English
AsIwasgettingtoobigforMr.Wopsle’sgreat-aunt’sroom,myeducationunderthatpreposterousfemaleterminated.
Not,however,untilBiddyhadimpartedtomeeverythingsheknew,fromthelittlecatalogueofprices,toacomicsongshehadonceboughtforahalfpenny.
Althoughtheonlycoherentpartofthelatterpieceofliteratureweretheopeninglines,
WhenIwenttoLunnontownsirs,ToorulloorulToorulloorulWasn’tIdoneverybrownsirs?ToorulloorulToorulloorul
-still,inmydesiretobewiser,Igotthiscompositionbyheartwiththeutmostgravity;nordoIrecollectthatIquestioneditsmerit,exceptthatIthought(asIstilldo)theamountofToorulsomewhatinexcessofthepoetry.
Inmyhungerforinformation,ImadeproposalstoMr.Wopsletobestowsomeintellectualcrumbsuponme;withwhichhekindlycomplied.
Asitturnedout,however,thatheonlywantedmeforadramaticlay-figure,tobecontradictedandembracedandweptoverandbulliedandclutchedandstabbedandknockedaboutinavarietyofways,Isoondeclinedthatcourseofinstruction;thoughnotuntilMr.Wopsleinhispoeticfuryhadseverelymauledme.
WhateverIacquired,ItriedtoimparttoJoe.
Thisstatementsoundssowell,thatIcannotinmyconscienceletitpassunexplained.
IwantedtomakeJoelessignorantandcommon,thathemightbeworthierofmysocietyandlessopentoEstella’sreproach.
TheoldBatteryoutonthemarsheswasourplaceofstudy,andabrokenslateandashortpieceofslatepencilwereoureducationalimplements:towhichJoealwaysaddedapipeoftobacco.
IneverknewJoetorememberanythingfromoneSundaytoanother,ortoacquire,undermytuition,anypieceofinformationwhatever.
YethewouldsmokehispipeattheBatterywithafarmoresagaciousairthananywhereelse—evenwithalearnedair—asifheconsideredhimselftobeadvancingimmensely.Dearfellow,Ihopehedid.
Itwaspleasantandquiet,outtherewiththesailsontheriverpassingbeyondtheearthwork,andsometimes,whenthetidewaslow,lookingasiftheybelongedtosunkenshipsthatwerestillsailingonatthebottomofthewater.
WheneverIwatchedthevesselsstandingouttoseawiththeirwhitesailsspread,IsomehowthoughtofMissHavishamandEstella;andwheneverthelightstruckaslant,afaroff,uponacloudorsailorgreenhill-sideorwater-line,itwasjustthesame.
—MissHavishamandEstellaandthestrangehouseandthestrangelifeappearedtohavesomethingtodowitheverythingthatwaspicturesque.
OneSundaywhenJoe,greatlyenjoyinghispipe,hadsoplumedhimselfonbeing“mostawfuldull,”thatIhadgivenhimupfortheday,Ilayontheearthworkforsometimewithmychinonmyhand,descryingtracesofMissHavishamandEstellaallovertheprospect,intheskyandinthewater,untilatlastIresolvedtomentionathoughtconcerningthemthathadbeenmuchinmyhead.
“Joe,”saidI;“don’tyouthinkIoughttomakeMissHavishamavisit?”
“Well,Pip,”returnedJoe,slowlyconsidering.“Whatfor?”
“Whatfor,Joe?Whatisanyvisitmadefor?”
“Thereissomewisits,p’r’aps,”saidJoe,“asforeverremainsopentothequestion,Pip.ButinregardtowisitingMissHavisham.Shemightthinkyouwantedsomething—expectedsomethingofher.”
“Don’tyouthinkImightsaythatIdidnot,Joe?”
“Youmight,oldchap,”saidJoe.“Andshemightcreditit.Similarlyshemightn’t.”
Joefelt,asIdid,thathehadmadeapointthere,andhepulledhardathispipetokeephimselffromweakeningitbyrepetition.
“Yousee,Pip,”Joepursued,assoonashewaspastthatdanger,“MissHavishamdonethehandsomethingbyyou.
WhenMissHavishamdonethehandsomethingbyyou,shecalledmebacktosaytomeasthatwereall.”
“Yes,Joe.Iheardher.”
“ALL,”Joerepeated,veryemphatically.
“Yes,Joe.Itellyou,Iheardher.”
“WhichImeantersay,Pip,itmightbethathermeaningwere—Makeaendonit!—Asyouwas!—MetotheNorth,andyoutotheSouth!—Keepinsunders!”
Ihadthoughtofthattoo,anditwasveryfarfromcomfortingtometofindthathehadthoughtofit;foritseemedtorenderitmoreprobable.
“But,Joe.”
“Yes,oldchap.”
“HereamI,gettingoninthefirstyearofmytime,and,sincethedayofmybeingbound,IhaveneverthankedMissHavisham,oraskedafterher,orshownthatIrememberher.”
“That’strue,Pip;andunlessyouwastoturnheroutasetofshoesallfourround—andwhichImeantersayasevenasetofshoesallfourroundmightnotbeacceptableasapresent,inatotalwacancyofhoofs—”
“Idon’tmeanthatsortofremembrance,Joe;Idon’tmeanapresent.”
ButJoehadgottheideaofapresentinhisheadandmustharpuponit.
“Oreven,”saidhe,“ifyouwashelpedtoknockingherupanewchainforthefrontdoor—orsayagrossortwoofshark-headedscrewsforgeneraluse—orsomelightfancyarticle,suchasatoasting-forkwhenshetookhermuffins—oragridironwhenshetookaspratorsuchlike—”
“Idon’tmeananypresentatall,Joe,”Iinterposed.
“Well,”saidJoe,stillharpingonitasthoughIhadparticularlypressedit,“ifIwasyourself,Pip,Iwouldn’t.No,Iwouldnot.
Forwhat’sadoor-chainwhenshe’sgotonealwaysup?
Andshark-headersisopentomisrepresentations.
Andifitwasatoasting-fork,you’dgointobrassanddoyourselfnocredit.
Andtheoncommonestworkmancan’tshowhimselfoncommoninagridiron—foragridironISagridiron,”saidJoe,steadfastlyimpressingituponme,asifhewereendeavouringtorousemefromafixeddelusion,“andyoumayhaimatwhatyoulike,butagridironitwillcomeout,eitherbyyourleaveoragainyourleave,andyoucan’thelpyourself—”
“MydearJoe,”Icried,indesperation,takingholdofhiscoat,“don’tgooninthatway.IneverthoughtofmakingMissHavishamanypresent.”
“No,Pip,”Joeassented,asifhehadbeencontendingforthat,allalong;“andwhatIsaytoyouis,youareright,Pip.”
“Yes,Joe;butwhatIwantedtosay,was,thatasweareratherslackjustnow,ifyouwouldgivemeahalf-holidayto-morrow,IthinkIwouldgoup-townandmakeacallonMissEst—Havisham.”
“Whichhername,”saidJoe,gravely,“ain’tEstavisham,Pip,unlessshehavebeenrechris’ened.”
“Iknow,Joe,Iknow.Itwasaslipofmine.Whatdoyouthinkofit,Joe?”
Inbrief,JoethoughtthatifIthoughtwellofit,hethoughtwellofit.
But,hewasparticularinstipulatingthatifIwerenotreceivedwithcordiality,orifIwerenotencouragedtorepeatmyvisitasavisitwhichhadnoulteriorobjectbutwassimplyoneofgratitudeforafavourreceived,thenthisexperimentaltripshouldhavenosuccessor.
BytheseconditionsIpromisedtoabide.
Now,JoekeptajourneymanatweeklywageswhosenamewasOrlick.
HepretendedthathisChristiannamewasDolge—aclearimpossibility—buthewasafellowofthatobstinatedispositionthatIbelievehimtohavebeenthepreyofnodelusioninthisparticular,butwilfullytohaveimposedthatnameuponthevillageasanaffronttoitsunderstanding.
Hewasabroadshoulderedloose-limbedswarthyfellowofgreatstrength,neverinahurry,andalwaysslouching.
Heneverevenseemedtocometohisworkonpurpose,butwouldslouchinasifbymereaccident;andwhenhewenttotheJollyBargementoeathisdinner,orwentawayatnight,hewouldslouchout,likeCainortheWanderingJew,asifhehadnoideawherehewasgoingandnointentionofevercomingback.
Helodgedatasluice-keeper’soutonthemarshes,andonworkingdayswouldcomeslouchingfromhishermitage,withhishandsinhispocketsandhisdinnerlooselytiedinabundleroundhisneckanddanglingonhisback.
OnSundayshemostlylayalldayonthesluice-gates,orstoodagainstricksandbarns.
Healwaysslouched,locomotively,withhiseyesontheground;and,whenaccostedorotherwiserequiredtoraisethem,helookedupinahalfresentful,halfpuzzledway,asthoughtheonlythoughtheeverhad,was,thatitwasratheranoddandinjuriousfactthatheshouldneverbethinking.
Thismorosejourneymanhadnolikingforme.
WhenIwasverysmallandtimid,hegavemetounderstandthattheDevillivedinablackcorneroftheforge,andthatheknewthefiendverywell:alsothatitwasnecessarytomakeupthefire,onceinsevenyears,withaliveboy,andthatImightconsidermyselffuel.
WhenIbecameJoe’s‘prentice,OrlickwasperhapsconfirmedinsomesuspicionthatIshoulddisplacehim;howbeit,helikedmestillless.
Notthatheeversaidanything,ordidanything,openlyimportinghostility;Ionlynoticedthathealwaysbeathissparksinmydirection,andthatwheneverIsangOldClem,hecameinoutoftime.
DolgeOrlickwasatworkandpresent,nextday,whenIremindedJoeofmyhalf-holiday.
Hesaidnothingatthemoment,forheandJoehadjustgotapieceofhotironbetweenthem,andIwasatthebellows;butby-and-byhesaid,leaningonhishammer:
“Now,master!Sureyou’renota-goingtofavouronlyoneofus.
IfYoungPiphasahalf-holiday,doasmuchforOldOrlick.”
Isupposehewasaboutfive-and-twenty,butheusuallyspokeofhimselfasanancientperson.
“Why,what’llyoudowithahalf-holiday,ifyougetit?”saidJoe.
“What’llIdowithit!What’llhedowithit?I’lldoasmuchwithitashim,”saidOrlick.
“AstoPip,he’sgoingup-town,”saidJoe.
“Wellthen,astoOldOrlick,he’sa-goingup-town,”retortedthatworthy.“Twocangoup-town.Tan’tonlyonewotcangoup-town.
“Don’tloseyourtemper,”saidJoe.
“ShallifIlike,”growledOrlick.“Someandtheirup-towning!Now,master!Come.Nofavouringinthisshop.Beaman!”
Themasterrefusingtoentertainthesubjectuntilthejourneymanwasinabettertemper,Orlickplungedatthefurnace,drewoutared-hotbar,madeatmewithitasifheweregoingtorunitthroughmybody,whiskeditroundmyhead,laiditontheanvil,hammereditout—asifitwereI,Ithought,andthesparksweremyspirtingblood—andfinallysaid,whenhehadhammeredhimselfhotandtheironcold,andheagainleanedonhishammer:
“Now,master!”
“Areyouallrightnow?”demandedJoe.
“Ah!Iamallright,”saidgruffOldOrlick.
“Then,asingeneralyousticktoyourworkaswellasmostmen,”saidJoe,“letitbeahalf-holidayforall.”
Mysisterhadbeenstandingsilentintheyard,withinhearing—shewasamostunscrupulousspyandlistener—andsheinstantlylookedinatoneofthewindows.
“Likeyou,youfool!”saidshetoJoe,“givingholidaystogreatidlehulkerslikethat.Youarearichman,uponmylife,towastewagesinthatway.IwishIwashismaster!”
“You’dbeeverybody’smaster,ifyoudurst,”retortedOrlick,withanill-favouredgrin.
(“Letheralone,”saidJoe.)
“I’dbeamatchforallnoodlesandallrogues,”returnedmysister,beginningtoworkherselfintoamightyrage.
“AndIcouldn’tbeamatchforthenoodles,withoutbeingamatchforyourmaster,who’sthedunder-headedkingofthenoodles.
AndIcouldn’tbeamatchfortherogues,withoutbeingamatchforyou,whoaretheblackest-lookingandtheworstroguebetweenthisandFrance.Now!”
“You’reafoulshrew,MotherGargery,growledthejourneyman.“Ifthatmakesajudgeofrogues,yououghttobeagood’un.”
(“Letheralone,willyou?”saidJoe.)
“Whatdidyousay?”criedmysister,beginningtoscream.“Whatdidyousay?
WhatdidthatfellowOrlicksaytome,Pip?
Whatdidhecallme,withmyhusbandstandingby?O!O!O!”
Eachoftheseexclamationswasashriek;andImustremarkofmysister,whatisequallytrueofalltheviolentwomenIhaveeverseen,thatpassionwasnoexcuseforher,becauseitisundeniablethatinsteadoflapsingintopassion,sheconsciouslyanddeliberatelytookextraordinarypainstoforceherselfintoit,andbecameblindlyfuriousbyregularstages;“whatwasthenamehegavemebeforethebasemanwhosworetodefendme?
O!Holdme!O!”
“Ah-h-h!”growledthejourneyman,betweenhisteeth,“I’dholdyou,ifyouwasmywife.I’dholdyouunderthepump,andchokeitoutofyou.”
(“Itellyou,letheralone,”saidJoe.)
“Oh!Tohearhim!”criedmysister,withaclapofherhandsanda
screamtogether—whichwashernextstage.“Tohearthenameshe’sgivingme!ThatOrlick!Inmyownhouse!Me,amarriedwoman!Withmyhusbandstandingby!O!O!”Heremysister,afterafitof
clappingsandscreamings,beatherhandsuponherbosomanduponherknees,andthrewhercapoff,andpulledherhairdown—whichwerethelaststagesonherroadtofrenzy.
BeingbythistimeaperfectFuryandacompletesuccess,shemadeadashatthedoor,whichIhadfortunatelylocked.
WhatcouldthewretchedJoedonow,afterhisdisregardedparentheticalinterruptions,butstanduptohisjourneyman,andaskhimwhathemeantbyinterferingbetwixthimselfandMrs.Joe;andfurtherwhetherhewasmanenoughtocomeon?
OldOrlickfeltthatthesituationadmittedofnothinglessthancomingon,andwasonhisdefencestraightway;so,withoutsomuchaspullingofftheirsingedandburntaprons,theywentatoneanother,liketwogiants.
But,ifanymaninthatneighbourhoodcouldstanduplongagainstJoe,Ineversawtheman.
Orlick,asifhehadbeenofnomoreaccountthanthepaleyounggentleman,wasverysoonamongthecoal-dust,andinnohurrytocomeoutofit.
Then,Joeunlockedthedoorandpickedupmysister,whohaddroppedinsensibleatthewindow(butwhohadseenthefightfirst,Ithink),andwhowascarriedintothehouseandlaiddown,andwhowasrecommendedtorevive,andwoulddonothingbutstruggleandclenchherhandsinJoe’shair.
Then,camethatsingularcalmandsilencewhichsucceedalluproars;andthen,withthevaguesensationwhichIhavealwaysconnectedwithsuchalull—namely,thatitwasSunday,andsomebodywasdead—Iwentup-stairstodressmyself.
WhenIcamedownagain,IfoundJoeandOrlicksweepingup,withoutanyothertracesofdiscomposurethanaslitinoneofOrlick’snostrils,whichwasneitherexpressivenorornamental.
ApotofbeerhadappearedfromtheJollyBargemen,andtheyweresharingitbyturnsinapeaceablemanner.
ThelullhadasedativeandphilosophicalinfluenceonJoe,whofollowedmeoutintotheroadtosay,asapartingobservationthatmightdomegood,“OntheRampage,Pip,andofftheRampage,Pip—suchisLife!”
Withwhatabsurdemotions(for,wethinkthefeelingsthatareveryseriousinamanquitecomicalinaboy)IfoundmyselfagaingoingtoMissHavisham’s,matterslittlehere.
Nor,howIpassedandrepassedthegatemanytimesbeforeIcouldmakeupmymindtoring.
Nor,howIdebatedwhetherIshouldgoawaywithoutringing;nor,howIshouldundoubtedlyhavegone,ifmytimehadbeenmyown,tocomeback.
MissSarahPocketcametothegate.NoEstella.
“How,then?Youhereagain?”saidMissPocket.“Whatdoyouwant?”
WhenIsaidthatIonlycametoseehowMissHavishamwas,Sarahevidentlydeliberatedwhetherornosheshouldsendmeaboutmybusiness.
But,unwillingtohazardtheresponsibility,sheletmein,andpresentlybroughtthesharpmessagethatIwasto“comeup.”
Everythingwasunchanged,andMissHavishamwasalone.
“Well?”saidshe,fixinghereyesuponme.“Ihopeyouwantnothing?You’llgetnothing.”
“No,indeed,MissHavisham.IonlywantedyoutoknowthatIamdoingverywellinmyapprenticeship,andamalwaysmuchobligedtoyou.”
“There,there!”withtheoldrestlessfingers.“Comenowandthen;comeonyourbirthday.—Ay!”shecriedsuddenly,turningherselfandherchairtowardsme,“YouarelookingroundforEstella?Hey?”
Ihadbeenlookinground—infact,forEstella—andIstammeredthatIhopedshewaswell.
“Abroad,”saidMissHavisham;“educatingforalady;faroutofreach;prettierthanever;admiredbyallwhoseeher.Doyoufeelthatyouhavelosther?”
Therewassuchamalignantenjoymentinherutteranceofthelastwords,andshebrokeintosuchadisagreeablelaugh,thatIwasatalosswhattosay.
Shesparedmethetroubleofconsidering,bydismissingme.
WhenthegatewascloseduponmebySarahofthewalnut-shellcountenance,Ifeltmorethaneverdissatisfiedwithmyhomeandwithmytradeandwitheverything;andthatwasallItookbythatmotion.
AsIwasloiteringalongtheHigh-street,lookingindisconsolatelyattheshopwindows,andthinkingwhatIwouldbuyifIwereagentleman,whoshouldcomeoutofthebookshopbutMr.Wopsle.
MrWopslehadinhishandtheaffectingtragedyofGeorgeBarnwell,inwhichhehadthatmomentinvestedsixpence,withtheviewofheapingeverywordofitontheheadofPumblechook,withwhomhewasgoingtodrinktea.
Nosoonerdidheseeme,thanheappearedtoconsiderthataspecialProvidencehadputa‘prenticeinhiswaytobereadat;andhelaidholdofme,andinsistedonmyaccompanyinghimtothePumblechookianparlour.
AsIknewitwouldbemiserableathome,andasthenightsweredarkandthewaywasdreary,andalmostanycompanionshipontheroadwasbetterthannone,Imadenogreatresistance;consequently,weturnedintoPumblechook’sjustasthestreetandtheshopswerelightingup.
AsIneverassistedatanyotherrepresentationofGeorgeBarnwell,Idon’tknowhowlongitmayusuallytake;butIknowverywellthatittookuntilhalf-pastnineo’clockthatnight,andthatwhenMr.WopslegotintoNewgate,Ithoughtheneverwouldgotothescaffold,hebecamesomuchslowerthanatanyformerperiodofhisdisgracefulcareer.
Ithoughtitalittletoomuchthatheshouldcomplainofbeingcutshortinhisflowerafterall,asifhehadnotbeenrunningtoseed,leafafterleaf,eversincehiscoursebegan.
This,however,wasamerequestionoflengthandwearisomeness.
Whatstungme,wastheidentificationofthewholeaffairwithmyunoffendingself.
WhenBarnwellbegantogowrong,IdeclarethatIfeltpositivelyapologetic,Pumblechook’sindignantstaresotaxedmewithit.
Wopsle,too,tookpainstopresentmeintheworstlight.
Atonceferociousandmaudlin,Iwasmadetomurdermyunclewithnoextenuatingcircumstanceswhatever;Millwoodputmedowninargument,oneveryoccasion;itbecamesheermonomaniainmymaster’sdaughtertocareabuttonforme;andallIcansayformygaspingandprocrastinatingconductonthefatalmorning,is,thatitwasworthyofthegeneralfeeblenessofmycharacter.
EvenafterIwashappilyhangedandWopslehadclosedthebook,Pumblechooksatstaringatme,andshakinghishead,andsaying,“Takewarning,boy,takewarning!”
asifitwereawell-knownfactthatIcontemplatedmurderinganearrelation,providedIcouldonlyinduceonetohavetheweaknesstobecomemybenefactor.
Itwasaverydarknightwhenitwasallover,andwhenIsetoutwithMr.Wopsleonthewalkhome.
Beyondtown,wefoundaheavymistout,anditfellwetandthick.
Theturnpikelampwasablur,quiteoutofthelamp’susualplaceapparently,anditsrayslookedsolidsubstanceonthefog.
Wewerenoticingthis,andsayinghowthatthemistrosewithachangeofwindfromacertainquarterofourmarshes,whenwecameuponaman,slouchingundertheleeoftheturnpikehouse.
“Halloa!”wesaid,stopping.“Orlick,there?”
“Ah!”heanswered,slouchingout.“Iwasstandingby,aminute,onthechanceofcompany.”
“Youarelate,”Iremarked.
Orlicknotunnaturallyanswered,“Well?Andyou’relate.”
“Wehavebeen,”saidMr.Wopsle,exaltedwithhislateperformance,“wehavebeenindulging,Mr.Orlick,inanintellectualevening.”
OldOrlickgrowled,asifhehadnothingtosayaboutthat,andweallwentontogether.Iaskedhimpresentlywhetherhehadbeenspendinghishalf-holidayupanddowntown?
“Yes,”saidhe,“allofit.Icomeinbehindyourself.Ididn’tseeyou,butImusthavebeenprettyclosebehindyou.By-the-bye,thegunsisgoingagain.”
“AttheHulks?”saidI.
“Ay!There’ssomeofthebirdsflownfromthecages.Thegunshavebeengoingsincedark,about.You’llhearonepresently.”
Ineffect,wehadnotwalkedmanyyardsfurther,whenthewellrememberedboomcametowardsus,deadenedbythemist,andheavilyrolledawayalongthelowgroundsbytheriver,asifitwerepursuingandthreateningthefugitives.
“Agoodnightforcuttingoffin,”saidOrlick.“We’dbepuzzledhowtobringdownajail-birdonthewing,to-night.”
Thesubjectwasasuggestiveonetome,andIthoughtaboutitinsilence.
Mr.Wopsle,astheill-requiteduncleoftheevening’stragedy,felltomeditatingaloudinhisgardenatCamberwell.
Orlick,withhishandsinhispockets,slouchedheavilyatmyside.
Itwasverydark,verywet,verymuddy,andsowesplashedalong.
Nowandthen,thesoundofthesignalcannonbrokeuponusagain,andagainrolledsulkilyalongthecourseoftheriver.
Ikeptmyselftomyselfandmythoughts.
Mr.WopslediedamiablyatCamberwell,andexceedinglygameonBosworthField,andinthegreatestagoniesatGlastonbury.
Orlicksometimesgrowled,“Beatitout,beatitout—OldClem!Withaclinkforthestout—OldClem!”
Ithoughthehadbeendrinking,buthewasnotdrunk.
Thus,wecametothevillage.Thewaybywhichweapproachedit,tookuspasttheThreeJollyBargemen,whichweweresurprisedtofind—itbeingeleveno’clock—inastateofcommotion,withthedoorwideopen,andunwontedlightsthathadbeenhastilycaughtupandputdown,scatteredabout.
Mr.Wopsledroppedintoaskwhatwasthematter(surmisingthataconvicthadbeentaken),butcamerunningoutinagreathurry.
“There’ssomethingwrong,”saidhe,withoutstopping,“upatyourplace,Pip.Runall!”
“Whatisit?”Iasked,keepingupwithhim.SodidOrlick,atmyside.
“Ican’tquiteunderstand.ThehouseseemstohavebeenviolentlyenteredwhenJoeGargerywasout.Supposedbyconvicts.Somebodyhasbeenattackedandhurt.”
Wewererunningtoofasttoadmitofmorebeingsaid,andwemadenostopuntilwegotintoourkitchen.
Itwasfullofpeople;thewholevillagewasthere,orintheyard;andtherewasasurgeon,andtherewasJoe,andtherewasagroupofwomen,allonthefloorinthemidstofthekitchen.
Theunemployedbystandersdrewbackwhentheysawme,andsoIbecameawareofmysister—lyingwithoutsenseormovementonthebareboardswhereshehadbeenknockeddownbyatremendousblowonthebackofthehead,dealtbysomeunknownhandwhenherfacewasturnedtowardsthefire—destinednevertobeontheRampageagain,whileshewasthewifeofJoe.
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