biddy had shown me in our previous session, and assumed the posture in trepidation.
As I was casting my gaze over these grotesques of unrestrained vegetation, I suddenly found myself, to my great surprise, exchanging a broad stare with a pale young gentleman with red eyelids and light hair.
"Halloa!" said he, "young fellow!"
Halloa being a general observation which I had usually observed to be best answered by itself, I said, "Halloa!" politely omitting young fellow.
"Who let you in?" said he.
"Miss Estella."
"Who gave you leave to prowl about?"
"Miss Estella."
"Come and fight," said the pale young gentleman.
What could I do but follow him? I have often asked myself the question since: but, what else could I do? His manner was so final and I was so astonished, that I followed where he led, as if I had been under a spell.
"Stop a minute, though," he said, wheeling round before we had gone many paces. "I ought to give you a reason for fighting, too. There it is!" In a most baffling manner he instantly slapped his hands against one another, daintily jumped into the air, whirled around, and drove his foot into my stomach.
"Laws of the game!" said he. Here, he skipped from his left leg on to his right. "Regular rules!" Here, he skipped from his right leg on to his left. "Come to the ground, and go through the preliminaries!" Here, he dodged backwards and forwards, and did all sorts of things while I looked helplessly at him.
I was secretly afraid of him when I saw him so dexterous; but, I felt morally and physically convinced that his foot could have had no business in the pit of my stomach, and that I had a right to consider it irrelevant when so obtruded on my attention. Therefore, I followed him without a word, to a retired nook of the garden. Once determining that the environs were suitable for battle, he fell to pulling off, not only his jacket and waistcoat, but his shirt too, in a manner at once light-hearted, businesslike, and bloodthirsty.
Although he did not look very healthy - having pimples on his face, and a breaking out at his mouth - these dreadful preparations quite appalled me. I judged him to be about my own age, but he was much taller, and he had a way of spinning himself about that was full of appearance.
Despite his ostentatious maneuvering, he really was quite agile, and my heart failed me when I saw him squaring at me with every demonstration of mechanical nicety, and eying my anatomy as if he were minutely choosing his bone. I called to mind a defensive stance that Biddy had shown me in our previous session, and assumed the posture in trepidation.
Chapter 11, Part 3
At last she stopped before the fire, and said, after muttering and looking at it some seconds, "This is my birthday, Pip."
I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick.
"I don't suffer it to be spoken of. I don't suffer those of my relations who are here now, or any one, to speak of it. They come here on the day, but they dare not refer to it."
Of course I made no further effort to refer to it or her relatives.
"On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of decay," stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the table but not touching it, "was brought here. It and I have worn away together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of mice have gnawed at me." (She said this last part as if to herself.)
She held the head of her stick against her heart as she stood looking at the table; she in her once white dress, all yellow and tattered.
"When the ruin is complete," said she, with a ghastly look, "and when they lay me dead, in my bride's dress on the bride's table - which shall be done, and which will be the finished curse upon him - so much the better if it is done on this day!"
She stood looking at the table as if she stood looking at her own figure lying there. I remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too remained quiet. It seemed to me that we continued thus for a long time. In the heavy air of the room, and the heavy darkness that brooded in its remoter corners, I even had an alarming fancy that Estella and I might presently begin to decay.
At length, not coming out of her distraught state by degrees, but in an instant, Miss Havisham said, "Let me see you two play again; why have you not begun?" With that, we returned to her room, and ran about before, though without the silver dagger. I was defeated, as before; and again, as before, Miss Havisham watched us all the time, directed my attention to Estella's beauty, even as she humiliated me.
When we had finished the game, a day was appointed for my return, and I was taken down into the yard to be fed in a dog-like manner. There, too, I was again left to wander about as I liked.
I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick.
"I don't suffer it to be spoken of. I don't suffer those of my relations who are here now, or any one, to speak of it. They come here on the day, but they dare not refer to it."
Of course I made no further effort to refer to it or her relatives.
"On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of decay," stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the table but not touching it, "was brought here. It and I have worn away together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of mice have gnawed at me." (She said this last part as if to herself.)
She held the head of her stick against her heart as she stood looking at the table; she in her once white dress, all yellow and tattered.
"When the ruin is complete," said she, with a ghastly look, "and when they lay me dead, in my bride's dress on the bride's table - which shall be done, and which will be the finished curse upon him - so much the better if it is done on this day!"
She stood looking at the table as if she stood looking at her own figure lying there. I remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too remained quiet. It seemed to me that we continued thus for a long time. In the heavy air of the room, and the heavy darkness that brooded in its remoter corners, I even had an alarming fancy that Estella and I might presently begin to decay.
At length, not coming out of her distraught state by degrees, but in an instant, Miss Havisham said, "Let me see you two play again; why have you not begun?" With that, we returned to her room, and ran about before, though without the silver dagger. I was defeated, as before; and again, as before, Miss Havisham watched us all the time, directed my attention to Estella's beauty, even as she humiliated me.
When we had finished the game, a day was appointed for my return, and I was taken down into the yard to be fed in a dog-like manner. There, too, I was again left to wander about as I liked.
Chapter 11, Part 2
We went on our way up-stairs after this episode; and, as we were going up, we met a gentleman groping his way down.
"Whom have we here?" asked the gentleman, stopping and looking at me.
"A boy," said Estella.
He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion, with an exceedingly large head and a corresponding large hand. He took my chin in his large hand and turned up my face to have a look at me by the light of the candle. His eyes were set very deep in his head, and were disagreeably sharp and suspicious.
"Boy of the neighborhood? Hey?" said he.
"Yes, sir," said I.
"How do you come here?"
"Miss Havisham sent for me, sir," I explained.
"Well! Behave yourself. I have a pretty large experience of boys, and you're a bad set of fellows. Now mind!" said he, biting the side of his great forefinger as he frowned at me, "you behave yourself!" With those words, he released me - which I was glad of, for his hand smelt of scented soap - and went his way down-stairs.
We were soon in Miss Havisham's room, where she and everything else were just as I had left them. Estella left me standing near the door, and I stood there until Miss Havisham cast her eyes upon me from the dressing-table.
"So!" she said, without being startled or surprised; "the days have worn away, have they?"
"Yes, ma'am. To-day is--"
"There, there, there!" with the impatient movement of her fingers. "I don't want to know. Are you ready to play?"
I was obliged to answer in some confusion, "I don't think I am, ma'am."
"Not at that chasing game again?" she demanded, with a searching look.
"Yes, ma'am; I could do that, if I was wanted."
"Since this house strikes you old and grave, boy," said Miss Havisham, impatiently, "and you are unwilling to play, are you willing to work?"
I could answer this inquiry with a better heart than I had been able to find for the other question, and I said I was quite willing.
"Then go into that opposite room," said she, pointing at the door behind me with her withered hand, "and wait there till I come."
I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. From that room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had an airless smell that was oppressive. A fire had been lately kindled in the damp old-fashioned grate, and it was more disposed to go out than to burn up, and the reluctant smoke which hung in the room seemed colder than the clearer air - like our own marsh mist, though hopefully devoid of Howl Beasts and fugitives. It was spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but every discernible thing in it was covered with dust and mold, and dropping to pieces.
Miss Havisham followed me inside. "This," said she, pointing to a long table with her stick, "is where I will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here.” Then, pointing again: “What do you think that is?" she asked me, "that, where those cobwebs are?"
"I can't guess what it is, ma'am."
"It's a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine!"
She looked all round the room in a glaring manner, and then said, leaning on me while her hand twitched my shoulder, "Come, come, come! Walk me, walk me!"
She was not physically strong, and after a little time said, "Slower!" Still, we went at an impatient fitful speed, and as we went, she twitched the hand upon my shoulder, and worked her mouth, and led me to believe that we were going fast because her thoughts went fast.
"Whom have we here?" asked the gentleman, stopping and looking at me.
"A boy," said Estella.
He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion, with an exceedingly large head and a corresponding large hand. He took my chin in his large hand and turned up my face to have a look at me by the light of the candle. His eyes were set very deep in his head, and were disagreeably sharp and suspicious.
"Boy of the neighborhood? Hey?" said he.
"Yes, sir," said I.
"How do you come here?"
"Miss Havisham sent for me, sir," I explained.
"Well! Behave yourself. I have a pretty large experience of boys, and you're a bad set of fellows. Now mind!" said he, biting the side of his great forefinger as he frowned at me, "you behave yourself!" With those words, he released me - which I was glad of, for his hand smelt of scented soap - and went his way down-stairs.
We were soon in Miss Havisham's room, where she and everything else were just as I had left them. Estella left me standing near the door, and I stood there until Miss Havisham cast her eyes upon me from the dressing-table.
"So!" she said, without being startled or surprised; "the days have worn away, have they?"
"Yes, ma'am. To-day is--"
"There, there, there!" with the impatient movement of her fingers. "I don't want to know. Are you ready to play?"
I was obliged to answer in some confusion, "I don't think I am, ma'am."
"Not at that chasing game again?" she demanded, with a searching look.
"Yes, ma'am; I could do that, if I was wanted."
"Since this house strikes you old and grave, boy," said Miss Havisham, impatiently, "and you are unwilling to play, are you willing to work?"
I could answer this inquiry with a better heart than I had been able to find for the other question, and I said I was quite willing.
"Then go into that opposite room," said she, pointing at the door behind me with her withered hand, "and wait there till I come."
I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. From that room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had an airless smell that was oppressive. A fire had been lately kindled in the damp old-fashioned grate, and it was more disposed to go out than to burn up, and the reluctant smoke which hung in the room seemed colder than the clearer air - like our own marsh mist, though hopefully devoid of Howl Beasts and fugitives. It was spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but every discernible thing in it was covered with dust and mold, and dropping to pieces.
Miss Havisham followed me inside. "This," said she, pointing to a long table with her stick, "is where I will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here.” Then, pointing again: “What do you think that is?" she asked me, "that, where those cobwebs are?"
"I can't guess what it is, ma'am."
"It's a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine!"
She looked all round the room in a glaring manner, and then said, leaning on me while her hand twitched my shoulder, "Come, come, come! Walk me, walk me!"
She was not physically strong, and after a little time said, "Slower!" Still, we went at an impatient fitful speed, and as we went, she twitched the hand upon my shoulder, and worked her mouth, and led me to believe that we were going fast because her thoughts went fast.
Chapter 11, Part 1
At the appointed time I returned to Miss Havisham's, and my hesitating ring at the gate brought out Estella. She locked it after admitting me, as she had done before, and again preceded me into the dark passage where her candle stood. She took no notice of me until she had the candle in her hand, when she looked over her shoulder, superciliously saying, "You are to come this way today," and took me to quite another part of the house.
We went in through a door, which stood open, and into a gloomy room with a low ceiling, on the ground floor at the back. There was some company in the room, and Estella said to me as she joined it, "You are to go and stand there, boy, till you are wanted."
"There", being the window, I crossed to it, and stood "there," in a very uncomfortable state of mind, looking out.
I divined that my coming had stopped conversation in the room, and that its other occupants were looking at me. I stiffened in all my joints with the consciousness that I was under close inspection.
There were three ladies in the room and one gentleman. Before I had been standing at the window five minutes, they somehow conveyed to me that they were all toadies and humbugs. It took a little while longer to discern that they were called Sarah Pocket, Camilla, Georgiana, and Cousin Raymond.
The ringing of a distant bell, combined with the echoing of some cry or call along the passage by which I had come, caused Estella to say to me, "Now, boy!" On my turning round, they all looked at me with the utmost contempt.
As we were going with our candle along the dark passage, Estella stopped all of a sudden, and, facing round, said in her taunting manner with her face quite close to mine:
"Well?"
"Well, miss?" I answered, almost falling over her and checking myself.
She stood looking at me, and, of course, I stood looking at her.
"Am I pretty?"
"Yes; I think you are very pretty."
"Am I insulting?"
"Not so much so as you were last time," said I.
"Not so much so?"
"No."
She fired when she asked the last question, and kicked my feet out from under me when I answered it. As I fell, Estella gave me such a violent shove that I was sent hurtling against the wall.
"Now?" said she. "You little weak monster, what do you think of me now?"
"I shall not tell you," said I, picking myself from the ground.
"Because you are going to tell, up-stairs. Is that it?"
"No," said I, "that's not it."
"Why don't you cry again, you little wretch?"
"Because I'll never cry for you again," said I. Which was, I suppose, as false a declaration as ever was made; for I was inwardly crying for her then, and I know what I know of the pain she cost me afterwards.
We went in through a door, which stood open, and into a gloomy room with a low ceiling, on the ground floor at the back. There was some company in the room, and Estella said to me as she joined it, "You are to go and stand there, boy, till you are wanted."
"There", being the window, I crossed to it, and stood "there," in a very uncomfortable state of mind, looking out.
I divined that my coming had stopped conversation in the room, and that its other occupants were looking at me. I stiffened in all my joints with the consciousness that I was under close inspection.
There were three ladies in the room and one gentleman. Before I had been standing at the window five minutes, they somehow conveyed to me that they were all toadies and humbugs. It took a little while longer to discern that they were called Sarah Pocket, Camilla, Georgiana, and Cousin Raymond.
The ringing of a distant bell, combined with the echoing of some cry or call along the passage by which I had come, caused Estella to say to me, "Now, boy!" On my turning round, they all looked at me with the utmost contempt.
As we were going with our candle along the dark passage, Estella stopped all of a sudden, and, facing round, said in her taunting manner with her face quite close to mine:
"Well?"
"Well, miss?" I answered, almost falling over her and checking myself.
She stood looking at me, and, of course, I stood looking at her.
"Am I pretty?"
"Yes; I think you are very pretty."
"Am I insulting?"
"Not so much so as you were last time," said I.
"Not so much so?"
"No."
She fired when she asked the last question, and kicked my feet out from under me when I answered it. As I fell, Estella gave me such a violent shove that I was sent hurtling against the wall.
"Now?" said she. "You little weak monster, what do you think of me now?"
"I shall not tell you," said I, picking myself from the ground.
"Because you are going to tell, up-stairs. Is that it?"
"No," said I, "that's not it."
"Why don't you cry again, you little wretch?"
"Because I'll never cry for you again," said I. Which was, I suppose, as false a declaration as ever was made; for I was inwardly crying for her then, and I know what I know of the pain she cost me afterwards.
Chapter 10, Part 2
There was a delicious sense of cleaning-up and making a quiet pause before going on in life afresh, in our village on Saturday nights, which stimulated Joe to dare to stay out half an hour longer on Saturdays than at other times. The half hour and the rum-and-water running out together, Joe got up to go, and took me by the hand.
"Stop half a moment, Mr. Gargery," said the strange man. "I think I've got a bright new shilling somewhere in my pocket, and if I have, the boy shall have it."
He looked it out from a handful of small change, folded it in some crumpled paper, and gave it to me. "Yours!" said he. "Mind! Your own."
I thanked him, staring at him far beyond the bounds of good manners, and holding tight to Joe. He gave Joe good-night, and he gave Mr. Wopsle good-night (who went out with us), and he gave me only a look with his aiming eye - no, not a look, for he shut it up, but wonders may be done with an eye by hiding it.
My sister was not in a very bad temper when we presented ourselves in the kitchen, and Joe was encouraged by that unusual circumstance to tell her about the bright shilling. "A bad un, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Joe triumphantly, "or he wouldn't have given it to the boy! Let's look at it."
I took it out of the paper, and it proved to be a good one. "But what's this?" said Mrs. Joe, throwing down the shilling and catching up the paper. "Two One-Pound notes?"
Nothing less than two fat sweltering one-pound notes that seemed to have been on terms of the warmest intimacy with all the cattle markets in the county. Joe caught up his hat again, and ran with them to the Jolly Hunter to restore them to their owner. While he was gone, I sat down on my usual stool and looked vacantly at my sister, feeling pretty sure that the man would not be there.
Presently, Joe came back, saying that the man was gone, but that he, Joe, had left word at the Three Jolly Hunters concerning the notes. Then my sister sealed them up in a piece of paper, and put them under some dried rose-leaves in an ornamental tea-pot on the top of a press in the state parlor. There they remained, a nightmare to me, many and many a night and day.
I had sadly broken sleep when I got to bed, through thinking of the strange man taking aim at me with his invisible gun, and of the guiltily coarse and common thing it was, to be on secret terms of conspiracy with Howl Beasts - a feature in my low career that I had previously forgotten. I was haunted by the dirk-saw too. A dread possessed me that when I least expected it, the weapon would reappear. I coaxed myself to sleep by thinking of Miss Havisham's, next Wednesday; and in my sleep I saw the dirk-saw coming at me out of a door, without seeing who held it, and I screamed myself awake.
"Stop half a moment, Mr. Gargery," said the strange man. "I think I've got a bright new shilling somewhere in my pocket, and if I have, the boy shall have it."
He looked it out from a handful of small change, folded it in some crumpled paper, and gave it to me. "Yours!" said he. "Mind! Your own."
I thanked him, staring at him far beyond the bounds of good manners, and holding tight to Joe. He gave Joe good-night, and he gave Mr. Wopsle good-night (who went out with us), and he gave me only a look with his aiming eye - no, not a look, for he shut it up, but wonders may be done with an eye by hiding it.
My sister was not in a very bad temper when we presented ourselves in the kitchen, and Joe was encouraged by that unusual circumstance to tell her about the bright shilling. "A bad un, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Joe triumphantly, "or he wouldn't have given it to the boy! Let's look at it."
I took it out of the paper, and it proved to be a good one. "But what's this?" said Mrs. Joe, throwing down the shilling and catching up the paper. "Two One-Pound notes?"
Nothing less than two fat sweltering one-pound notes that seemed to have been on terms of the warmest intimacy with all the cattle markets in the county. Joe caught up his hat again, and ran with them to the Jolly Hunter to restore them to their owner. While he was gone, I sat down on my usual stool and looked vacantly at my sister, feeling pretty sure that the man would not be there.
Presently, Joe came back, saying that the man was gone, but that he, Joe, had left word at the Three Jolly Hunters concerning the notes. Then my sister sealed them up in a piece of paper, and put them under some dried rose-leaves in an ornamental tea-pot on the top of a press in the state parlor. There they remained, a nightmare to me, many and many a night and day.
I had sadly broken sleep when I got to bed, through thinking of the strange man taking aim at me with his invisible gun, and of the guiltily coarse and common thing it was, to be on secret terms of conspiracy with Howl Beasts - a feature in my low career that I had previously forgotten. I was haunted by the dirk-saw too. A dread possessed me that when I least expected it, the weapon would reappear. I coaxed myself to sleep by thinking of Miss Havisham's, next Wednesday; and in my sleep I saw the dirk-saw coming at me out of a door, without seeing who held it, and I screamed myself awake.
Chapter 10, Part 1
The felicitous idea occurred to me a morning or two later when I woke, that the best step I could take towards making myself a match for Estella in speed and skill was to get out of Biddy everything she knew. In pursuance of this luminous conception, I mentioned to Biddy when I went to Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt's at night, that I had a particular reason for wishing to get on in life, and that I should feel very much obliged to her if she would impart all her learning to me. Biddy, who was the most obliging of girls, immediately said she would, and indeed began to carry out her promise within five minutes.
Accordingly, while Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt lay comatose in her chair, and the other pupils entered among themselves upon a competitive examination on the subject of Boots, with the view of ascertaining who could tread the hardest upon whose toes, Biddy put me through a regimen of rigorous drills.
Of course there was a public-house in the village, and of course Joe liked sometimes to smoke his pipe there. I had received strict orders from my sister to call for him at the Three Jolly Bargemen, that evening, on my way from school, and bring him home at my peril. To the Three Jolly Hunters, therefore, I directed my steps.
It being Saturday night, I found Joe was smoking his pipe in company with Mr. Wopsle and a stranger. Joe greeted me as usual with "Halloa, Pip, old chap!" and the moment he said that, the stranger turned his head and looked at me.
He was a secret-looking man whom I had never seen before. His head was all on one side, and one of his eyes was half shut up, as if he were taking aim at something with an invisible gun. He had a pipe in his mouth, and he took it out, and, after slowly blowing all his smoke away and looking hard at me all the time, nodded. So, I nodded, and then he nodded again, and made room on the settle beside him that I might sit down there.
But, as I was used to sit beside Joe whenever I entered that place of resort, I said "No, thank you, sir," and fell into the space Joe made for me on the opposite settle. The strange man, after glancing at Joe, and seeing that his attention was otherwise engaged, nodded to me again when I had taken my seat, and then rubbed his leg - in a very odd way, as it struck me.
"Three Rums!" cried the stranger, calling to the landlord. "Glasses round!"
The stranger, with a comfortable kind of grunt over his pipe, put his legs up on the settle that he had to himself. He wore a flapping broad-brimmed traveler's hat, and under it a handkerchief tied over his head in the manner of a cap: so that he showed no hair. As he looked at the fire, I thought I saw a cunning expression, followed by a half-laugh, come into his face.
"I am not acquainted with this country, gentlemen, but it seems a solitary country towards the river," said the stranger.
"Most marshes is solitary," said Joe.
"No doubt, no doubt. Do you find any gypsies, now, or tramps, or vagrants of any sort, out there?"
"Not often," said Joe; "none but a Howler now and then. And we don't find them, easy. Eh, Mr. Wopsle?"
Mr. Wopsle, with a majestic remembrance of old discomfiture, assented; but not warmly.
"Seems you have been out after such?" asked the stranger.
"Once," returned Joe. "Not that we wanted to take them, you understand; we went out as lookers on; me, and Mr. Wopsle, and Pip. Didn't us, Pip?"
"Yes, Joe."
All this while, the strange man looked at nobody but me, and looked at me as if he were determined to have a shot at me at last, and bring me down. But he said nothing more, until the glasses of rum-and-water were brought; and then he made his shot, and a most extraordinary shot it was.
It was not a verbal remark, but as the rums were brought, he leaned forward upon the settle, casually brushing back his coat as he turned. The reveal seemed pointedly addressed to me, and it did not seem ether Joe or Mr. Wopsel noticed it. Nor did it seem that either man noticed the dirk-saw hanging at the stranger’s belt.
I knew it to be Joe's weapon, and I knew that he knew my fugitive, the moment I saw the instrument. I sat gazing at him, spell-bound. But he now reclined on his settle, taking very little notice of me, and talking principally about turnips.
Accordingly, while Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt lay comatose in her chair, and the other pupils entered among themselves upon a competitive examination on the subject of Boots, with the view of ascertaining who could tread the hardest upon whose toes, Biddy put me through a regimen of rigorous drills.
Of course there was a public-house in the village, and of course Joe liked sometimes to smoke his pipe there. I had received strict orders from my sister to call for him at the Three Jolly Bargemen, that evening, on my way from school, and bring him home at my peril. To the Three Jolly Hunters, therefore, I directed my steps.
It being Saturday night, I found Joe was smoking his pipe in company with Mr. Wopsle and a stranger. Joe greeted me as usual with "Halloa, Pip, old chap!" and the moment he said that, the stranger turned his head and looked at me.
He was a secret-looking man whom I had never seen before. His head was all on one side, and one of his eyes was half shut up, as if he were taking aim at something with an invisible gun. He had a pipe in his mouth, and he took it out, and, after slowly blowing all his smoke away and looking hard at me all the time, nodded. So, I nodded, and then he nodded again, and made room on the settle beside him that I might sit down there.
But, as I was used to sit beside Joe whenever I entered that place of resort, I said "No, thank you, sir," and fell into the space Joe made for me on the opposite settle. The strange man, after glancing at Joe, and seeing that his attention was otherwise engaged, nodded to me again when I had taken my seat, and then rubbed his leg - in a very odd way, as it struck me.
"Three Rums!" cried the stranger, calling to the landlord. "Glasses round!"
The stranger, with a comfortable kind of grunt over his pipe, put his legs up on the settle that he had to himself. He wore a flapping broad-brimmed traveler's hat, and under it a handkerchief tied over his head in the manner of a cap: so that he showed no hair. As he looked at the fire, I thought I saw a cunning expression, followed by a half-laugh, come into his face.
"I am not acquainted with this country, gentlemen, but it seems a solitary country towards the river," said the stranger.
"Most marshes is solitary," said Joe.
"No doubt, no doubt. Do you find any gypsies, now, or tramps, or vagrants of any sort, out there?"
"Not often," said Joe; "none but a Howler now and then. And we don't find them, easy. Eh, Mr. Wopsle?"
Mr. Wopsle, with a majestic remembrance of old discomfiture, assented; but not warmly.
"Seems you have been out after such?" asked the stranger.
"Once," returned Joe. "Not that we wanted to take them, you understand; we went out as lookers on; me, and Mr. Wopsle, and Pip. Didn't us, Pip?"
"Yes, Joe."
All this while, the strange man looked at nobody but me, and looked at me as if he were determined to have a shot at me at last, and bring me down. But he said nothing more, until the glasses of rum-and-water were brought; and then he made his shot, and a most extraordinary shot it was.
It was not a verbal remark, but as the rums were brought, he leaned forward upon the settle, casually brushing back his coat as he turned. The reveal seemed pointedly addressed to me, and it did not seem ether Joe or Mr. Wopsel noticed it. Nor did it seem that either man noticed the dirk-saw hanging at the stranger’s belt.
I knew it to be Joe's weapon, and I knew that he knew my fugitive, the moment I saw the instrument. I sat gazing at him, spell-bound. But he now reclined on his settle, taking very little notice of me, and talking principally about turnips.
Chapter 9, Part 2
Now, when I saw Joe open his blue eyes and roll them all round the kitchen in helpless amazement, I was overtaken by penitence; but only as regarded him - not in the least as regarded the other two. Towards Joe, and Joe only, I considered myself a young monster.
After Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and when my sister was washing up, I stole into the forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had done for the night. Then I said, "Before the fire goes out, Joe, I should like to tell you something."
"Should you, Pip?" said Joe, drawing his shoeing-stool near the forge. "Then tell us. What is it, Pip?"
"Joe," said I, taking hold of his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and twisting it between my finger and thumb, "you remember all that about Miss Havisham's?"
"Remember?" said Joe. "I believe you! Wonderful!"
"It's a terrible thing, Joe; it ain't true."
"What are you telling of, Pip?" cried Joe, falling back in the greatest amazement. "You don't mean to say it's--"
"Yes I do; it's lies, Joe."
"But not all of it? Why sure you don't mean to say, Pip, that there was no black velvet coach?" For, I stood shaking my head. "But at least there was dogs, Pip? Come, Pip," said Joe, persuasively, "if there warn't no weal-cutlets, at least there was dogs?"
"No, Joe."
"A dog?" said Joe. "A puppy? Come?"
"No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind."
As I fixed my eyes hopelessly on Joe, Joe contemplated me in dismay. "Pip, old chap! This won't do, old fellow!"
"It's terrible, Joe; an't it?"
"Terrible?" cried Joe. "Awful! What possessed you?"
"I don't know what possessed me, Joe," I replied, letting his shirt sleeve go, and sitting down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head; "but I wish you hadn't taught me to call Howl Beasts, Howlers; I wish I weren’t so weak; and I wish my boots weren't so thick nor my hands so coarse."
And then I told Joe that I felt very miserable, and that I hadn't been able to explain myself to Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook who were so rude to me, and that there had been a beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham's who was dreadfully proud, and that she had said I was weak and common, and that I knew I was weak and common, and that I wished I weren’t, and that the lies had come of it somehow, though I didn't know how.
This was a case of metaphysics, at least as difficult for Joe to deal with, as for me. But Joe took the case altogether out of the region of metaphysics, and by that means vanquished it. "There's one thing you may be sure of, Pip," said Joe, after some rumination, "namely, that lies is lies. Howsever they come, they didn't ought to come, and they come from the father of lies, and work round to the same. Don't you tell no more of 'em, Pip. That ain't the way to get out of being common, old chap. And as to being common, I don't make it out at all clear. You are oncommon in some things. You're oncommon small. Likewise you're a oncommon battler."
"No, I am weak and backward, Joe."
"Why, see what a parry you pulled last night! Proper stance and all! I've seen parries - Ah! and from Noble Hunters! - that I'll swear weren't so proper," said Joe.
"I have learnt next to nothing, Joe. You think much of me. It's only that."
"Well, Pip," said Joe, "be it so or be it son't, you must be a common battler afore you can be a oncommon one, I should hope! The Noble Hunters with their silver weapons, can’t go out on the Hunt, without having begun, with basic forms- Ah!" added Joe, with a shake of the head that was full of meaning.
There was some hope in this piece of wisdom, and it rather encouraged me.
"You are not angry with me, Joe?"
"No, old chap. But don't never do it no more." And with that, it was upstairs to prayers and bed.
That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
After Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and when my sister was washing up, I stole into the forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had done for the night. Then I said, "Before the fire goes out, Joe, I should like to tell you something."
"Should you, Pip?" said Joe, drawing his shoeing-stool near the forge. "Then tell us. What is it, Pip?"
"Joe," said I, taking hold of his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and twisting it between my finger and thumb, "you remember all that about Miss Havisham's?"
"Remember?" said Joe. "I believe you! Wonderful!"
"It's a terrible thing, Joe; it ain't true."
"What are you telling of, Pip?" cried Joe, falling back in the greatest amazement. "You don't mean to say it's--"
"Yes I do; it's lies, Joe."
"But not all of it? Why sure you don't mean to say, Pip, that there was no black velvet coach?" For, I stood shaking my head. "But at least there was dogs, Pip? Come, Pip," said Joe, persuasively, "if there warn't no weal-cutlets, at least there was dogs?"
"No, Joe."
"A dog?" said Joe. "A puppy? Come?"
"No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind."
As I fixed my eyes hopelessly on Joe, Joe contemplated me in dismay. "Pip, old chap! This won't do, old fellow!"
"It's terrible, Joe; an't it?"
"Terrible?" cried Joe. "Awful! What possessed you?"
"I don't know what possessed me, Joe," I replied, letting his shirt sleeve go, and sitting down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head; "but I wish you hadn't taught me to call Howl Beasts, Howlers; I wish I weren’t so weak; and I wish my boots weren't so thick nor my hands so coarse."
And then I told Joe that I felt very miserable, and that I hadn't been able to explain myself to Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook who were so rude to me, and that there had been a beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham's who was dreadfully proud, and that she had said I was weak and common, and that I knew I was weak and common, and that I wished I weren’t, and that the lies had come of it somehow, though I didn't know how.
This was a case of metaphysics, at least as difficult for Joe to deal with, as for me. But Joe took the case altogether out of the region of metaphysics, and by that means vanquished it. "There's one thing you may be sure of, Pip," said Joe, after some rumination, "namely, that lies is lies. Howsever they come, they didn't ought to come, and they come from the father of lies, and work round to the same. Don't you tell no more of 'em, Pip. That ain't the way to get out of being common, old chap. And as to being common, I don't make it out at all clear. You are oncommon in some things. You're oncommon small. Likewise you're a oncommon battler."
"No, I am weak and backward, Joe."
"Why, see what a parry you pulled last night! Proper stance and all! I've seen parries - Ah! and from Noble Hunters! - that I'll swear weren't so proper," said Joe.
"I have learnt next to nothing, Joe. You think much of me. It's only that."
"Well, Pip," said Joe, "be it so or be it son't, you must be a common battler afore you can be a oncommon one, I should hope! The Noble Hunters with their silver weapons, can’t go out on the Hunt, without having begun, with basic forms- Ah!" added Joe, with a shake of the head that was full of meaning.
There was some hope in this piece of wisdom, and it rather encouraged me.
"You are not angry with me, Joe?"
"No, old chap. But don't never do it no more." And with that, it was upstairs to prayers and bed.
That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
Chapter 9, Part 1
When I reached home, my sister was very curious to know all about Miss Havisham's, and asked a number of questions. If a dread of not being understood be hidden in the breasts of other young people to anything like the extent to which it used to be hidden in mine, it is the key to many reservations. I felt convinced that if I described Miss Havisham's as my eyes had seen it, I should not be understood. Not only that, but I felt convinced that Miss Havisham too would not be understood; and although she was perfectly incomprehensible to me, I entertained an impression that there would be something coarse and treacherous in my dragging her as she really was (to say nothing of Miss Estella) before the contemplation of Mrs. Joe. Consequently, I said as little as I could.
"Well, boy," Uncle Pumblechook began, as soon as he was seated in the chair of honour by the fire. "How did you get on up town?"
I answered, "Pretty well, sir," and my sister shook her fist at me.
"Pretty well?" Mr. Pumblechook repeated. "Pretty well is no answer. Tell us what you mean by pretty well, boy?"
I reflected for some time, and then answered as if I had discovered a new idea, "I mean pretty well."
My sister with an exclamation of impatience was going to fly at me - I had no shadow of defence, for Joe was busy in the forge when Mr. Pumblechook interposed with "No! Don't lose your temper. Leave this lad to me, ma'am; leave this lad to me." Mr. Pumblechook then turned me towards him, as if he were going to cut my hair, and said:
"Boy! What like is Miss Havisham?" Mr. Pumblechook began again when he had recovered; folding his arms tight on his chest and applying the screw.
"Very tall and dark," I told him.
"Is she, uncle?" asked my sister.
Mr. Pumblechook winked assent; from which I at once inferred that he had never seen Miss Havisham, for she was nothing of the kind.
"Good!" said Mr. Pumblechook conceitedly. "This is the way to have him! We are beginning to hold our own, I think, Mum? Now, boy! What was she a-doing of, when you went in today?" asked Mr. Pumblechook.
"She was sitting," I answered, "in a black velvet coach. And Miss Estella - that's her niece, I think - handed her in cake and wine at the coach-window, on a gold plate. And we all had cake and wine on gold plates. And I got up behind the coach to eat mine, because she told me to."
"Was anybody else there?" asked Mr. Pumblechook.
"Four dogs," said I.
"Large or small?"
"Immense," said I. "And they fought for veal cutlets out of a gold basket."
“What did you play at, boy?" asked Mr. Pumblechook, testily.”
"We played with flags," I said. (I beg to observe that I think of myself with amazement, when I recall the lies I told on this occasion.)
"Flags!" echoed my sister.
"Yes," said I. "Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a red one, and Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over with little gold stars, out at the coach-window.”
If they had asked me any more questions I should undoubtedly have betrayed myself, for I was even then on the point of mentioning that there was a balloon in the yard. They were so much occupied, however, in discussing the marvels I had already presented for their consideration, that I escaped. The subject still held them when Joe came in from his work to have a cup of tea. To whom my sister, more for the relief of her own mind than for the gratification of his, related my pretended experiences.
"Well, boy," Uncle Pumblechook began, as soon as he was seated in the chair of honour by the fire. "How did you get on up town?"
I answered, "Pretty well, sir," and my sister shook her fist at me.
"Pretty well?" Mr. Pumblechook repeated. "Pretty well is no answer. Tell us what you mean by pretty well, boy?"
I reflected for some time, and then answered as if I had discovered a new idea, "I mean pretty well."
My sister with an exclamation of impatience was going to fly at me - I had no shadow of defence, for Joe was busy in the forge when Mr. Pumblechook interposed with "No! Don't lose your temper. Leave this lad to me, ma'am; leave this lad to me." Mr. Pumblechook then turned me towards him, as if he were going to cut my hair, and said:
"Boy! What like is Miss Havisham?" Mr. Pumblechook began again when he had recovered; folding his arms tight on his chest and applying the screw.
"Very tall and dark," I told him.
"Is she, uncle?" asked my sister.
Mr. Pumblechook winked assent; from which I at once inferred that he had never seen Miss Havisham, for she was nothing of the kind.
"Good!" said Mr. Pumblechook conceitedly. "This is the way to have him! We are beginning to hold our own, I think, Mum? Now, boy! What was she a-doing of, when you went in today?" asked Mr. Pumblechook.
"She was sitting," I answered, "in a black velvet coach. And Miss Estella - that's her niece, I think - handed her in cake and wine at the coach-window, on a gold plate. And we all had cake and wine on gold plates. And I got up behind the coach to eat mine, because she told me to."
"Was anybody else there?" asked Mr. Pumblechook.
"Four dogs," said I.
"Large or small?"
"Immense," said I. "And they fought for veal cutlets out of a gold basket."
“What did you play at, boy?" asked Mr. Pumblechook, testily.”
"We played with flags," I said. (I beg to observe that I think of myself with amazement, when I recall the lies I told on this occasion.)
"Flags!" echoed my sister.
"Yes," said I. "Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a red one, and Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over with little gold stars, out at the coach-window.”
If they had asked me any more questions I should undoubtedly have betrayed myself, for I was even then on the point of mentioning that there was a balloon in the yard. They were so much occupied, however, in discussing the marvels I had already presented for their consideration, that I escaped. The subject still held them when Joe came in from his work to have a cup of tea. To whom my sister, more for the relief of her own mind than for the gratification of his, related my pretended experiences.
Chapter 8, Part 5
I took the opportunity of being alone in the court-yard, to look at my coarse hands and my common boots. My opinion of those accessories was not favorable. They had never troubled me before, but they troubled me now, as vulgar appendages. I determined to ask Joe why he had ever taught me to call those the monsters, Howlers, which ought to be called Howl Beasts. I wished Joe had been rather more genteelly brought up, and then I should have been so too. I wished, too, that Joe had been willing to teach me more of combat, so that Estella could not have tossed me as a rag-doll.
When she was gone, I looked about me for a place to hide my face in, and got behind one of the gates in the brewery-lane, and leaned my sleeve against the wall there, and leaned my forehead on it and cried. As I cried, I kicked the wall, and took a hard twist at my hair; so bitter were my feelings, and so sharp was the smart without a name, that needed counteraction.
My sister's bringing up had made me sensitive. In the little world in which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice. It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter. Within myself, I had sustained, from my babyhood, a perpetual conflict with injustice. I had known, from the time when I could speak, that my sister, in her capricious and violent coercion, was unjust to me. I had cherished a profound conviction that her bringing me up by hand, gave her no right to bring me up by jerks. Much in the same way, I knew that the Hunters’ bloodlust in the marshes that Christmas was dishonorable and cruel, as it was all those years before when Joe witnessed the same. And I knew that no matter how wretched and vicious a creature, or how coarse and thick a boy’s hands and boots, neither deserved brutality for its own sake.
I got rid of my injured feelings for the time, by kicking them into the brewery wall, and twisting them out of my hair, and then I smoothed my face with my sleeve, and came from behind the gate.
I saw Estella approaching with the keys, to let me out. She would have some fair reason for looking down upon me, I thought, if she saw me frightened; and she would have no fair reason.
She gave me a triumphant glance in passing me, as if she rejoiced that my hands were so coarse and my boots were so thick, and she opened the gate, and stood holding it. I was passing out without looking at her, when she touched me with a taunting hand.
"Why don't you cry?"
"Because I don't want to."
"You do," said she. "You have been crying till you are half blind, and you are near crying again now."
She laughed contemptuously, pushed me out, and locked the gate upon me. I went straight to Mr. Pumblechook's, and was immensely relieved to find him not at home. So, leaving word with the shopman on what day I was wanted at Miss Havisham's again, I set off on the four-mile walk to our forge; pondering, as I went along, on all I had seen, and deeply revolving that I was a common laboring-boy; that my hands were coarse; that my boots were thick; that I had fallen into a despicable habit of calling Howl Beasts Howlers; that I was much more weak and ignorant than I had considered myself last night, and generally that I was in a low-lived bad way.
When she was gone, I looked about me for a place to hide my face in, and got behind one of the gates in the brewery-lane, and leaned my sleeve against the wall there, and leaned my forehead on it and cried. As I cried, I kicked the wall, and took a hard twist at my hair; so bitter were my feelings, and so sharp was the smart without a name, that needed counteraction.
My sister's bringing up had made me sensitive. In the little world in which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice. It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter. Within myself, I had sustained, from my babyhood, a perpetual conflict with injustice. I had known, from the time when I could speak, that my sister, in her capricious and violent coercion, was unjust to me. I had cherished a profound conviction that her bringing me up by hand, gave her no right to bring me up by jerks. Much in the same way, I knew that the Hunters’ bloodlust in the marshes that Christmas was dishonorable and cruel, as it was all those years before when Joe witnessed the same. And I knew that no matter how wretched and vicious a creature, or how coarse and thick a boy’s hands and boots, neither deserved brutality for its own sake.
I got rid of my injured feelings for the time, by kicking them into the brewery wall, and twisting them out of my hair, and then I smoothed my face with my sleeve, and came from behind the gate.
I saw Estella approaching with the keys, to let me out. She would have some fair reason for looking down upon me, I thought, if she saw me frightened; and she would have no fair reason.
She gave me a triumphant glance in passing me, as if she rejoiced that my hands were so coarse and my boots were so thick, and she opened the gate, and stood holding it. I was passing out without looking at her, when she touched me with a taunting hand.
"Why don't you cry?"
"Because I don't want to."
"You do," said she. "You have been crying till you are half blind, and you are near crying again now."
She laughed contemptuously, pushed me out, and locked the gate upon me. I went straight to Mr. Pumblechook's, and was immensely relieved to find him not at home. So, leaving word with the shopman on what day I was wanted at Miss Havisham's again, I set off on the four-mile walk to our forge; pondering, as I went along, on all I had seen, and deeply revolving that I was a common laboring-boy; that my hands were coarse; that my boots were thick; that I had fallen into a despicable habit of calling Howl Beasts Howlers; that I was much more weak and ignorant than I had considered myself last night, and generally that I was in a low-lived bad way.
Chapter 8, Part 4
I reluctantly accepted the blade, which was as long as my small forearm. Only in later years would I come to appreciate that the dagger was worth more than the combined value of Mrs. Joe’s house, the forge, and every object inside them. Such weapons were the only effective means of destroying a Howl Beast, and yet neither Joe nor any of the Brutal Hunters had ever handled one or any like it. And now, I, a scared and embarrassed boy was to use this precious object to chase a beautiful but awful girl in a silly game for the “sick fancy” of a withered old woman.
Seeing no alternative, I gave chase – slowly at first, for I did not want to alarm my prey. But, I soon found how agile and elusive Estella could be, and realized it would be no use holding back. As we scurried about the chamber, I began to understand that everything in the room had stopped, like the watch and the clock, a long time ago. Without this arrest of everything, this standing still of all the pale decayed objects, not even the withered bridal dress on the collapsed from could have looked so like grave-clothes, or the long veil so like a shroud.
Estella ran behind a curtain, but when I pulled it away, she was gone. I looked around but could find no trace of her. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Before I could react, it spun me around, slapped the dagger out of my hand, and pushed me to the ground in what seemed to be one fell motion.
She won the game. I was slow and weak, even when I knew she was lying in wait for me; and she denounced me for being a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.
"You say nothing of her," remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked on. "She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her. What do you think of her?"
"I don't like to say," I stammered.
"Tell me in my ear," said Miss Havisham, bending down.
"I think she is very fast," I replied, in a whisper.
"Anything else?"
"I think she is very pretty."
"Anything else?"
"I think she is very insulting." (She was looking at me then with a look of supreme aversion.)
"Anything else?"
"I think I should like to go home."
"And never see her again, though she is so pretty?"
"I am not sure that I shouldn't like to see her again, but I should like to go home now."
"You shall go soon," said Miss Havisham, aloud. "When shall I have you here again? Let me think."
I was beginning to remind her that to-day was Wednesday, when she checked me with her former impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand.
"There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Estella, take him down. Let him roam and look about. Go, Pip."
I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and she stood it in the place where we had found it. Until she opened the side entrance, I had fancied, without thinking about it, that it must necessarily be night-time. The rush of the daylight quite confounded me, and made me feel as if I had been in the candlelight of the strange room many hours.
"You are to wait here, you boy," said Estella; and disappeared and closed the door.
Seeing no alternative, I gave chase – slowly at first, for I did not want to alarm my prey. But, I soon found how agile and elusive Estella could be, and realized it would be no use holding back. As we scurried about the chamber, I began to understand that everything in the room had stopped, like the watch and the clock, a long time ago. Without this arrest of everything, this standing still of all the pale decayed objects, not even the withered bridal dress on the collapsed from could have looked so like grave-clothes, or the long veil so like a shroud.
Estella ran behind a curtain, but when I pulled it away, she was gone. I looked around but could find no trace of her. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Before I could react, it spun me around, slapped the dagger out of my hand, and pushed me to the ground in what seemed to be one fell motion.
She won the game. I was slow and weak, even when I knew she was lying in wait for me; and she denounced me for being a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.
"You say nothing of her," remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked on. "She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her. What do you think of her?"
"I don't like to say," I stammered.
"Tell me in my ear," said Miss Havisham, bending down.
"I think she is very fast," I replied, in a whisper.
"Anything else?"
"I think she is very pretty."
"Anything else?"
"I think she is very insulting." (She was looking at me then with a look of supreme aversion.)
"Anything else?"
"I think I should like to go home."
"And never see her again, though she is so pretty?"
"I am not sure that I shouldn't like to see her again, but I should like to go home now."
"You shall go soon," said Miss Havisham, aloud. "When shall I have you here again? Let me think."
I was beginning to remind her that to-day was Wednesday, when she checked me with her former impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand.
"There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Estella, take him down. Let him roam and look about. Go, Pip."
I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and she stood it in the place where we had found it. Until she opened the side entrance, I had fancied, without thinking about it, that it must necessarily be night-time. The rush of the daylight quite confounded me, and made me feel as if I had been in the candlelight of the strange room many hours.
"You are to wait here, you boy," said Estella; and disappeared and closed the door.
Chapter 8, Part 3
"I am tired," said Miss Havisham. "I want diversion, and I have done with men and women. Play."
"I sometimes have sick fancies," she went on, "and I have a sick fancy that I want to see some play. There there!" with an impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand; "play, play, play!"
For a moment, with the fear of my sister's working me before my eyes, I had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed character of Mr. Pumblechook's chaise-cart. But, I felt myself so unequal to the performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss Havisham in what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, inasmuch as she said, when we had taken a good look at each other:
"Are you sullen and obstinate?"
"No, ma'am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can't play just now. If you complain of me I shall get into trouble with my sister, so I would do it if I could; but it's so new here, and so strange, and so fine - and melancholy--." I stopped, fearing I might say too much, or had already said it, and we took another look at each other.
Before she spoke again, she turned her eyes from me, and looked at the dress she wore, and at the dressing-table, and finally at herself in the looking-glass.
"So new to him," she muttered, "so old to me; so strange to him, so familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us! Call Estella. You can do that. Call Estella. At the door."
To stand in the dark in a mysterious passage of an unknown house, bawling Estella to a scornful young lady neither visible nor responsive, and feeling it a dreadful liberty so to roar out her name, was almost as bad as playing to order. But, she answered at last, and her light came along the dark passage like a star.
Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close: “Let me see you play with this boy."
"With this boy? Why, he is a common labouring-boy!"
I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer - only it seemed so unlikely - "Well? You can tear out his heart."
"What shall we play, boy?" asked Estella of myself, with the greatest disdain.
"Perhaps we could play at Hunter-Howler, miss"
Estella scoffed: “A chase game? How dreadfully common. And did you hear: He calls Howl Beasts, ‘Howlers’, this boy! And what coarse hands he has! And what thick boots!"
I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but I began to consider them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it.
“Do it,” Miss Havisham reproached, taking a shining dagger from the table and inspecting it. It was the brightest metal I had seen, and in the candlelight it appeared as a gleaming shard of the moon. “Silver,” she said, “beautiful and powerful.” She reached out toward me: “Take it. Let me see you chase her.”
"I sometimes have sick fancies," she went on, "and I have a sick fancy that I want to see some play. There there!" with an impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand; "play, play, play!"
For a moment, with the fear of my sister's working me before my eyes, I had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed character of Mr. Pumblechook's chaise-cart. But, I felt myself so unequal to the performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss Havisham in what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, inasmuch as she said, when we had taken a good look at each other:
"Are you sullen and obstinate?"
"No, ma'am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can't play just now. If you complain of me I shall get into trouble with my sister, so I would do it if I could; but it's so new here, and so strange, and so fine - and melancholy--." I stopped, fearing I might say too much, or had already said it, and we took another look at each other.
Before she spoke again, she turned her eyes from me, and looked at the dress she wore, and at the dressing-table, and finally at herself in the looking-glass.
"So new to him," she muttered, "so old to me; so strange to him, so familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us! Call Estella. You can do that. Call Estella. At the door."
To stand in the dark in a mysterious passage of an unknown house, bawling Estella to a scornful young lady neither visible nor responsive, and feeling it a dreadful liberty so to roar out her name, was almost as bad as playing to order. But, she answered at last, and her light came along the dark passage like a star.
Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close: “Let me see you play with this boy."
"With this boy? Why, he is a common labouring-boy!"
I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer - only it seemed so unlikely - "Well? You can tear out his heart."
"What shall we play, boy?" asked Estella of myself, with the greatest disdain.
"Perhaps we could play at Hunter-Howler, miss"
Estella scoffed: “A chase game? How dreadfully common. And did you hear: He calls Howl Beasts, ‘Howlers’, this boy! And what coarse hands he has! And what thick boots!"
I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but I began to consider them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it.
“Do it,” Miss Havisham reproached, taking a shining dagger from the table and inspecting it. It was the brightest metal I had seen, and in the candlelight it appeared as a gleaming shard of the moon. “Silver,” she said, “beautiful and powerful.” She reached out toward me: “Take it. Let me see you chase her.”
Chapter 8, Part 2
I entered and found myself in a pretty large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight was to be seen in it. It was a dressing-room, as I supposed from the furniture, though much of it was of forms and uses then quite unknown to me. But prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass, and that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady's dressing-table.
Whether I should have made out this object so soon, if there had been no fine lady sitting at it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an elbow resting on the table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.
She was dressed in rich materials - satins, and lace, and silks - all of white, though her dress had great tears in it. She had a long white veil dependent from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was white. Dresses, less splendid than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about. She had not quite finished dressing, for her veil was but half arranged, her watch and chain were not put on, and some lace for her bosom lay with those trinkets, and with her handkerchief, and gloves, and some flowers, and a prayer-book, all confusedly heaped about the looking-glass.
It was not in the first few moments that I saw all these things, though I saw more of them in the first moments than might be supposed. But, I saw that everything within my view which ought to be white, had been white long ago, and had lost its lustre, and was faded and yellow. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress, and like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the brightness of her sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose, had shrunk to skin and bone. My first thought was that the lady resembled the ghastly gray Howl Beast I had seen in the marshes the prior year – like a beastly skeleton in the tatters of a rich dress. I should have cried out, if I could.
"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.
"Pip, ma'am."
"Pip?"
"Mr. Pumblechook's boy, ma'am. Come - to play."
"Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close."
It was when I stood before her, avoiding her eyes, that I took note of the surrounding objects in detail, and saw that her watch had stopped at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.
"Look at me," said Miss Havisham. "You are not afraid of a woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"
I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling the enormous lie comprehended in the answer "No."
"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon the other, on her left side.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What do I touch?"
"Your heart."
"Torn from me!"
She uttered the words with an eager look, and with strong emphasis, and with a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it. Afterwards, she kept her hands there for a little while, and slowly took them away as if they were heavy.
Whether I should have made out this object so soon, if there had been no fine lady sitting at it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an elbow resting on the table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.
She was dressed in rich materials - satins, and lace, and silks - all of white, though her dress had great tears in it. She had a long white veil dependent from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was white. Dresses, less splendid than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about. She had not quite finished dressing, for her veil was but half arranged, her watch and chain were not put on, and some lace for her bosom lay with those trinkets, and with her handkerchief, and gloves, and some flowers, and a prayer-book, all confusedly heaped about the looking-glass.
It was not in the first few moments that I saw all these things, though I saw more of them in the first moments than might be supposed. But, I saw that everything within my view which ought to be white, had been white long ago, and had lost its lustre, and was faded and yellow. I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress, and like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the brightness of her sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose, had shrunk to skin and bone. My first thought was that the lady resembled the ghastly gray Howl Beast I had seen in the marshes the prior year – like a beastly skeleton in the tatters of a rich dress. I should have cried out, if I could.
"Who is it?" said the lady at the table.
"Pip, ma'am."
"Pip?"
"Mr. Pumblechook's boy, ma'am. Come - to play."
"Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close."
It was when I stood before her, avoiding her eyes, that I took note of the surrounding objects in detail, and saw that her watch had stopped at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.
"Look at me," said Miss Havisham. "You are not afraid of a woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?"
I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling the enormous lie comprehended in the answer "No."
"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands, one upon the other, on her left side.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What do I touch?"
"Your heart."
"Torn from me!"
She uttered the words with an eager look, and with strong emphasis, and with a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it. Afterwards, she kept her hands there for a little while, and slowly took them away as if they were heavy.
Chapter 8, Part 1
I considered Mr. Pumblechook wretched company, and I was very glad when the next morning came and we started for Miss Havisham's; though I was not at all at my ease regarding the manner in which I should acquit myself under that lady's roof. Within a quarter of an hour we came to Miss Havisham's house, which was of old brick, and dismal, and had a great many iron bars to it. Some of the windows had been walled up; of those that remained, all the lower were rustily barred. There was a court-yard in front, and that was barred; so, we had to wait, after ringing the bell, until some one should come to open it. While we waited at the gate, I peeped in and saw that at the side of the house there was a large brewery. No brewing was going on in it, and none seemed to have gone on for a long long time.
A window was raised, and a clear voice demanded "What name?" To which my conductor replied, "Pumblechook." The voice returned, "Quite right," and the window was shut again, and a young lady came across the court-yard, with keys in her hand.
"This," said Mr. Pumblechook, "is Pip."
"This is Pip, is it?" returned the young lady, who was very pretty and seemed very proud; "come in, Pip."
Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when she stopped him with the gate.
"Oh!" she said. "Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?"
"If Miss Havisham wished to see me," returned Mr. Pumblechook, discomfited.
"Ah!" said the girl; "but you see she don't."
She said it so finally, and in such an undiscussible way, that Mr. Pumblechook, though in a condition of ruffled dignity, could not protest. But he eyed me severely - as if I had done anything to him! - and departed with the words reproachfully delivered: "Boy! Let your behaviour here be a credit unto them which brought you up by hand!"
My young conductress locked the gate, and we went across the court-yard. It was paved and clean, but grass was growing in every crevice. The brewery buildings had a little lane of communication with it, and the wooden gates of that lane stood open, and all the brewery beyond, stood open, away to the high enclosing wall; and all was empty and disused. The cold wind seemed to blow colder there, than outside the gate; and it made a shrill noise in howling in and out at the open sides of the brewery, like the noise of wind in the rigging of a ship at sea.
She saw me looking at it, and she said, "Better not try to brew beer there now, or it would turn out sour, boy; don't you think so?"
"It looks like it, miss."
"Not that anybody means to try," she added, "for that's all done with, and the place will stand as idle as it is, till it falls. As to strong beer, there's enough of it in the cellars already, to drown the Manor House."
"Is that the name of this house, miss?"
"One of its names, boy. Its other name was Satis; which is Greek, or Latin, or Hebrew, or all three - or all one to me - for enough."
"Enough House," said I; "that's a curious name, miss."
"Yes," she replied; "but it meant more than it said. It meant, when it was given, that whoever had this house, could want nothing else. They must have been easily satisfied in those days, I should think. But don't loiter, boy."
Though she called me "boy" so often, and with a carelessness that was far from complimentary, she was of about my own age. She seemed much older than I, of course, being a girl, and beautiful and self-possessed; and she was as scornful of me as if she had been one-and-twenty, and a queen.
We went into the house by a side door - the great front entrance had two chains across it outside - and the first thing I noticed was, that the passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning there. She took it up, and we went through more passages and up a staircase, and still it was all dark, and only the candle lighted us.
At last we came to the door of a room, and she said, "Go in."
I answered, more in shyness than politeness, "After you, miss."
To this, she returned: "Don't be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in." And scornfully walked away, and - what was worse - took the candle with her. This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, the only thing to be done being to knock at the door, I knocked, and was told from within to enter.
A window was raised, and a clear voice demanded "What name?" To which my conductor replied, "Pumblechook." The voice returned, "Quite right," and the window was shut again, and a young lady came across the court-yard, with keys in her hand.
"This," said Mr. Pumblechook, "is Pip."
"This is Pip, is it?" returned the young lady, who was very pretty and seemed very proud; "come in, Pip."
Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when she stopped him with the gate.
"Oh!" she said. "Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?"
"If Miss Havisham wished to see me," returned Mr. Pumblechook, discomfited.
"Ah!" said the girl; "but you see she don't."
She said it so finally, and in such an undiscussible way, that Mr. Pumblechook, though in a condition of ruffled dignity, could not protest. But he eyed me severely - as if I had done anything to him! - and departed with the words reproachfully delivered: "Boy! Let your behaviour here be a credit unto them which brought you up by hand!"
My young conductress locked the gate, and we went across the court-yard. It was paved and clean, but grass was growing in every crevice. The brewery buildings had a little lane of communication with it, and the wooden gates of that lane stood open, and all the brewery beyond, stood open, away to the high enclosing wall; and all was empty and disused. The cold wind seemed to blow colder there, than outside the gate; and it made a shrill noise in howling in and out at the open sides of the brewery, like the noise of wind in the rigging of a ship at sea.
She saw me looking at it, and she said, "Better not try to brew beer there now, or it would turn out sour, boy; don't you think so?"
"It looks like it, miss."
"Not that anybody means to try," she added, "for that's all done with, and the place will stand as idle as it is, till it falls. As to strong beer, there's enough of it in the cellars already, to drown the Manor House."
"Is that the name of this house, miss?"
"One of its names, boy. Its other name was Satis; which is Greek, or Latin, or Hebrew, or all three - or all one to me - for enough."
"Enough House," said I; "that's a curious name, miss."
"Yes," she replied; "but it meant more than it said. It meant, when it was given, that whoever had this house, could want nothing else. They must have been easily satisfied in those days, I should think. But don't loiter, boy."
Though she called me "boy" so often, and with a carelessness that was far from complimentary, she was of about my own age. She seemed much older than I, of course, being a girl, and beautiful and self-possessed; and she was as scornful of me as if she had been one-and-twenty, and a queen.
We went into the house by a side door - the great front entrance had two chains across it outside - and the first thing I noticed was, that the passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning there. She took it up, and we went through more passages and up a staircase, and still it was all dark, and only the candle lighted us.
At last we came to the door of a room, and she said, "Go in."
I answered, more in shyness than politeness, "After you, miss."
To this, she returned: "Don't be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in." And scornfully walked away, and - what was worse - took the candle with her. This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, the only thing to be done being to knock at the door, I knocked, and was told from within to enter.
Chapter 7, Part 3
Though I felt, at this moment, closer to Joe than I ever had or ever would, it was cut short by the sounds of hooves upon the road. "Holloa," said Joe, rising out of his melancholy; "Here comes the mare, ringing like a peal of bells!"
Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle Pumblechook on market-days, to assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a woman's judgment; Uncle Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no confidences in his domestic servant. This was market-day, and Mrs. Joe was out on one of these expeditions.
We ran out of the forge into the house-proper. It was a dry cold night, and the wind blew keenly, and the frost was white and hard. A man would die to-night of lying out on the marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the stars, and considered how awful if would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitude.
The sound of the iron shoes upon the hard road was quite musical, as the mare came along at a much brisker trot than usual. We got a chair out, ready for Mrs. Joe's alighting, and stirred up the fire that they might see a bright window, and took a final survey of the kitchen that nothing might be out of its place. When we had completed these preparations, they drove up, wrapped to the eyes. Mrs. Joe was soon landed, and Uncle Pumblechook was soon down too, covering the mare with a cloth, and we were soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold air in with us that it seemed to drive all the heat out of the fire.
"Now," said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings: "if this boy an't grateful this night, he never will be!"
I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly uninformed why he ought to assume that expression.
"It's only to be hoped," said my sister, "that he won't be pampered. But I have my fears."
"Miss Havisham an't in that line, Mum," said Mr. Pumblechook. "She knows better."
"Miss Havisham, up town?" said Joe, wholly unwelcome in the exchange.
"Is there any Miss Havisham down town?" returned my sister. "She wants this boy to go and play there. And of course he's going. And he had better play there," said my sister, shaking her head at me as an encouragement to be extremely light and sportive, "or I'll work him."
I had heard of Miss Havisham up town - everybody for miles round, had heard of Miss Havisham up town - as an immensely rich and grim lady who lived in a large and dismal house barricaded against Howl Beasts, and who led a life of seclusion.
"Well to be sure!" said Joe, astounded. "I wonder how she come to know Pip!"
"Noodle!" cried my sister. "Who said she knew him? Couldn't she ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? Isn't it just barely possible that Uncle Pumblechook may be a tenant of hers, and that he may sometimes - we won't say quarterly or half-yearly, for that would be requiring too much of you - but sometimes - go there to pay his rent? And couldn't she then ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? And couldn't Uncle Pumblechook, being always considerate and thoughtful for us - though you may not think it, Joseph," in a tone of the deepest reproach, as if he were the most callous of nephews, "then mention this boy, standing prancing here" - which I solemnly declare I was not doing - "that I have for ever been a willing slave to?"
With that, she pounced upon me, like an eagle on a lamb, and my face was squeezed into wooden bowls in sinks, and my head was put under taps of water-butts, and I was soaped, and kneaded, and toweled, and thumped, and harrowed, and rasped, until I really was quite beside myself.
When my ablutions were completed, I was put into clean linen of the stiffest character, like a young penitent into sackcloth, and was trussed up in my tightest and fearfulest suit. I was then delivered over to Mr. Pumblechook, who formally received me as if he were the Sheriff, and who let off upon me the speech that I knew he had been dying to make all along: "Boy, be for ever grateful to all friends, but especially unto them which brought you up by hand!"
"Good-bye, Joe!"
"God bless you, Pip, old chap!"
I had never parted from him before, and what with my feelings and what with soap-suds, I could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart. But they twinkled out one by one, without throwing any light on the questions why on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham's, and what on earth I was expected to play at.
Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle Pumblechook on market-days, to assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a woman's judgment; Uncle Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no confidences in his domestic servant. This was market-day, and Mrs. Joe was out on one of these expeditions.
We ran out of the forge into the house-proper. It was a dry cold night, and the wind blew keenly, and the frost was white and hard. A man would die to-night of lying out on the marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the stars, and considered how awful if would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitude.
The sound of the iron shoes upon the hard road was quite musical, as the mare came along at a much brisker trot than usual. We got a chair out, ready for Mrs. Joe's alighting, and stirred up the fire that they might see a bright window, and took a final survey of the kitchen that nothing might be out of its place. When we had completed these preparations, they drove up, wrapped to the eyes. Mrs. Joe was soon landed, and Uncle Pumblechook was soon down too, covering the mare with a cloth, and we were soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold air in with us that it seemed to drive all the heat out of the fire.
"Now," said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings: "if this boy an't grateful this night, he never will be!"
I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly uninformed why he ought to assume that expression.
"It's only to be hoped," said my sister, "that he won't be pampered. But I have my fears."
"Miss Havisham an't in that line, Mum," said Mr. Pumblechook. "She knows better."
"Miss Havisham, up town?" said Joe, wholly unwelcome in the exchange.
"Is there any Miss Havisham down town?" returned my sister. "She wants this boy to go and play there. And of course he's going. And he had better play there," said my sister, shaking her head at me as an encouragement to be extremely light and sportive, "or I'll work him."
I had heard of Miss Havisham up town - everybody for miles round, had heard of Miss Havisham up town - as an immensely rich and grim lady who lived in a large and dismal house barricaded against Howl Beasts, and who led a life of seclusion.
"Well to be sure!" said Joe, astounded. "I wonder how she come to know Pip!"
"Noodle!" cried my sister. "Who said she knew him? Couldn't she ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? Isn't it just barely possible that Uncle Pumblechook may be a tenant of hers, and that he may sometimes - we won't say quarterly or half-yearly, for that would be requiring too much of you - but sometimes - go there to pay his rent? And couldn't she then ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? And couldn't Uncle Pumblechook, being always considerate and thoughtful for us - though you may not think it, Joseph," in a tone of the deepest reproach, as if he were the most callous of nephews, "then mention this boy, standing prancing here" - which I solemnly declare I was not doing - "that I have for ever been a willing slave to?"
With that, she pounced upon me, like an eagle on a lamb, and my face was squeezed into wooden bowls in sinks, and my head was put under taps of water-butts, and I was soaped, and kneaded, and toweled, and thumped, and harrowed, and rasped, until I really was quite beside myself.
When my ablutions were completed, I was put into clean linen of the stiffest character, like a young penitent into sackcloth, and was trussed up in my tightest and fearfulest suit. I was then delivered over to Mr. Pumblechook, who formally received me as if he were the Sheriff, and who let off upon me the speech that I knew he had been dying to make all along: "Boy, be for ever grateful to all friends, but especially unto them which brought you up by hand!"
"Good-bye, Joe!"
"God bless you, Pip, old chap!"
I had never parted from him before, and what with my feelings and what with soap-suds, I could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart. But they twinkled out one by one, without throwing any light on the questions why on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham's, and what on earth I was expected to play at.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)