“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 cards; why have you not begun?” With that, we returned to her room, and sat down as before; I was beggared, as before; and again,as before, Miss Havisham watched us all the time, directed my attention to Estella’s beauty,and made me notice it the more by trying her jewels on Estella’s breast and hair.
Estella, for her part, likewise treated me as before, except that she did not condescend to speak.When we had played some half-dozen games, a day was appointed for my return,and I was taken down into the yard to be fed in the former dog-like manner. There, too,I was again left to wander about as I liked.
It is not much to the purpose whether a gate in that garden wall which I had scrambled up to peep over on the last occasion was,on that last occasion, open or shut. Enough that I saw no gate then, and that I saw one now.As it stood open, and as I knew that Estella had let the visitors out,—for she had returned with the keys in her hand,—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.
When I had exhausted the garden and a greenhouse with nothing in it but a fallen-down grape-vine and some bottles,I found myself in the dismal corner upon which I had looked out of the window.Never questioning for a moment that the house was now empty, I looked in at another window,and found myself, to my great surprise,exchanging a broad stare with a pale young gentleman with red eyelids and light hair.
This pale young gentleman quickly disappeared, and reappeared beside me.He had been at his books when I had found myself staring at him, and I now saw that he was inky.
“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 irritating manner he instantly slapped his hands against one another,daintily flung one of his legs up behind him, pulled my hair, slapped his hands again,dipped his head, and butted it into my stomach.
The bull-like proceeding last mentioned,besides that it was unquestionably to be regarded in the light of a liberty,was particularly disagreeable just after bread and meat.I therefore hit out at him and was going to hit out again, when he said, “Aha!Would you?” and began dancing backwards and forwards in a manner quite unparalleled within my limited experience.
“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 light head of hair 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,formed by the junction of two walls and screened by some rubbish.On his asking me if I was satisfied with the ground, and on my replying Yes,he begged my leave to absent himself for a moment,and quickly returned with a bottle of water and a sponge dipped in vinegar. “Available for both,” he said, placing these against the wall. And then fell to pulling off,not only his jacket and waistcoat, but his shirt too, in a manner at once light-hearted, business-like, 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.For the rest, he was a young gentleman in a grey suit (when not denuded for battle),with his elbows, knees, wrists, and heels considerably in advance of the rest of him as to development.
My heart failed me when I saw him squaring at me with every demonstration of mechanical nicety,and eyeing my anatomy as if he were minutely choosing his bone.I never have been so surprised in my life, as I was when I let out the first blow,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 after sponging himself with a great show of dexterity began squaring again.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, sponging himself or drinking out of the water-bottle,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 sponge 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. Indeed,I go so far as to hope that I regarded myself while dressing as a species of savage young wolf or other wild beast.However, 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 courtyard, 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.
What with the birthday visitors, and what with the cards, and what with the fight,my stay had lasted so long, that when I neared home the light on the spit of sand off the point on the marshes was gleaming against a black night-sky,and Joe’s furnace was flinging a path of fire across the road.
Chapter XII.
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. For some days, I even kept close at home,and looked out at the kitchen door with the greatest caution and trepidation before going on an errand,lest the officers of the County Jail should pounce upon me.The pale young gentleman’s nose had stained my trousers,and I tried to wash out that evidence of my guilt in the dead of night.I had cut my knuckles against the pale young gentleman’s teeth,and I twisted my imagination into a thousand tangles,as I devised incredible ways of accounting for that damnatory circumstance when I should be haled before the Judges.
When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of violence,my terrors reached their height. Whether myrmidons of Justice, especially sent down from London,would be lying in ambush behind the gate;—whether Miss Havisham,preferring to take personal vengeance for an outrage done to her house,might rise in those grave-clothes of hers, draw a pistol, and shoot me dead:—whether suborned boys—a numerous band of mercenaries—might be engaged to fall upon me in the brewery,and cuff me until I was no more;—it was high testimony to my confidence in the spirit of the pale young gentleman,that I never imagined _him_ accessory to these retaliations;they always came into my mind as the acts of injudicious relatives of his,goaded on by the state of his visage and an indignant sympathy with the family features.
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.Only in the corner where the combat had taken place could I detect any evidence of the young gentleman’s existence.There were traces of his gore in that spot,and I covered them with garden-mould from the eye of man.
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;and I enlarged upon my knowing nothing and wanting to know everything,in the hope that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But she did not;on the contrary, she seemed to prefer my being ignorant. 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.Sometimes, she would coldly tolerate me; sometimes, she would condescend to me; sometimes,she would be quite familiar with me; sometimes, she would tell me energetically that she hated me.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 played at cards Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella’s moods,whatever they were. And sometimes, when her moods were so many and so contradictory of one another that I was puzzled what to say or do,Miss Havisham would embrace her with lavish fondness,murmuring something in her ear that sounded like “Break their hearts my pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy!”
There was a song Joe used to hum fragments of at the forge, of which the burden was Old Clem.This was not a very ceremonious way of rendering homage to a patron saint,but I believe Old Clem stood in that relation towards smiths.It was a song that imitated the measure of beating upon iron,and was a mere lyrical excuse for the introduction of Old Clem’s respected name. Thus, you were to hammer boys round—Old Clem!With a thump and a sound—Old Clem!Beat it out, beat it out—Old Clem!With a clink for the stout—Old Clem!Blow the fire, blow the fire—Old Clem!Roaring dryer, soaring higher—Old Clem!One day soon after the appearance of the chair, Miss Havisham suddenly saying to me,with the impatient movement of her fingers, “There, there, there!Sing!” I was surprised into crooning this ditty as I pushed her over the floor.It happened so to catch her fancy that she took it up in a low brooding voice as if she were singing in her sleep.After that, it became customary with us to have it as we moved about,and Estella would often join in; though the whole strain was so subdued,even when there were three of us, that it made less noise in the grim old house than the lightest breath of wind.
What could I become with these surroundings?How could my character fail to be influenced by them?Is it to be wondered at if my thoughts were dazed, as my eyes were,when I came out into the natural light from the misty yellow rooms?
Perhaps I might have told Joe about the pale young gentleman,if I had not previously been betrayed into those enormous inventions to which I had confessed.Under the circumstances, I felt that Joe could hardly fail to discern in the pale young gentleman,an appropriate passenger to be put into the black velvet coach; therefore, I said nothing of him.Besides, that shrinking from having Miss Havisham and Estella discussed,which had come upon me in the beginning, grew much more potent as time went on.I reposed complete confidence in no one but Biddy; but I told poor Biddy everything.Why it came natural to me to do so, and why Biddy had a deep concern in everything I told her,I did not know then, though I think I know now.
Meanwhile, councils went on in the kitchen at home,fraught with almost insupportable aggravation to my exasperated spirit. That ass, Pumblechook,used often to come over of a night for the purpose of discussing my prospects with my sister;and I really do believe (to this hour with less penitence than I ought to feel),that if these hands could have taken a linchpin out of his chaise-cart, they would have done it.The miserable man was a man of that confined stolidity of mind,that he could not discuss my prospects without having me before him,—as it were, to operate upon,—and he would drag me up from my stool (usually by the collar) where I was quiet in a corner, and,putting me before the fire as if I were going to be cooked, would begin by saying, “Now, Mum, here is this boy!Here is this boy which you brought up by hand. Hold up your head, boy,and be forever grateful unto them which so did do. Now, Mum, with respections to this boy!” And then he would rumple my hair the wrong way,—which from my earliest remembrance,as already hinted, I have in my soul denied the right of any fellow-creature to do,—and would hold me before him by the sleeve,—a spectacle of imbecility only to be equalled by himself.
Then, he and my sister would pair off in such nonsensical speculations about Miss Havisham,and about what she would do with me and for me,that I used to want—quite painfully—to burst into spiteful tears, fly at Pumblechook,and pummel him all over. In these dialogues,my sister spoke to me as if she were morally wrenching one of my teeth out at every reference;while Pumblechook himself, self-constituted my patron,would sit supervising me with a depreciatory eye,like the architect of my fortunes who thought himself engaged on a very unremunerative job.
In these discussions, Joe bore no part. But he was often talked at, while they were in progress,by reason of Mrs. Joe’s perceiving that he was not favourable to my being taken from the forge.I was fully old enough now to be apprenticed to Joe;and when Joe sat with the poker on his knees thoughtfully raking out the ashes between the lower bars,my sister would so distinctly construe that innocent action into opposition on his part,that she would dive at him, take the poker out of his hands, shake him, and put it away.There was a most irritating end to every one of these debates. All in a moment,with nothing to lead up to it, my sister would stop herself in a yawn,and catching sight of me as it were incidentally, would swoop upon me with, “Come!there’s enough of _you_!_You_ get along to bed; _you_’ve given trouble enough for one night, I hope!” As if I had besought them as a favour to bother my life out.
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.”
“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 honour 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 Rampage,” 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, so that we stood shivering in the back-yard.It was ten o’clock at night before we ventured to creep in again,and then she asked Joe why he hadn’t married a Negress Slave at once?Joe offered no answer, poor fellow, but stood feeling his whisker and looking dejectedly at me,as if he thought it really might have been a better speculation.
Chapter XIII.
It was a trial to my feelings, on the next day but one,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 to 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.
At breakfast-time my sister declared her intention of going to town with us,and being left at Uncle Pumblechook’s and called for “when we had done with our fine ladies”—a way of putting the case,from which Joe appeared inclined to augur the worst. The forge was shut up for the day,and Joe inscribed in chalk upon the door (as it was his custom to do on the very rare occasions when he was not at work) the monosyllable HOUT,accompanied by a sketch of an arrow supposed to be flying in the direction he had taken.
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 Rampage 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 took no notice of either of us, but led us the way that I knew so well.I followed next to her, and Joe came last. When I looked back at Joe in the long passage,he was still weighing his hat with the greatest care,and was coming after us in long strides on the tips of his toes.
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?”
I could hardly have imagined dear old Joe looking so unlike himself or so like some extraordinary bird;standing as he did speechless, with his tuft of feathers ruffled,and his mouth open as if he wanted a worm.
“You are the husband,” repeated Miss Havisham, “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 open to black and 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.” (I saw the idea suddenly break upon him that he would adapt his epitaph to the occasion,before he went on to say) “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 endeavour 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 guineas in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip.”
As if he were absolutely out of his mind with the wonder awakened in him by her strange figure and the strange room,Joe, even at this pass, persisted in addressing me.
“This is wery liberal on your part, Pip,” said Joe,“and it is as such received and grateful welcome, though never looked for, far nor near,nor nowheres. And now, old chap,” said Joe, conveying to me a sensation,first of burning and then of freezing, for I felt as if that familiar expression were applied to Miss Havisham,—“and now, old chap, may we do our duty!May you and me do our duty, both on us, by one and another,and by them which your liberal present—have-conweyed—to be—for the satisfaction of mind-of—them as never—” here Joe showed that he felt he had fallen into frightful difficulties, until he triumphantly rescued himself with the words, “and from myself far be it!” These words had such a round and convincing sound for him that he said them twice.
“Good-bye, Pip!” said Miss Havisham. “Let them out, Estella.”
“Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?” I asked.
“No. Gargery is your master now. Gargery!One word!”
Thus calling him back as I went out of the door,I heard her say to Joe in a distinct emphatic voice, “The boy has been a good boy here,and that is his reward. Of course, as an honest man, you will expect no other and no more.”
How Joe got out of the room, I have never been able to determine;but I know that when he did get out he was steadily proceeding upstairs instead of coming down,and was deaf to all remonstrances until I went after him and laid hold of him.In another minute we were outside the gate, and it was locked, and Estella was gone.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-TON-ishing!” and so, by degrees, became conversational and able to walk away.
I have reason to think that Joe’s intellects were brightened by the encounter they had passed through,and that on our way to Pumblechook’s he invented a subtle and deep design.My reason is to be found in what took place in Mr. Pumblechook’s parlour: where,on our presenting ourselves, my sister sat in conference with that detested seedsman.
“Well?” cried my sister, addressing us both at once. “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 wishing,” pursued Joe, with another fixed look at me, like another effort of remembrance,“that the state of Miss Havisham’s elth were sitch as would have—allowed, were it, Pip?”
“Of her having the pleasure,” I added.
“Of ladies’ company,” said Joe. And drew a long breath.
“Well!” cried my sister, with a mollified glance at Mr. Pumblechook.“She might have had the politeness to send that message at first, but it’s better late than never.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.’ Them were her words; ‘Mrs. J. Gargery.’ She mayn’t have know’d,” added Joe, with an appearance of reflection, “whether it were Joe, or Jorge.”