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.
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.
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