AT the time when I stood in the churchyard, reading the family
tombstones, I had just enough learning to be able to spell them out. My
construction even of their simple meaning was not very correct, for I read `wife
of the Above' as a complimentary reference to my father's exaltation to a better
world; and if any one of my deceased relations had been referred to as `Below,'
I have no doubt I should have formed the worst opinions of that member of the
family. Neither, were my notions of the theological positions to which my
Catechism bound me, at all accurate; for, I have a lively remembrance that I
supposed my declaration that I was to `walk in the same all the days of my
life,' laid me under an obligation always to go through the village from our
house in one particular direction, and never to vary it by turning down by the
wheelwright's or up by the mill.
When I was old enough, I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and until I could
assume that dignity I was not to be what Mrs Joe called `Pompeyed,' or (as I
render it) pampered. Therefore, I was not only odd-boy about the forge, but if
any neighbour happened to want an extra boy to frighten birds, or pick up
stones, or do any such job, I was favoured with the employment. In order,
however, that our superior position might not be compromised thereby, a
money-box was kept on the kitchen mantel-shelf, in to which it was publicly made
known that all my earnings were dropped. I have an impression that they were to
be contributed eventually towards the liquidation of the National Debt, but I
know I had no hope of any personal participation in the treasure.
Mr Wopsle's great-aunt kept an evening school in the village; that is to say,
she was a ridiculous old woman of limited means and unlimited infirmity, who
used to go to sleep from six to seven every evening, in the society of youth who
paid twopence per week each, for the improving opportunity of seeing her do it.
She rented a small cottage, and Mr Wopsle had the room up-stairs, where we
students used to overhear him reading aloud in a most dignified and terrific
manner, and occasionally bumping on the ceiling. There was a fiction that Mr
Wopsle `examined' the scholars, once a quarter. What he did on those occasions
was to turn up his cuffs, stick up his hair, and give us Mark Antony's oration
over the body of Caesar. This was always followed by Collins's Ode on the
Passions, wherein I particularly venerated Mr Wopsle as Revenge, throwing his
blood-stained sword in thunder down, and taking the War-denouncing trumpet with
a withering look. It was not with me then, as it was in later life, when I fell
into the society of the Passions, and compared them with Collins and Wopsle,
rather to the disadvantage of both gentlemen.
Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt, besides keeping this Educational Institution, kept -
in the same room - a little general shop. She had no idea what stock she had, or
what the price of anything in it was; but there was a little greasy
memorandum-book kept in a drawer, which served as a Catalogue of Prices, and by
this oracle Biddy arranged all the shop transaction. Biddy was Mr Wopsle's
great-aunt's granddaughter; I confess myself quiet unequal to the working out of
the problem, what relation she was to Mr Wopsle. She was an orphan like myself;
like me, too, had been brought up by hand. She was most noticeable, I thought,
in respect of her extremities; for, her hair always wanted brushing, her hands
always wanted washing, and her shoes always wanted mending and pulling up at
heel. This description must be received with a week-day limitation. On Sundays,
she went to church elaborated.
Much of my unassisted self, and more by the help of Biddy than of Mr Wopsle's
great-aunt, I struggled through the alphabet as if it had been a bramble-bush;
getting considerably worried and scratched by every letter. After that, I fell
among those thieves, the nine figures, who seemed every evening to do something
new to disguise themselves and baffle recognition. But, at last I began, in a
purblind groping way, to read, write, and cipher, on the very smallest scale.
One night, I was sitting in the chimney-corner with my slate, expending great
efforts on the production of a letter to Joe. I think it must have been a fully
year after our hunt upon the marshes, for it was a long time after, and it was
winter and a hard frost. With an alphabet on the hearth at my feet for
reference, I contrived in an hour or two to print and smear this epistle:
`MI DEER JO i OPE U R KR WITE WELL i OPE i SHAL SON B HABELL 4 2 TEEDGE U JO
AN THEN WE SHORL B SO GLODD AN WEN i M PRENGTD 2 U JO WOT LARX AN BLEVE ME INF
XN PIP.'
There was no indispensable necessity for my communicating with Joe by letter,
inasmuch as he sat beside me and we were alone. But, I delivered this written
communication (slate and all) with my own hand, and Joe received it as a miracle
of erudition.
`I say, Pip, old chap!' cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide, `what a
scholar you are! An't you?'
`I should like to be,' said I, glancing at the slate as he held it: with a
misgiving that the writing was rather hilly.
`Why, here's a J,' said Joe, `and a O equal to anythink! Here's a J and a O,
Pip, and a J-O, Joe.'
I had never heard Joe read aloud to any greater extent than this
monosyllable, and I had observed at church last Sunday when I accidentally held
our Prayer-Book upside down, that it seemed to suit his convenience quite as
well as if it had been right. Wishing to embrace the present occasion of finding
out whether in teaching Joe, I should have to begin quite at the beginning, I
said, `Ah! But read the rest, Jo.'
`The rest, eh, Pip?' said Joe, looking at it with a slowly searching eye,
`One, two, three. Why, here's three Js, and three Os, and three J-O, Joes in it,
Pip!'
I leaned over Joe, and, with the aid of my forefinger, read him the whole
letter.
`Astonishing!' said Joe, when I had finished. `You ARE a scholar.'
`How do you spell Gargery, Joe?' I asked him, with a modest patronage.
`I don't spell it at all,' said Joe.
`But supposing you did?'
`It can't be supposed,' said Joe. `Tho' I'm oncommon fond of reading, too.'
`Are you, Joe?'
`On-common. Give me,' said Joe, `a good book, or a good newspaper, and sit me
down afore a good fire, and I ask no better. Lord!' he continued, after rubbing
his knees a little, `when you do come to a J and a O, and says you, "Here, at
last, is a J-O, Joe," how interesting reading is!'
I derived from this last, that Joe's education, like Steam, was yet in its
infancy, Pursuing the subject, I inquired:
`Didn't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?'
`No, Pip.'
`Why didn't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?'
`Well, Pip,' said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to his usual
occupation when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fire between the lower
bars: `I'll tell you. My father, Pip, he were given to drink, and when he were
overtook with drink, he hammered away at my mother, most onmerciful. It were
a'most the only hammering he did, indeed, 'xcepting at myself. And he hammered
at me with a wigour only to be equalled by the wigour with which he didn't
hammer at his anwil. - You're listening and understanding, Pip?'
`Yes, Joe.'
` 'Consequence, my mother and me we ran away from my father, several times;
and then my mother she'd go out to work, and she'd say, "Joe," she'd say, "now,
please God, you shall have some schooling, child," and she'd put me to school.
But my father were that good in his hart that he couldn't abear to be without
us. So, he'd come with a most tremenjous crowd and make such a row at the doors
of the houses where we was, that they used to be obligated to have no more to do
with us and to give us up to him. And then he took us home and hammered us.
Which, you see, Pip,' said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of the fire,
and looking at me, `were a drawback on my learning.'
`Certainly, poor Joe!'
`Though mind you, Pip,' said Joe, with a judicial touch or two of the poker
on the top bar, `rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining equal justice
betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his hart, don't you see?'
I didn't see; but I didn't say so.
`Well!' Joe pursued, `somebody must keep the pot a biling, Pip, or the pot
won't bile, don't you know?'
I saw that, and said so.
` 'Consequence, my father didn't make objections to my going to work; so I
went to work to work at my present calling, which were his too, if he would have
followed it, and I worked tolerable hard, I assure you, Pip. In time I were able
to keep him, and I kept him till he went off in a purple leptic fit. And it were
my intentions to have had put upon his tombstone that Whatsume'er the failings
on his part, Remember reader he were that good in his hart.'
Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful perspicuity,
that I asked him if he had made it himself.
`I made it,' said Joe, `my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like
striking out a horseshoe complete, in a single blow. I never was so much
surprised in all my life - couldn't credit my own ed - to tell you the truth,
hardly believed it were my own ed. As I was saying, Pip, it were my intentions
to have had it cut over him; but poetry costs money, cut it how you will, small
or large, and it were not done. Not to mention bearers, all the money that could
be spared were wanted for my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She
weren't long of following, poor soul, and her share of peace come round at
last.'
Joe's blue eyes turned a little watery; he rubbed, first one of them, and
then the other, in a most uncongenial and uncomfortable manner, with the round
knob on the top of the poker.
`It were but lonesome then,' said Joe, `living here alone, and I got
acquainted with your sister. Now, Pip;' Joe looked firmly at me, as if he knew I
was not going to agree with him; `your sister is a fine figure of a woman.'
I could not help looking at the fire, in an obvious state of doubt.
`Whatever family opinions, or whatever the world's opinions, on that subject
may be, Pip, your sister is,' Joe tapped the top bar with the poker after every
word following, `a - fine - figure - of - a - woman!'
I could think of nothing better to say than `I am glad you think so, Joe.'
`So am I,' returned Joe, catching me up. `I am glad I think so, Pip. A little
redness or a little matter of Bone, here or there, what does it signify to Me?'
I sagaciously observed, if it didn't signify to him, to whom did it signify?
`Certainly!' assented Joe. `That's it. You're right, old chap!When I got
acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was bringing you up by
hand. Very kind of her too, all the folks said, and I said, along with all the
folks. As to you,' Joe pursued with a countenance expressive of seeing something
very nasty indeed: `if you could have been aware how small and flabby and mean
you was, dear me, you'd have formed the most contemptible opinions of yourself!'
Not exactly relishing this, I said, `Never mind me, Joe.'
`But I did mind you, Pip,' he returned with tender simplicity. `When I
offered to your sister to keep company, and to be asked in church at such times
as she was willing and ready to come to the forge, I said to her, "And bring the
poor little child. God bless the poor little child," I said to your sister,
"there's room for him at the forge!"'
I broke out crying and begging pardon, and hugged Joe round the neck: who
dropped the poker to hug me, and to say, `Ever the best of friends; an't us,
Pip? Don't cry, old chap!'
When this little interruption was over, Joe resumed:
`Well, you see, Pip, and here we are! That's about where it lights; here we
are! Now, when you take me in hand in my learning, Pip (and I tell you
beforehand I am awful dull, most awful dull), Mrs Joe mustn't see too much of
what we're up to. It must be done, as I may say, on the sly. And why on the sly?
I'll tell you why, Pip.'
He had taken up the poker again; without which, I doubt if he could have
proceeded in his demonstration.
`Your sister is given to government.'
`Given to government, Joe?' I was startled, for I had some shadowy idea (and
I am afraid I must add, hope) that Joe had divorced her in a favour of the Lords
of the Admiralty, or Treasury.
`Given to government,' said Joe. `Which I meantersay the government of you
and myself.'
`Oh!'
`And she an't over partial to having scholars on the premises,' Joe
continued, `and in partickler would not be over partial to my being a scholar,
for fear as I might rise. Like a sort or rebel, don't you see?'
I was going to retort with an inquiry, and had got as far as `Why--' when Joe
stopped me.
`Stay a bit. I know what you're a-going to say, Pip; stay a bit!I don't deny
that your sister comes the Mo-gul over us, now and again. I don't deny that she
do throw us back-falls, and that she do drop down upon us heavy. At such times
as when your sister is on the Ram-page, Pip,' Joe sank his voice to a whisper
and glanced at the door, `candour compels fur to admit that she is a Buster.'
Joe pronounced this word, as if it began with at least twelve capital Bs.
`Why don't I rise? That were your observation when I broke it off, Pip?'
`Yes, Joe.'
`Well,' said Joe, passing the poker into his left hand, that he might feel
his whisker; and I had no hope of him whenever he took to that placid
occupation; `your sister's a master-mind. A master-mind.'
`What's that?' I asked, in some hope of bringing him to a stand. But, Joe was
readier with his definition than I had excepted, and completely stopped me by
arguing circularly, and answering with a fixed look, `Her.'
`And I an't a master-mind,' Joe resumed, when he had unfixed his look, and
got back to his whisker. `And last of all, Pip - and this I want to say very
serous to you, old chap - I see so much in my poor mother, of a woman drudging
and slaving and breaking her honest hart and never getting no peace in her
mortal days, that I'm dead afeerd of going wrong in the way of not doing what's
right by a woman, and I'd fur rather of the two go wrong the t'other way, and be
a little ill-conwenienced myself. I wish it was only me that got put out, Pip; I
wish there warn't no Tickler for you, old chap; I wish I could take it all on
myself; but this is the up-and-down-and-straight on it, Pip, and I hope you'll
overlook shortcomings.'
Young as I was, I believe that I dated a new admiration of Joe from that
night. We were equals afterwards, as we had been before; but, afterwards at
quiet times when I sat looking at Joe and thinking about him, I had a new
sensation of feeling conscious that I was looking up to Joe in my heart.
`However,' said Joe, rising to replenish the fire; `here's the Dutch-clock a
working himself up to being equal to strike Eight of 'em, and she's not come
home yet! I hope Uncle Pumblechook's mare mayn't have set a fore-foot on a piece
o'ice, and gone down.'
Mrs Joe made occasional trips with Uncle Pumblechook on market-days, to
assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a woman's
judgment; Uncle Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no confidences in his
domestic servant. This was market-day, and Mrs Joe was out on one of these
expeditions.
Joe made the fire and swept the hearth, and then we went to the door to
listen for the chaise-cart. It was a dry cold night, and the wind blew keenly,
and the frost was white and hard. A man would die to-night of lying out on the
marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the stars, and considered how awful if
would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no
help or pity in all the glittering multitude.
`Here comes the mare,' said Joe, `ringing like a peal of bells!'
The sound of her iron shoes upon the hard road was quite musical, as she came
along at a much brisker trot than usual. We got a chair out, ready for Mrs Joe's
alighting, and stirred up the fire that they might see a bright window, and took
a final survey of the kitchen that nothing might be out of its place. When we
had completed these preparations, they drove up, wrapped to the eyes. Mrs Joe
was soon landed, and Uncle Pumblechook was soon down too, covering the mare with
a cloth, and we were soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold air in with
us that it seemed to drive all the heat out of the fire.
`Now,' said Mrs Joe, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and
throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings: `if this
boy an't grateful this night, he never will be!'
I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly uninformed why
he ought to assume that expression.
`It's only to be hoped,' said my sister, `that he won't be Pomp-eyed. But I
have my fears.'
`She an't in that line, Mum,' said Mr Pumblechook. `She knows better.'
She? I looked at Joe, making the motion with my lips and eyebrows, `She?' Joe
looked at me, making the motion with his lips and eyebrows, `She?' My sister
catching him in the act, he drew the back of his hand across his nose with his
usual conciliatory air on such occasions, and looked at her.
`Well?' said my sister, in her snappish way. `What are you staring at? Is the
house a-fire?'
` - Which some individual,' Joe politely hinted, `mentioned - she.'
`And she is a she, I suppose?' said my sister. `Unless you call Miss Havisham
a he. And I doubt if even you'll go so far as that.'
`Miss Havisham, up town?' said Joe.
`Is there any Miss Havisham down town?' returned my sister.
`She wants this boy to go and play there. And of course he's going. And he
had better play there,' said my sister, shaking her head at me as an
encouragement to be extremely light and sportive, `or I'll work him.'
I had heard of Miss Havisham up town - everybody for miles round, had heard
of Miss Havisham up town - as an immensely rich and grim lady who lived in a
large and dismal house barricaded against robbers, and who led a life of
seclusion.
`Well to be sure!' said Joe, astounded. `I wonder how she come to know Pip!'
`Noodle!' cried my sister. `Who said she knew him?'
` - Which some individual,' Joe again politely hinted, `mentioned that she
wanted him to go and play there.'
`And couldn't she ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play
there? Isn't it just barely possible that Uncle Pumblechook may be a tenant of
hers, and that he may sometimes - we won't say quarterly or half-yearly, for
that would be requiring too much of you - but sometimes - go there to pay his
rent? And couldn't she then ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and
play there? And couldn't Uncle Pumblechook, being always considerate and
thoughtful for us - though you may not think it, Joseph,' in a tone of the
deepest reproach, as if he were the most callous of nephews, `then mention this
boy, standing Prancing here' - which I solemnly declare I was not doing - `that
I have for ever been a willing slave to?'
`Good again!' cried Uncle Pumblechook. `Well put! Prettily pointed! Good
indeed! Now Joseph, you know the case.'
`No, Joseph,' said my sister, still in a reproachful manner, while Joe
apologetically drew the back of his hand across and across his nose, `you do not
yet - though you may not think it - know the case. You may consider that you do,
but you do not, Joseph. For you do not know that Uncle Pumblechook, being
sensible that for anything we can tell, this boy's fortune may be made by his
going to Miss Havisham's, has offered to take him into town to-night in his own
chaise-cart, and to keep him to-night, and to take him with his own hands to
Miss Havisham's to-morrow morning. And Lor-a-mussy me!' cried my sister, casting
off her bonnet in sudden desperation, `here I stand talking to mere Mooncalfs,
with Uncle Pumblechook waiting, and the mare catching cold at the door, and the
boy grimed with crock and dirt from the hair of his head to the sole of his
foot!'
With that, she pounced upon me, like an eagle on a lamb, and my face was
squeezed into wooden bowls in sinks, and my head was put under taps of
water-butts, and I was soaped, and kneaded, and towelled, and thumped, and
harrowed, and rasped, until I really was quite beside myself. (I may here remark
that I suppose myself to be better acquainted than any living authority, with
the ridgy effect of a wedding-ring, passing unsympathetically over the human
countenance.)
When my ablutions were completed, I was put into clean linen of the stiffest
character, like a young penitent into sackcloth, and was trussed up in my
tightest and fearfullest suit. I was then delivered over to Mr Pumblechook, who
formally received me as if he were the Sheriff, and who let off upon me the
speech that I knew he had been dying to make all along: `Boy, be for ever
grateful to all friends, but especially unto them which brought you up by hand!'
`Good-bye, Joe!'
`God bless you, Pip, old chap!'
I had never parted from his before, and what with my feelings and what with
soap-suds, I could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart. But they twinkled
out one by one, without throwing any light on the questions why on earth I was
going to play at Miss Havisham's, and what on earth I was expected to play at.
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